by Rissa Brahm
“Chris, right. Hey, yeah, the mirror… It’s still hanging!” she said awkwardly, but thankful anything close to coherent came out.
Isabel’s peripheral caught Zack’s expression. He stared at the guy interrupting their foreplay, his narrowed gaze only slightly threatening. He seemed confident enough not to be jealous of the tall, tanned, and obviously stoned Canadian. And her giddiness at the potentiality of Zack’s possessiveness was overshadowed by her impatient need to get back to Zack’s throbbing cock in her fist.
Chris stood there, strangely silent, waiting for something. Oh God, introductions? No, that would be bad. The risk of Chris sticking around beyond just polite chitchat would then be way too high. And she didn’t know, nor did she want to know, Zack’s last name. Meanwhile, Zack had already gotten back to driving her mad, his fingers working her again like a master guitarist, strumming the tight, perfectly tuned strings of a fine mahogany acoustic. She blushed and squirmed while swallowing back her need to squeal.
But Chris finally broke the silence, though he still didn’t get the hint to leave them. “I DJ here occasionally,” Chris yelled over the reverberating bass, oblivious to her distracted state of bliss. “Ya know, just filling in. But my shift starts now.” Oh thank God! “So…I guess I’ll leave you guys to it, eh?”
Yes, for the love of all that’s good and holy! “Good seeing you, Chris.”
“Right, you too. Have an awesome night,” he said to Isabel, who he winked and smiled at and then gave a somewhat cocky nod to her still-anonymous date before strolling off.
She caught Zack’s eyes of glowing green. “That was Chris.”
“Yes, I heard. He installed…your mirrors.”
“He replaced a broken mirror in my bathroom and I guess he’s also a substitute DJ here?”
“Isabel,” he said, pausing his fingers’ magic down below, making her heart pause a beat. “I don’t want to talk about Chris.”
A smoldering look melted over his face as he resumed his blissful play at her throbbing juncture. She held back a moan as his thick finger slid between her folds and deep into her begging core, making her cunt clench with need. In turn, she grasped his cock, her thumb relishing the drops of arousal he had for her at the ever-smooth tip of his crown. She used the sticky serum to stroke his pulsating length down to its base and up again.
God she was glad for the club’s choice in long tablecloths at that moment, although she wasn’t so sure that the lack of them would have stopped their sinful and totally inappropriate play. No, she wasn’t so sure at all as he whirled her to the edge.
Then Zack took his finger out from her pooling, wet canal and began plucking her thong string—drawing it back then releasing it, snapping it up again then letting it go, torrentially teasing her hypersensitive clit. Deliberate, cruel, the thin string of her thong just barely stimulated. And the lack of his thick finger’s heat and precise manipulation left her tortured and needy.
A fifth time, he lifted her thong from her hungry folds but paused there, giving her full freedom from the string. He held the fabric out for several seconds, still giving her nothing of his touch. He drew his finger back further, up toward her ass. His hand then gave a sharp tug, the thin strip of lace dividing her lips into more oozing pleasure coupled with delicious pain.
“Zack,” she hissed then swallowed hard. “We need to go.” She needed to be skin to skin with him. Needed it. Now.
CHAPTER 15
She couldn’t stop creaming in her barely existent panties, despite his socially acceptable distance as they walked through the Airington lobby, only his two fingers at the base of her back ushering her on. His limited touch was torturous, not enough, and just too much to take. She needed him fast and now and nothing less would do.
But she had to wait. He forced her to be patient. The polite space he gave her continued to and inside the elevator, then through the hall to the penthouse door, as if he was conscious of the hotel’s cameras this time. Or maybe holding back to counter the association the penthouse held for them, trying to erase last time’s incident before tearing her clothes off? Yeah, he was probably just being a gentleman. And if so, that was sweet, and good.
But the lack of his heat, his core-stirring distraction gave her time to think, to question.
That was bad.
