Valentine Voodoo

by Jianne Carlo

  “All I want to do is talk.” Eli meant the words but didn't know whether his discipline would hold out. He stepped through the doorway and followed her movements as she closed the door and then ambled to the couch in front of the TV. Forcing himself to be honest, he added, “And maybe hold you, if you'll let me.”

  “Help yourself to a drink. There's wine and all sorts of other liquor.” She waved at the minifridge occupying an alcove to the left.

  “No, thanks.” Removing the temptation of her scent and nearness, he sat on the chair adjacent to the couch. “The interview's scheduled for the day after tomorrow. We have a choice of ten in the morning or two in the afternoon.”

  The room smelled like chocolate chip cookies baking, and his sweet tooth hurtled to life. “Cookies?”

  Her face flamed, a wash of bright pink bursting over her skin. “I ordered from room service. Peanut and macadamia and chocolate chip. Want some?”

  “Is the pope Catholic? Hell yes. You didn't order milk too, did you?”

  In the middle of walking over to the microwave, she did a half-turn jump.

  Eli grinned; the woman had guilt written all over her face.

  “Bring on both.” He stretched his legs under the coffee table and let out a long, satisfied breath as the tension eased from bunched shoulder muscles. His lungs stammered to a halt when she bent over to retrieve the milk from the fridge. The faded denim wore her instead of the other way around, clinging lovingly to her heart-shaped ass. His mouth watered; he wanted to give her a hickey on each cheek, right where her bottom and legs met.

  His good intentions scattered under a typhoon-force wave of desire as she turned and propped one bare foot on a cream wall. His gaze tackled hers; he sprang off the couch, shedding his jacket as he walked.

  The microwave dinged.

  Chapter Three

  He's going to make love to me.

  Again.

  Damn, I wish I weren't so nervous.

  Stephanie forced her fingers away from her palms and choked back a groan, knowing Eli could hear her choppy inhales. Clamping her teeth together, she traced his long strides as he stalked in her direction, and the memory of the bulge in his pants at Château Pontchartrain made her eyes squeeze shut.

  He was so not in her league, with his buffed-to-the-max martial-arts body, those soulful gray eyes, that always mussed shock of wavy ash-blond hair, and his magnetic, charismatic personality. Her pulse skittered as he neared.

  You can do this; you can.

  Planting his palms on the wall on either side of her face, he bent his head and brushed sinfully soft lips over hers. The tickle-tingle sensation sent sparks across her belly, pulling at her navel, tugging her clitoris.

  “You taste of chocolate and peanut butter,” he whispered, his mouth moving on hers. “Can I have a rain check on the milk and cookies? I had planned to wait, honey. I really had.”

  “I don't want you to.” The anticipation had made her so wet, she'd had to shower to cleanse the musky scent.

  “Thank God for small mercies,” he growled, trailing a finger from the tip of her collarbone across to rest his thumb on the hip-hopping pulse in the center of her throat. “Your mouth fascinates me. I used to watch these colorized black-and-white 1920s movies with my gramps. I think I have a fetish for Clara Bow lips like yours. Wanna neck for a while?”

  How can mere words splinter my thoughts? Drain all the breathable atmosphere out of the room?

  Moisture drenched her labia, dampening the crotch of her jeans.

  How can the spicy smell of him make me cream?

  “Honey?”

  “Yes.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the sudden knots hunching them together.

  “I gave you a hickey at the château,” he murmured and nuzzled the astonishingly super-sensitive spot between nape and throat that he'd laved earlier. “Good?” His open mouth skated wet lip prints up her neck. Her head went slack, tilting to one side to give him better access.

  “Good,” she echoed.

  Without further ado, he swept her feet off the carpet, one arm across her back, the other under her knees, and made his way to the couch and then backed into the chambray upholstery. After picking up the remote she'd left on the sofa, Eli thumbed the TV's volume to a low buzz; then he reached over and switched off the side table lamp.

  Two tanned fingers twiddled the red cotton lettering on her T-shirt as he settled her firmly in his lap, her bent legs collapsing against the sofa's back. “What does this one say?”

  “Valentine Nose His Wine.”

