She sobered a moment. “I don’t know you at all.” Her gaze tracked the features of his face. “That’s what makes it exciting.”
“Then let’s begin.” He stepped back to let her in. “Upstairs.”
She carried a large purse slung over her shoulder. It could contain her vibrator. If not, he’d bought a spare. She wore low-heeled pumps, and he enjoyed the sway of her ass as he followed her up the stairs.
“Why did you wear that dress?”
Her hand trailing the banister, she spoke over her shoulder. “This is who I am with the boys and at work. I wanted to come here and have you change me into another woman.”
Could she know how her words meshed precisely with all his plans for her? Oh, the law of attraction, they were meant to find each other. He wondered what she wore beneath the pretty flowered material. “Did your sons ask why you dressed up?”
She laughed again. “I know you told me to come straight here, but I dropped them off early and went back home to change.”
He reached up and swatted her ass. She squealed, then punctuated it with a giggle.
“That’s for not following orders,” he said.
She gave him a wide-eyed look as she headed along the upstairs hall. “Are you a dom or something?”
So she’d been doing some Internet research. “No. I’m your teacher. We also demand that our orders be obeyed.”
“Guess I’ll just lie about it next time,” she said flippantly, then stepped into his bedroom.
He’d closed the blinds over the back windows, lit a couple of scented candles, and left on only the lamp next to his reading chair. He sometimes liked to watch the sunset, but for now, he’d shifted the chair to face the bed. On the side table was a glass of red wine for him, and by the bed, a glass of white for her. The comforter was gone, leaving just the sheets and four pillows on the bed.
“Drink,” he said. “It will help your nerves.”
“I’m not nervous.” Her pulse fluttered at her throat, belying her words, and she took a long swallow of the wine.
“Now remove your clothes.”
Her skin flushed, and her breasts rose with a sharp intake of breath. “Just like that? No preliminaries?”
He settled himself in his reading chair. “What kind of preliminaries would you like?”
She set her purse on the bedside table next to the wineglass. “I don’t know. You’re rushing me.”
He propped one ankle on the opposite knee and leisurely sipped his wine. “I’m not rushing at all. I’m so hot and hard just thinking about seeing you naked that you’re lucky I haven’t already ripped off your clothes.”
She gasped, stared at him, a mischievous smile blossoming on her lips as she put her fingers to the button at her throat. “Well, if you put it like that.”
She was pleased. His tone had been mild, but the words desperate, a perfect combination.
“Did you bring your vibrator?”
She nodded.
“We’re going to need that, too. Why don’t you start by tossing it in the center of the bed.”
She eyed him. “I’ve never known a man who’s quite so specific about what he wants.”
She’d known very few men at all. He was lucky. He could train her. “You haven’t known any real men,” he said with inflection.
“True, true,” she murmured, probably thinking he couldn’t hear, as she rummaged around in her bag.
The vibrator bounced when she threw it on the bed. A very feminine pink, darker than her shade of lipstick, and plain. No rotating beads or pleasure bumps. It would do the trick nicely.
“Do you want me to perform a striptease?”
“I want whatever makes you wet and hot.”
She rolled her lips between her teeth, thinking, then she swallowed. “I want to stand right in front of you,” she said softly, hesitantly. He knew her desires warred with her fears, all the things a woman worried about. Will he think I’m fat, will he like my breasts, will he think I’m pretty and gorgeous?
“God, yes,” he whispered. “I want to see every inch of you revealed up close. I want to smell you. I want to see the moisture on your skin and the glisten of your pussy.”
He wanted to make himself crazy. Before he ever got to touch her.
HOW DID HE DO THAT? SHE WAS DRUNK, BUT IT WASN’T THE WINE. She was wet, but it wasn’t a touch. It was the honey in his words. It was the lick of his gaze. Her skin felt pebbled with nervous goose bumps, yet his silver tongue went a long way toward quashing all those nerves. With just a look, he made her feel desirable rather than ridiculous.
She hadn’t undressed for a man other than her husband in so many years, she’d forgotten what it felt like, the anticipation, the goose bumps, the nerves. Yet for Rand, her fingers went to the buttons of her matronly dress. She wanted to tear them free, almost as if she were freeing herself. Instead she slipped them loose slowly, one after another, watching his eyes as the irises deepened with desire to a darker hue.
She’d thought long and hard about what to wear tonight. She’d found that on the outside she wanted to look like what she was: a mom, a receptionist, an ex-wife. But underneath, she was all woman.
“Jesus Christ.” The curse fell from his lips, and she gloried it in. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
She shook her head. “No.” Then she stepped out of her shoes and pushed the dress over her hips. The material puddled at her feet.
“Fuck.”
There was such reverence in that word. Such desperation.
“I would have fucked you on the stairs if I’d known you were completely naked under there.”
He banished any nerves that still lingered. She continued to marvel over how he could do that.