The jumbled emotions that had boiled up on the beach behind the bar earlier that night started bubbling again. Doubting again. Underlying warnings in her head followed by Roberto’s words crept in. But she fought back, calling up fantastical visions—a wild feast of sensual surges, rippling orgasms—to drown out the memory of last time’s degrading episode. The one that’d had her raging off after drenching Zack in a vodka shower.
As he dipped his room key into the slot, his hand swept up her back, the warmth of his palm bringing her back to present, quieting all thoughts. She felt anchored, secure. It would be okay. He was there. They’d be in each other’s arms, in their groove again, in only minutes from now. He’d bring her the awaited release she needed.
And that was all she needed.
*
He escorted her inside. The suite was in a state of tidy chaos. Cleaned by housekeeping, yes, but only around the piles of paperwork, newspapers, maps, and strewn file folders lying on every available surface. Busy boy. Even the sofa was taken, his open laptop with its charging cable carelessly strung across the back of it. And under the machine, some ‘Spanish for Idiots’ guide? Huh.
Zack gave her a close-lipped smile and then scurried past her to move the computer and to consolidate the piles.
She watched him hungrily and with some amusement. That slight nervousness in him had returned as soon as they had crossed the suite’s threshold, reminding her of his sweet, endearing charm at their first meeting when they’d joked and talked about nothing and everything for hours at The Five Breezes.
He brushed her arm on one walk by, and a shiver shot up her back. That sensual vibe of his trumped all. It had a power over her, a controlling, chilling power.
Zack was almost done shuffling things from one pile to another when she noticed a white linen sleeve hanging from a chair under a teetering pile of newspapers. Her heat turned to nervousness—it was definitely a woman’s sleeve, judging from the cuff. Just as she felt a flood of regret replacing the soothing comfort she had felt, Zack caught her eying the pile and moved directly toward it. To cover it up? To make an excuse for another lingering article of some woman’s clothing, another insult that her pride just wouldn’t be able to take? Another jagged, disappointing end to an otherwise unbelievable, unforgettable night?
He picked up the newspapers and pulled out the white linen article. He brought it to his nose and smelled it as he walked it over to her, a smile in his eyes. “You left it here. It was my ticket to seeing you again. My excuse, so I could apologize, and explain and to”—he grabbed her and pulled her in, her face now inches from his—“be near you again. You’re a drug, Isabel. An amazing, healing drug.” He followed his words with a slow, tender kiss, gently dipping his tongue into her mouth, then sweetly sucking her top lip. “I really don’t have a line of women, at least not since I met you, Isabel. It’s not lip service. You’ve taken me over…entirely.”
Warmth spread through her. She became a melting, dripping icicle in his hands, no longer sharp or painfully cold.
She was still mildly embarrassed, though, at her suspiciousness. It may even have been misconstrued by him as jealousy. And she wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t hers. Nor would she want him to be…or, she wasn’t supposed to want him to be.
Whatever. The jacket being hers was a relief. The night could continue––she could allow herself to have him and be had by him, at least for the night. Only tonight.
But, Isabel. What he said…when he handed you the jacket.
She tried like hell to ignore the feelings his words had ignited in her, to halt her inner crazy, to switch off the voice of warning inside her.
Just get on with it
, Isabel.
Right.
She yanked his shirt up to gain access to his drawstring again and was completely unprepared for the display. His tanned chest made of broad plates of tight muscle halted her breath. His smooth yet rippled stomach begged her fingers to feel, to caress. And yes, her fingertips surrendered, brushing his skin lightly, tracing the definition of his rock-hard middle, each muscular indentation making her sex shudder with anticipation.
But as she took in the sight of him, that damned boding voice of hers spoke up again. His drug reference. Was he addicted to her? Infatuated? Like Roberto’s obsession, except that Roberto was like a brother while Zack was an ultra-magnetic god, a living pool of ecstasy she couldn’t wait to dive into.