  “Cute.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. His thumb circled her ear, grazing the lobe, dipping into the tender whorls. Her bare feet bowed and flexed.

  “I spoke to security. The studio is assigning round-the-clock bodyguards to you starting tomorrow morning.”

  “I've been thinking about it, and I think we both overreacted. You're probably right. It's some stupid marketing promo. Really, when you think about it, who else has access to the details of our faces? I don't do publicity.” The staged voodoo ceremony at the château and the discovery of the dolls had scared her spitless, but she'd had time to calm down, and the hot shower had chased the icy chill lingering in her bones.

  “Better safe than sorry, Steph. Those dolls gave me the heebie-jeebies.” His finger traced the outline of her mouth, and he bent his head and covered her lips with his. Heat and embers followed the wake of his velvet kisses. His hand tangled in her hair, static crackled, and air puffs and his fingers separated strands. Her scalp prickled, and her toes gripped the sofa's nubby fabric. A warm palm eased under her T-shirt, coasted over her midriff, trailed her ribs, and cupped her bare breast. A thumb rolled across her unfurling nipple.

  “Oh.” She moaned and squirmed in his lap, the thin material of her jeans no match for his burgeoning erection. The crotch of his pants felt damp, and the knowledge he was excited too started a furious convulsing inside her sex.

  Bombarded on all fronts, with his tongue lazily twirling hers, his hand kneading her nape, and his fingers rolling one taut point, her other nipple scraped the shirt's cotton, distending with each graze, and the tip burned. Desire climbed a tidal crest, reaching for the wave's peak. Her clitoris palpitated, throbbing faster, then slower, and she groaned her frustration.

  He swallowed the sound, his kisses all-encompassing, coaxing her tongue into his mouth. Her folds creamed, and her clit seemed all-connected—no matter where he touched, a nip on her lobe, a pinch of her nipple, a lick of her lower lip, an invisible nylon string twisted and plucked at her nubbin. The seam of her jeans created a friction that threatened combustion, but she wanted his fingers and his mouth there, not stupid cloth.

  “Touch me,” she pleaded. “Let me touch you.”

  It was as if he'd been waiting for her signal. Eli switched them around so she lay along the sofa's back, on her side, and he faced her.

  He cradled her cheeks between his hot palms, their faces were inches apart, and she stared at him, marveling at the storm-tossed wild glints she read in his gray eyes.

  “Okay?” His voice came out husky and coarse, and she loved the sound of him.

  “Oh yes.” Nothing had ever been so right.

  “Good,” he said, his hot breath sparking across her moist, swollen lips. “I've fantasized about this, about loving you and tasting every inch of you.” His tongue swept the seam of her mouth.

  Stephanie leaned into the caress, trying to tease him inside, trapping the flicking tip of his tongue between her lips. Her vaginal walls shuddered, echoing her neediness. Her nails dug into the hardness of his bicep, and the muscles there rippled and tautened. She squirmed closer, canting her hips forward, yearning to rub against his erection, position that hardness between her thighs.

  Eli shifted away, putting space between them from the waist down.

  “I've dreamed about you too,” she said stumbling over the words. “Oh, Eli, I've wanted this for so long.”

&
nbsp; “Shush, honey, you'll make me go up in flames.” His teeth held her bottom lip captive, and he set one hand on her pelvic bone, stilling her wriggling. “We're supposed to be necking.”

  His magical tongue electrified every synapse in her body. Eli kissed her as if time didn't exist. Long and lazy sweeps of her teeth, small sips of one corner of her mouth, a suckle of the plump center, followed by a swift nip, then soothing licks.

  Her breasts ached, the nipples pulsing and throbbing and swelling to painful, hard points, her clitoris ricocheting each scorching reaction. She squeezed her legs together, but the friction only served to amplify the blazing fire heating her nubbin. Cream washed her engorged vaginal folds. Stephanie tangled her fingers in his silky hair, drawing his mouth harder against hers, opening her lips wider, and groaning when their tongues slid and slipped together.

  Eli suckled her sharply. She arched, her pussy clenched, and dampness slicked her inner thighs. So close, so close.