Leaning close, he inhaled. “I can smell how wet you are.”
With his nearness, she got wetter. She wanted him to touch her, lick her, make her come. But she let him be her teacher. “What do you want me to do now?”
“I want you on the bed. I want you to spread your legs for me. To touch yourself for me.”
She swallowed. She’d known that was coming. Touching herself was for the dark of the night, when she was all alone. When she could let herself go, and scream and moan and toss her head on the pillow the way she never had when she was with Gary. It was too…embarrassing, like letting someone else see your innermost self.
Rand wanted it. Rachel wondered if she could give it to him, or if she’d freeze at the last moment, but she had to try.
She climbed on the bed, a heavy piece of furniture with a dark wood headboard and bedposts with decorative finials. He’d taken off the comforter to make sure her body didn’t get lost in the thickness of it, and he could see every detail unhindered. She angled herself so that he could see her most private parts, then, taking a deep breath for courage, she rolled to her back and spread her legs.
“God, you’re pretty.”
He had such a way of speaking. He must have seduced a thousand women. Rachel pulled one of the plump pillows beneath her head so she could see him. “Is this how you want me?”
“Yes.” He tugged at his belt, unzipped his jeans. Then he looked at her again. “I’m going to stroke myself while I watch you,” he said, as if it were a warning. “But first, I want you to show me how wet you are.”
She let him look.
“Go on, touch yourself,” he urged.
She tunneled her fingers between the lips of her sex. She couldn’t have imagined Mrs. Delaney doing this. But Rachel, the hot, sexy woman, oh yes. It was terrifying, amazing. Fire danced in Rand’s eyes as he watched her circle her clitoris with a finger. She was wet like never before, hot like the coals burning at the very center of a conflagration. She closed her eyes and lifted her hips to meet the caress of her fingers. Moaning, she gave herself up to touch and feel.
Then she had to see him again. She’d thought she could do this for him by pretending she was alone. But she needed to see.
His hair was dark blond in
the lamp’s light, and his features were granite. His cock was a prominent bulge against his white briefs, visible through the open zipper of his jeans.
“The vibrator,” he said.
She felt around on the bed, found it, twisted the base to High, then put it to the button of her clit. “Oh,” she murmured. Then louder, “Oh yes, yes.” She rotated her hips, playing the vibrator over herself with the movement of her body.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are.” Shoving his briefs down to bare himself, he rubbed his cock. Cock. It wasn’t a sweet word, but so elemental, so perfect, just like clit and pussy and fuck.
For a moment she closed her eyes and concentrated only on the sensation, the rise of her body, the heat flowing through her. She braced a hand against the headboard and bore down on the vibrator. She didn’t care that she moaned and panted and groaned. She didn’t care how undignified it all was.
Then she came back to him, opening her eyes.
“What were you thinking about?” His cock was big and hard in his hand as he stroked. She felt breathless watching, giddy that she had done that to him.
“I was thinking about you.”
“Liar. I want your fantasies. Close your eyes, fuck yourself with the vibrator, and tell me what you think about when you’re alone. Tell me what makes you the hottest.”
He was a beguiler, a hypnotist, a magician. He made it easy to admit anything.
She still couldn’t tell him about the massage. Even after all this time, and perhaps because of Rand’s easy acceptance of everything, the memory of Gary’s treatment of her was raw all over again. She couldn’t admit to how she’d allowed Gary to make her feel immoral.
But there were other fantasies she’d had over the years. In the past few days, with sex consuming her, they’d come back. She’d done a lot more fantasizing than she’d originally remembered. “I dream about a pirate kidnapping me and having his wicked way with me.”
Rand didn’t laugh. “Rape fantasies,” he whispered.
Yes, that’s probably what it was, but she’d had them since she was a teenager and had read her first steamy romance novel. Pirates, barbarians, sheikhs, and yes, Vikings. A modern woman should deny that a fantasy rape was a turn-on. Rachel couldn’t. Because it was fantasy; she’d never want it for real, but she loved imagining those steamy scenarios. “Or a handsome burglar breaking into the house.” That was a good one, too.
“You hear something downstairs,” he said, “but you’re all alone and the electricity is out. You can’t call anyone.” He became a part of the fantasy.
“I can hear him enter the room.” She slid the vibrator deep inside. Her body began to tremble. She closed her eyes, and there was only her fantasy and Rand’s voice.
“He holds your hands and tears off your nightie.”
“I’m so scared,” she whispered. But she wasn’t. She was wet, crazy with need.
“What does he do to you?”
“He fucks me, oh he fucks me, and he’s so big.”
The bed dipped as if her masked intruder were taking her. He pinched her nipple hard, and she cried out. “I don’t want to like it, but I can’t help it. My body just wants it.”
“His cock is huge.”