Screw the bigger issues. One night was all she asked for. She put her foot down—literally, her right foot stomped the suite’s ultra-plush carpeted floor. Her mind had no say in this—as if any part of her being had a say. It was crystal clear that Zack held all the control, like a telepathic, hypnotic, otherworldly hold on her. Under his spell and his heat, her hands continued to fumble like mad with his drawstring, but then his hands came up to hers, gently stopping her anxious efforts.
“Wait.” He pulled her hands up and around his neck. “Isabel, I’m so trying not to freak you out right now, but the last two weeks have been a kind of hell for me, not being able to find you. So now that I have you, I just really want, you know, to relish every ounce of you. And I want to explain.” He kissed her on the crook of her neck and led her by the hand to the minibar.
Wait? That’s all she heard.
Déjà vu. Please, no.
Patience, Isabel. She nodded and blinked at him. “Slow, of course.”
She watched him pour the two glasses of vodka then curl his lip as he put hers firmly in her hand. “To drink, not to pour.”
She gave him a flirtatious glare and lifted her glass. “To drinking, not pouring…together.”
He met her glass with his, then they took their first pulls while holding each other’s fiery stares like tigers in heat. She liked this, his attention, their deliberately slow and sensual vibe. Slow wasn’t so bad. And she’d keep going with the pace he was setting, despite her teetering volition. But if too much more time passed, she knew her mental processes would reign victorious. And if that happened, she’d bolt, no hanging panties needed.
He kept her gaze as he relaxed into his drink, then began to make small talk. She inhaled, seeking more endurance, more energy it took for her not to attack him. The bar between them was already too much hard separation, and idle chatter was not going to help matters. Even his voice—God, so thick and deep—ramped up her arousal.
No, she had to move things along, get closer to her goal, closer to him.
*
She downed the rest of her drink. The glimmer in his eye when she set the empty glass down made her smile and clench hard at her core. The firewater flowed down and through her. Spiking heat and all, she began to forget her worries, her rush, her angst. Suddenly, finally she could just be there with him. God, how at ease she felt. It was more than a comfort level, but an actual physical ease. She even breathed deeper, more fully. She almost felt at home, her shoulders relaxed and lowered, allowing for more air to fill her chest, bringing with it a tingling sensation that rose up to her head, a heightened peace.
And with it came a solid confidence. She tore herself away from his searing gaze and moved to the sofa. She sunk into the plush middle cushion and just watched him, craving him from across the expansive room. His back muscles and shoulder blades flexed and shifted as he returned the liquor bottle to its shelf, the glasses to the sink, and the minibar towel to the counter. She bit her lower lip, her eagerness for him growing, mounting. His burgeoning shoulders framed that chiseled V-shaped torso down to his waist, culminating at his perfectly sculpted ass draped beautifully by his khaki linen pants—those pants that she wanted off him. Badly.
Okay, so the impatience factor had returned full force—though still laced with that meant-to-be-here ease. She crossed her right leg over her left to dam the flow of excitement threatening to pour from her sex before he could even make it over to her.
He left the bar just achingly slow while her hunger grew. He finally crossed the room to her, his expression both pensive and determined. His face, tilted slightly, studied her, like he wanted to tell her something. He licked his lips and swallowed hard as if in preparation. Maybe more words to clear the air about last time? But she knew she couldn’t handle any further delay, mentally, or, for God’s sake, physically. And she didn’t want any further explanation from him. She somehow trusted his sincerity, that she wouldn’t be disrespected by him again, consciously or otherwise. He had actually gone searching for her with nothing but her first name, hunting for her to apologize.
And, yes, also to have her.
But what did any of that matter, anyway? This would be it. Their one night together, their first and their last. And right then, she needed the night to begin. She just needed him near her, over her, in her, of her.
“May I interrupt your thoughts,” he whispered, kneeling in front of her, dragging his thumb along her jawline. “I want to tell you so much, Isabel. So goddamn much. But my willpower is only so strong. I thought the drink would help, but you, on this couch, I…I can tell you what’s been on my mind after—”
She pressed her mouth to his to silence him, pulling him by his shirt collar tight against her anguished, throbbing sex right there between her sprawling, wide-open and welcoming legs.