  “Gentle, gentle.” He soothed, breaking the kiss. “We've all night, honey.”

  The words reverberated against her puffy lips. “Please, Eli. I ache so much it hurts.”

  Angling his head, he gnawed on her earlobe and then traced each whorl. “Let's take the edge off for you, honey.”

  He drew the tee up her belly, sucked in a deep gasp when the material cleared her breasts, and tore it off her head, flicking the cotton to the carpet. His eyes devoured her. He licked his lips; his gaze swept from one peaked mound to the other.

  “Raspberries,” he crooned as one side of his mouth quirked. “My raspberries.”

  Sliding down on the couch, he captured her wrists as she tried to loop her hands around his neck. “No way. This is my feast, honey. My way.”

  Transferring both wrists into one of his hands, he stretched her arms high above her head, and a devil of a grin curved his full lips.

  He lapped at one nipple, twirling around the tight bud, swirling the darker circle, moving to the other breast, leaving the first wet, the cool air drawing the bud to a painful turgidity. Stephanie whimpered and twisted. Longing to feel his chest grazing hers, she fought to insert one leg between his thighs. Her vaginal walls pulsed, sucked upward and in, and her head rolled from side to side.

  Mumbles and moans escaped her lips, and then finally his mouth clamped her breast, drawing hard, his tongue laving the underside, the pressure building until she burst into flame. Stephanie shattered, her thoughts splintering as her pussy contracted over and over. Forehead beaded with perspiration, head hanging, she didn't move even when Eli released her wrists but left her arms stretched high.

  “Honey,” he muttered. Hot breath, redolent of wine and cognac, fanned the top of her lip.

  “Tickles.” She managed to croak, unable to prevent a smile and a long sigh of utter contentment.

  Sliding her hands down to her sides, he brought first one palm, then the other to his mouth for a scalding lick, and then he gathered her close, murmuring praises, his lips trailing the hyperresponsive curve between her shoulder and ear.

  Looping her arms around his neck, she touched her mouth to his, gaining Dutch courage from a sexual bravado that had her grinning like a clown. “Wow. That was everything it's cracked up to be. But I'm guessing it'll be a zillion times better when you're inside of me.”

  “You're killing me.” He groaned and lifted his head to meet her gaze, a smirk crooking his lips to one side. “Why do I get the feeling that soon it's going to be a case of the pupil outsmarting the teacher?”

  “Eli,” she said, tracing his crewneck collar. “I've never seen you naked.”

  “Easily remedied,” Eli muttered as he rolled off the couch, stood, then kicked off his shoes and discarded his sweater with one quick shrug and flick. He shot his bulging crotch a wry look, pursed his lips, and shook his head. Holding out a hand, he ordered, “Come on. Let's find the bed.”

  A blush roasted her face, neck, and chest. She felt brazen standing up topless; her nipples tightened, and she couldn't quite meet his eyes.

  “You're blushing all over, Steph.” He hauled her close, and she let her eyes shut when her breasts scraped the faint layer of hair covering the middle of his chest. “Feels good, honey, holding you like this. Your pointy little buds are stabbing me.”

  Drawing back as her eyelids flew up, she craned her neck, and quipped, “You still have on clothes.”

  “Enforced discipline,” he retorted. “I mean to make love to you on a soft, comfortable bed for hours. Once these pants are history, all bets are off.”

  With that, he scooped her into his arms; she squealed and chortled, smacking his chest lightly. Distracted by the hardness under her fingertips, Stephanie explored his broad, ripped pectorals as he carried her into the bedroom.

  “You're one of those hard guys in the gym, aren't you?” Fascinated by a swath of chest hair darker than the rest, she touched her lips to the spot, licked his skin, and discovered a harder ridge of flesh. “How did you get this scar?”

  “Schoolyard fight when I was an aggressive teenager.” He sat on the mattress and eased her onto his lap, positioning her sideways.

  “The lights are on.”

  “I know, Stephanie. I want to remember every second of tonight. To see you come again while I'm inside of you.” His hand cupped her breast, the thumb idly stroking the underside.

  Thick liquid trickled across her labia, slicking her inner thighs.

