I squeezed him harder, dancing my thumb over his tip.
“Careful,” he rasped, arching away from me. “It's been...awhile.”
There was something in that admission, something in his admitting that he was vulnerable, that turned me on over more. I squeezed harder and jerked my hand faster until he finally had to push my hand away, gasping for air.
“Not kidding,” he said, his voice ragged. “I'll lose it.”
I stuck my tongue in his ear. “You can lose it. It's fine.”
“Not yet,” he said.
He rolled me over so I was on my back and he was hovering above me. He pushed down his trunks, his eyes dark with desire, his expression harsh. I sat up quickly and reached for him, taking him in my mouth before he could object. He gasped and set his hands on my head, pushing me away.
“Not yet,” he repeated.
He pushed me back down on the bed and pinned my arms above my head, his mouth sucking hard at my breasts, his teeth catching my nipples. I arched into him, bringing my legs around him, feeling him pressing into my bikini bottoms. He let go of my arms and slid down, kissing my stomach, his hands tugging down my bottoms as he knelt between my legs at the foot of the bed. He spread my legs and, before I could stop him, he plunged his tongue into me. I gasped and grabbed for his hair, intending to push him away but he shook free, using his hands to once again pin my arms, this time to my side.
I whimpered and his mouth stopped moving. He lifted his head, his eyes on me. “You don't like?” he asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I lifted my hips, my body aching for his tongue. “I just...”
“Relax,” he whispered. “Enjoy it.” He lowered his head and his tongue pushed into me again and I moaned. My body wasn't aching for release. It was begging for it.
His tongue danced inside of me and his hands gripped my thighs and I felt the heat begin to build. I writhed against him, lifting my hips to draw him deeper. He made a sound and his tongue worked faster and I clutched his hair, bucking against his mouth as my orgasm tore through me, leaving me breathless. Speechless. His mouth continued to work, hungrily attacking me, and I had to push him away, gasping for air, begging him to stop.
The waves of heat slowed and I started to catch my breath. He pushed himself into a kneeling position and hovered over me, holding his shaft, sliding his hand back and forth slowly, staring down at me with dark, hooded eyes.
“Nightstand,” I whispered. “Condoms.”
He hesitated for a moment and I wondered if he didn't want to wear one. A flash of panic flared inside of me. As much as I wanted to have sex with him, I wasn't going to do it without protection and if he didn't want...
He side-stepped around the bed and yanked open the drawer. He pulled out the foil packet, tore the top off and unrolled it on himself. He stood over me again, my legs draped over the end of the bed, his rigid cock in his hand.
“You're sure?” he murmured, his brow furrowed with desire.
“Yes,” I said, spreading my legs. “Now.”
He hesitated again and I felt a surge of uneasiness. Was he not finding me attractive? Did he want me to just jerk him off instead? Why was he so hesitant about having sex with me?
But finally he stepped closer to the bed and slipped his hands beneath my thighs. He lifted me up and pushed into me, his warmth and size eliciting a sigh of satisfaction as he filled me up. He slid his hands to my hips, moving me back and forth on him, controlling our rhythm. I arched my bag, lifting into his thrusts. I stretched my arms out to the side, grabbing the comforter of the bed. His hands felt strong and powerful, clutching my hips, holding me steady as he thrust in and out of me. Looking up at him as he towered over me, watching his face and listening to his breathing – all of it was a strangely erotic experience. He was in absolute control of our pace and I'd given myself completely over to him.
His shoulders tensed. His fingers dug into my flesh. He thrust harder. I hung onto the comforter.
His jaw locked as he looked down at me, a harsh expression on his face as he tried to prolong our encounter. I bit my lip, feeling him swell inside of me. He pumped harder and all I could hear were his shorts gasps of breath, the sound of our skin slapping together, the bed rocking beneath me.
I watched his face. I wanted to see him lose it. I wanted to be the reason.
His fingers tightened again and his mouth formed an oval as he powered into me. Then he leaned forward and drove into me and I felt him explode inside of me, quivering and shaking as his face contorted above me, a long, tortured groan pushing its way out of his mouth. He held onto me, still thrusting, the spasms and quivers inside of me slowing. His eyes closed and his body went slack. My hips slipped from his fingers and he leaned down over me, a hand on either side of me, like he was doing a push up. Then he let his weight fall, sliding over to the side of me.
I could feel his heart beating against my arm and our breathing was loud in the quiet room.
“Wasn't expecting that,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Me, either,” I said.
“I'm not complaining,” he said, a soft smile on his lips.
“Me, either.”
His eyes lowered to half-mast. “You wore me out,” he admitted.
“You can sleep,” I told him.
“No, no,” he said, forcing his eyes open. “No.”
I rolled into him, more because the air in the room was cold than because I was looking for some sort of post-coital cuddling. He threw an arm over me, his hand resting on my forearm.
“I didn't even buy you dinner,” he said.
“I didn't ask for dinner.”
“Call me old-fashioned, but I haven't done...this...in a long time. I thought we were supposed to go on a date or something first.”
“We had a beer in the pool,” I reminded him.