CHAPTER 16
She ripped and buttons flew. She untied and unzipped and pulled. And he was all there, his long, hard steel which she’d held, throbbing hot, only a bit ago at the club. But up to that point, she’d only imagined its vital definition and girth in her mind’s eye.
Now her eyes, mesmerized, could relish all of him, there in her elated, heart-thumping reality.
She leaned in, starving for a taste. Then she consumed him, a never-ending mouthful of sweet hard candy. Pure bliss. He bore back ecstatically, then leaned forward again, anxious to watch the devouring of his entire cock by her tongue-moistened lips.
She pulled him out quickly, coyly, then smiled at the slight taste of him in her mouth. Her eyes hit his as she left him throbbing and moved to stand. Slowly, methodically, she removed her top overhead and dropped it to the floor. He shifted, his jaw tightening, his hips lifting in the air.
His reaction burned her alive.
Faster now, she undid the clasp of her skirt and wiggled her curves out of it. He inhaled through flared nostrils. And how she loved his frustration, her sex getting wetter and hotter from his intensity alone. She flung her high heels behind her, then looked down at her black lace bra cupping her breasts, her nipples out, begging for his tongue to come and play, to circle, to tease. She tilted her head and moved her eyes to meet his. Not yet. She’d make him wait just a little longer. Because he’d kept her waiting.
Her hands slid down to the crotch of her matching and moist lace panties. Her fingers found within her slick folds that tiny bit of material he had used to snap her into reeling lunacy. She pulled that little lace shred to one side, her pulsating clit now free and on clear display for him, just below her utterly silken mound. Her sex beckoned—no, screamed—for his touch.
But teasing him, keeping him deprived and wanting, sparked her senses to a new level. She moved her exposed cunt closer to him, inch-by-aching-inch closer. Then she kicked her leg up on the high back of the sofa, her arousal so near his mouth that he could almost lick her pussy clean. But when he reached for her with his fidgety, anxious hands, she clicked her tongue and shifted her hips back again. “Uh-uh, look from there, buddy.” She grinned with an intentional glint of glee in her voice.
Then she slid her index finger into her mouth and got it dripping wet. She slowly slid it down between her heavy breasts, her cleavage glistening with perspiration, then around a nipple twice, making it pebble more, teasi
ng him harder. Her finger continued its downward path, over her stomach, into her navel, dipping in and out, making her squirm for a nanosecond. Then she ran her finger straight down from there, down to her anxious, clenching cunt, which burned, begged for direct and immediate attention.
When her moist trigger finger met her glistening wet clit and began tapping and twirling herself into rolls of ecstasy, she watched his eyes. They were filled with ravenous frustration. She knew he was so close to losing his ability to keep away. She had him where she wanted him, and she loved the control, at least for this one illusory moment.
*
He attacked. His arm wrapped around her perfectly round ass, skin so smooth, radiant, hot. He yanked her onto him. He sank back into the sofa while his two hands lifted her fully, placing her perfect pussy onto his summoning mouth. He needed to taste her. He ripped her thong at the waist to get unbridled access to her glorious, beckoning velvet folds, so anxious, too sweet. She was so swirling wet. He sucked her delicately, drinking her in, lapping her up. Like an elixir from above.
She moaned when he focused his lips at her clit, sucking more, maybe a little too zealously, but ravenous for her, he couldn’t hold back.
She grabbed his hair and tightened her thighs around his head. He could tell she was ready, so ready. And then she came, hard and rhythmic, squirting sweet syrup into his mouth, her body above him convulsing with each violent spasm. Oh God, this woman! He stayed at her juncture, his mouth pressed hard and firm to her, unwilling to let her go. He moaned as she finished, moving his hands up her ass, squeezing and massaging, memorizing the feeling of her.
A final hum then whimper, and she slid down and folded into his lap. “My plan has changed,” she whispered. Out of breath but not out of energy, she shifted to straddle him. She began grinding into him, her soaking wet pussy gliding over his rock-solid cock.