  I'm like Pavlov's dog; he touches me, and I cream.

  “Say something, Steph. Tell me how you feel. Tell me you want this as much as I do.”

  Oh, Eli, when you look at me like that, I want to give you the world.

  “I made Trevor in the last movie have your eyes.”

  Gawd, why did I blurt that?

  “Trevor the rodent?”

  From his gathered brows, she guessed he didn't take it as a compliment.

  “Trevor's a marmot, not a rodent, and he was the hero,” she argued.

  “You love all your animated characters, don't you?” Tucking a lock of her hair behind one ear, he nibbled the corner of her lips.

  She turned her head so their mouths met. “That way I could see you every day.”

  “Now that's an ego boost.” His hands fumbled at the waistband of her jeans. He slipped the metal button out of its hole and yanked the brass zipper down as his tongue coaxed entry between her parted lips.

  Arching her back and lifting so he could slide the denim over her legs, Stephanie explored the heated warmth of his mouth, sliding her tongue across his teeth, sweeping one cheek, touching a spot behind his upper molars that made him rumble deep in his throat. Heady feminine power revved her desire, and she slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxers.

  He snagged her wrist. “Next time, honey. I'm too close.”

  “Promise?”

  “You're killing me.” The three words sounded rasped, and he pushed at her jeans, shoving the rough fabric over her shins, tugging them off her ankles. Wearing a pirate's grin that made her heart roll over and ache, he flung the pants to the floor. “No underwear?” His eyes squeezed shut. “Tell me you haven't done this every meeting. Tell me you wear panties to work.”

  “Maybe I won't next meeting.”

  “So pretty,” he growled, his fingers fluffing and petting her curls, one sliding between her thighs, rubbing up and down, back and forth. Already slippery and wet, her pussy spasmed, drenching his hand. Eli lifted her off his legs and shifted her onto the bed. His large hands curved under her bottom cheeks, and he pulled her to the edge of the mattress, her thighs hanging down the side of the bed.

  “Lie back, honey.” A scalding palm coaxed her back to the soft, downy bedcover. “Relax,” he coaxed, his tongue trailing the rim of her belly button. “My way—remember?”

  “Eli, I…I don't want to wait,” she protested.

  “Trust me, Steph,” he said. “The waiting will be sheer ecstasy. I promise.”

  The rough pads of his
fingers explored her stomach, the whisper-light stroking a lightning-bolt contrast to his calloused skin. Her belly undulated, the heat inside flashing and bursting from her core; she gripped the bedspread, her hands fisting and scrunching the soft down. “Eli,” she wailed. “Eli. Please.”

  He slid to the floor between her spread legs and draped her knees over his shoulders.

  She raised her head and froze at the vision that met her eyes; Eli's head between her thighs, his features drawn taut, his bronzed cheeks flushed a cherry hue, beads of sweat clinging to the damp hair at his temples, his eyes riveted to her genitals.

  “You're beautiful, Steph,” he growled, and hot air sifted her wet pubic curls, scalded her drenched labia.

  She heard his long inhale, and her head lolled back and hit the soft down when he exhaled audibly, his breath sending scorching embers over her open, vulnerable sex.

  “You smell like paradise, all musk and sweetness, and your pussy's all wet and red and glistening.”

  In one swift jerk, he leaned forward, one palm on each thigh, the heels of his palms brushing her vaginal folds. He pressed her legs farther apart, and then he opened his lips over her clit and dragged his tongue over her throbbing nub.

  She fractured, hips bucking, his name erupting from deep in her throat, the climax fierce, dagger sharp, explosions raking her head to toe, the contractions igniting piercing, agonizing rapture.

  “That's it, honey,” he crooned. “That's my girl.” He dropped swift, light kisses from the curve of her bottom and nuzzled the spot where pussy lips and leg met; her flesh stung and buzzed.

  Panting, her eyelids too heavy to lift, Stephanie forced her hands open and tried to even the lifting and falling of her chest, to soothe her burning lungs.

  “Come for me again, Steph. One more time.”

  “Eli. No more. Make love to me,” she begged. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

  “Soon, honey, soon.”