“That's not the kind of date I was talking about.”
“Well, I sort of took the lead,” I said. “Which is something I haven't done in a long, long time. And, honestly, I wasn't looking for a date.”
His fingers traced a pattern on my arm and I shivered at his touch. It felt strangely intimate and I flashed back to Evan. “So what are you looking for then?” he asked.
I moved my eyes away from his. It felt like such an invasive question, like he'd seen right through me and now had a million questions about who I was and what I was doing there. I knew that it was my own neurosis kicking into gear, but I couldn't quell the feeling that he was judging me.
“I'm not looking for anything,” I said. “Just caught up in the moment.”
“So it wasn't like sympathy sex or anything?” Cooper asked. “Your way of saying sorry for smacking me in the eye.”
I laughed. I wasn't the only one who had neuroses. “Hardly.”
“Okay,” he said, relief flooding his voice. “So then maybe we could get dinner or something tomorrow night? Do all of this a little backwards?”
I looked at him, at his salt and pepper hair and the slight bump in his nose that made it a little crooked, at the genuine smile on his lips. Dinner sounded nice. Actually, doing it all backwards didn't sound so bad at all. At the very least, it would be different than what I'd gone through in the first two states.
“Dinner would be great,” I told him.
TEN
Cooper left shortly after we agreed on dinner. We dressed and he kissed me on the lips when he said goodbye. I thought it might be weird to have him leave after we'd had sex, but it was almost the opposite. I took a quick shower, then changed into shorts and a tank top and spent the rest of the evening flipping through channels on the TV. I briefly toyed with calling Paige or Mimi but decided against it. It was a relief to not have to make conversation with Cooper after our encounter. Not that I would have minded his company, but I didn't need it. And I didn't feel the need to rehash my evening with my best friends, either. I just wanted to relax. The sex had been good and it was over and I wasn't over-thinking i
t.
Maybe I was wired to do this after all.
I slept well, grabbed a coffee and a muffin from the coffee shop, and headed back out to the pool, the same one where I'd watched the movie the night before. The morning air was warm but the heat wasn't oppressive and a light breeze blew in from the west. I found a spot under an umbrella and fished a magazine out of my bag and spent the better part of an hour just being lazy.
“You were gone last night,” a voice said from behind my chair.
I smiled, recognizing the voice. “Was I?”
Eric pulled up a chair next to mine and sat down. “I came back to look for you, but you were already gone.”
“I thought I saw you making plans with that pool waitress,” I said, amused.
He grinned. “I'm not sure we made plans.”
“So I didn't see you chatting her up and following her out of the pool?”
“Well, that's far different than making plans,” he said, winking at me.
“Of course.”
“So maybe we can make plans for tonight?” he asked. “Have that drink I keep asking you for.”
I glanced back down at the magazine in my lap. “Actually, I already have plans, so I can't.”
“You're killing me,” he said, groaning. “I'm laying it all out here and you keep rejecting me.”
“Do you ever take the hint?”
“Nope,” he said, his green eyes sparkling. “I'm trying not to take it personally.”
I laughed. “How else can you take it?”
“Like you're testing me or something.” His voice was hopeful.
I shook my head. “I'm not. That's not me.”
“Hmmm,” he said, frowning at me. “My time is nearly running out. Especially now that you have plans tonight.”
“Sorry.”
“So what about lunch?”
“What about lunch?”
He glanced at his watch. “it's almost eleven o'clock. Maybe we could grab an early lunch.”
“So what?” I asked. “You wanna just get something to eat and then go back to my room and jump in bed?”
He leaned in closer. “If that's an invitation, yes.”
I smiled. He was at least earnest, if not a blatantly obvious flirter.
“It's not,” I said.
“No?” he said. “Because I could take my lunch break now. We could go back to your room and we could...make plans.”
I closed the magazine. “Doesn't management frown on fucking the guests while you're on the clock?”
He chuckled. “If I'm at lunch, they won't mind. I wouldn't have to put it on my time card.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Now, if we just go into the pool house and lock the door and I take you right there on the towels, then I might have a problem.”
I turned away from him so he wouldn't see me smile. He was funny. I sat up and swung my legs over the chair so we were knee to knee. He tilted his head to the side, like he was studying me.
“I don't think I've ever met anyone as persistent as you,” I said.
“Everybody's gotta be good at something,” he said, smiling.
“If I didn't have plans, I might cave,” I said.
“Break 'em.”
I shook my head. “Nope. That's not me, either.”
He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. “A shame.” Then he leaned back down, shooting a wicked grin at me. “Because I'm good at other things, too.”
ELEVEN
The Wild Tarantula was about ten minutes from the resort, tucked in between a dentist office and a carpet store at the end of a small strip mall. Cooper suggested it because he said the tourists never found it – it was the kind of place that locals knew about and kept to themselves.
I'd gone back to the room after my lunch without Eric, took a short nap and then a long shower. I'd picked out a light blue sundress and white sandals to wear to dinner. Cooper and I had agreed on the restaurant before he'd left my room, planning to meet around 5:30. I'd asked the valet attendant to bring my car and he drove up five minutes later, the air conditioning running at full blast, the interior already cooled off. I smiled and tipped him and drove the two miles to the restaurant.
I wasn't nervous about seeing him again. We'd had such an easy rapport that I didn't think the conversation would be forced or difficult, even after we'd slept together. And I wasn't putting any expectations on the rest of the night. If we came back to my room or went to his place, that was fine. Going our separate ways was okay, too.
Somewhere, somehow, I'd crossed the threshold from thinking that every sexual contact had to lead to something permanent to accepting the fact that every sexual contact wouldn't lead to something permanent. I didn't know exactly what had happened to help me realize this but I was thinking it had to do with my encounter with Cooper. He hadn't set out to seduce me and I certainly hadn't thought of him in a sexual way. It had just...happened.
Or maybe it was that my nomadic lifestyle was taking hold and I was starting to see things in week long increments. Or maybe I was starting to like the idea of sex without strings. I smiled to myself. I wasn't sure what it was, but there was no anxiety about going to dinner with Cooper, or about what the rest of the night might hold.
A large neon sign with a tarantula was my signal that I'd found the right restaurant. I parked the rental in the lot, checked my hair and makeup in the rearview mirror, grabbed my purse and headed inside.
The interior was decidedly less tacky than the outside, with small round tables, cozy booths, a well-lit bar and a wait staff dressed in shorts and black T-shirts. I didn't see Cooper and the hostess took me back to a small booth just past the bar. I ordered a glass of water and took the menu the waitress offered.
Ten minutes later, I'd drained my glass and had memorized every item on the menu. I glanced at my phone and wondered if Cooper had bailed on me. Annoyance surfaced and I was just about to get up and leave when I saw the front door open and Cooper rush inside. He stood at the hostess stand, dressed in a navy blue golf shirt and tan slacks. His hair was still damp and he was scanning the tables, a concerned expression on his face. I held up a hand and waved to him and a smile of relief appeared. He said something to the hostess and headed my way.
“Sorry I'm late,” he said, sliding into the booth across from me. “Something came up.”
“No problem at all.”
He pointed at my almost water glass. “Nothing fun yet?”
“I figured I'd wait for you.”
The waitress showed up at the table, a pad of paper and pen in hand.
“Margarita good with you?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Two of the house margaritas and chips and queso, please,” he said.
The waitress scribbled on her pad and headed toward the bar.
Cooper leaned back in the booth and splayed his hands on the table. “So. Good day today?”
“A little pool time, some reading, just general laziness,” I told him. “So, yeah. Good day. How about you?”
He tapped his fingers on the table. “Oh, sure. Few lessons, couple meetings with club reps. Nothing special.”
“Nothing special, just busy, huh?”
“Busy? No more so than usual.”
“Oh. You said something came up so I just figured it was work related.”
He furrowed his brown. “Oh,” he said, his expression clearing. “Yeah. That. It was no big deal.” He glanced toward the bar. “I like this place. Food's pretty good.”
“I liked the tarantula out front,” I told him.
His fingers were still tapping. “The what?”
“The tarantula? The big neon one outside?”
“Oh, right, right,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, it's pretty funny.”
The waitress delivered our drinks, bright yellow margaritas in massive glasses, along with a basket of fresh tortilla chips and a dish of steaming white queso. She asked if we were ready to order.
“G
ive us a few, would you?” Cooper said. “We haven't even looked at menus yet.” I didn't tell him that I'd spent ten minutes poring over it, waiting for him to get there.
She nodded and headed back toward the bar.
“These are pretty potent,” he said, stirring the small red straw in his drink. “Just a warning.”
I sipped at the straw and the tequila burned my throat. “Potent or deadly?” I asked, coughing.
He chuckled, pulled the straw from his drink, then took a long swallow from the glass.
He licked his lips. “Yum.” He motioned at the queso. “This is good, too.”
The queso was better than good and we ate and drank for a minute in silence. I didn't stare at Cooper but I could see that he was looking around the restaurant, his eyes scanning the room, his gaze darting back to the entrance every couple of minutes. His fingers tapped the table and he was looking at nearly everything but me.
“We should probably decide on some food,” I said, more to break the silence than because I was hungry.
“Oh, right, right,” he said, sliding one of the menus in my direction. “Everything's pretty good. I like the enchiladas. The steak burrito is good, too,.”
The waitress returned and I ordered the chimichanga plate and Cooper ordered the enchiladas. He smiled through another swallow from his drink, then set it on the table and licked his lips again.
“Are you okay?” I asked. His eye was less swollen today, the cut less severe looking, but that wasn't what I was talking about.
“Sure,” he said, looking surprised. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“You just seem a bit nervous,” I said.
“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, his eyes doing the once over around the room again.
“You sure?” I asked. I swallowed more of the margarita, letting the alcohol warm my throat. “I mean, if we need to talk about last night or—”
“No, no,” he said, reaching for his drink again. “Nothing like that.”
I watched him swallow a huge gulp, nearly emptying the large glass. “So what is it like, then?”
Love In Arizona (The Love In 50 States Series Book 3) Page 5