She felt his heat, smelled him, that hot, musky, aroused man scent. “He’s so deep.”
He circled her wrist, holding her arm high so that she couldn’t bring it down. “You love the way he’s fucking you.”
“Yes, yes, it’s terrible, but it’s so much better than Gary. It’s hot and hard and he wants me so bad. He forces me. I can’t stop him.”
“And you love it,” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes, yes.” She gasped with pleasure, the vibrator inside, on her G-spot, thrumming, making her mad. And him, Rand, close, watching her being taken, ridden, fucked. For a moment it was so real she could feel the pulse of a man inside her, the slickness of sweat between her legs, the wet sound of a cock slapping hard. Then she screamed, the world imploding around her, inside her, all over her, wet, sticky, hot, sweet, never ending.
9
SHE DIDN’T OPEN HER EYES FOR LONG MOMENTS. HER BLOND HAIR fanned out across the pillows, and the tips of her breasts were a dusky rose and still hard. His come bathed her stomach, glistening. He reached out slowly, rubbed it into her skin, up her abdomen, around her breasts, over her nipples, massaging the last vestiges of it into her chest so that she would smell him on her when she went home.
“Don’t wash it off. I want you to sleep with it.”
Rachel opened her eyes. Then she swallowed, and her gaze flitted away.
He held her chin, forced her to look at him. “That was perfect. Don’t go embarrassed on me now.”
She looked dazed. He put his hand to her cheek, his fingers still sticky with his own come, and took what he’d wanted when she’d first walked into his house tonight.
Her lips were sweet and plump beneath his. He slipped his tongue along the seam, then forced her to open. She moaned as if she’d been as desperate for the kiss as he. Desperation rose and waned. As he’d watched her hold the vibrator against herself, he’d wanted to be distant, to hold off. But as she’d spun her fantasy around them both, he’d needed to be there, right there. And now he had to have this kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, anchoring him to her, until she was the one feasting on him. He steeped himself in her for long, sweet moments.
Then she fell back to the pillow and stared up at him. “I’ve never done or felt anything like that before.”
He wanted to tell her that neither had he. He’d watched, he’d played, he’d done the same thing, but he’d never felt with the same intensity. Because he’d never before had a woman for whom all this was new. Her experience was more important than his own. “Tell me about that fantasy.”
She blushed, something he would have thought was impossible to notice against her skin, already flushed with climax. “I’d never really want to be raped,” she said, as if she had to justify herself.
“Neither would I.” He smiled, petted her face, her neck, her shoulder, as if he were gentling a skittish animal. “But it’s very hot to imagine waking to find myself tied to the bed by a sexy stranger who was just about to ride my cock. Completely against my will.”
She snorted. “That’s not the same.”
He cupped her face, turning her to him. “No. It’s not. But we can fantasize about anything we want.”
“I used to read romance novels back in the days when the heroines were all kidnapped by pirates.”
“It was a formative fantasy, then.” She’d stopped reading them, he could tell, but she still trotted out that little female wet dream. He wondered how he could give it to her.
“You’re like the fantasy,” she whispered.
“An escape?”
She nodded. That wasn’t a bad thing. Role-playing, fantasy, it was all a way to get her to drop her barriers.
Propped on his elbow next to her, their skin flush together, her heat reaching inside him, he played with the ends of her hair. “You did well tonight.”
“Oh, did I?” She raised a brow saucily.
“Yes. I’m pleased with you, and I have to decide what we’ll do tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?” She rose off the pillow.
“You’ll have your sons back on Sunday, so I don’t intend to miss a moment.”
“I’ll be exhausted.”
“You mean you don’t have an orgasm every day?”
She blushed again, a pretty pink hue. It was answer enough.
“Then we have to be sure you do,” he said. “The more orgasms you have, the more you’ll need.”
“Isn’t that the opposite of how it really works?” Her eyes flitted away as though she’d already found the answer for herself.
“No. A woman begins to crave orgasms. I want you to crave mine.”
Yes, he wanted her to crave his orgasms, the ones he was responsible for, whether she gave them t
o herself while she fantasized about him or he gave them to her with his mouth, his hands, or his cock.
He leaned close, breathed in the scent of his come on her skin, then whispered against her hair, “Tomorrow night, I will do all the touching. And you will come more times than you can count.”
RAND WAS RIGHT. HE WAS ALWAYS RIGHT. BY THE TIME SHE GOT home, she needed another orgasm. She smelled his come on her, and she came. She thought about his promise, how he’d execute it tomorrow night, and she came again. She thought about her fantasy burglar, and the orgasm simply dragged her under. She thought about all the nights in the week, all the things he could do to her, and she came again and again until she was so exhausted she couldn’t move.
He was dirty and carnal. A voyeur and an exhibitionist. He was kinky.
Gary would never have watched her masturbate. He would never have come on her or rubbed his semen into her skin as if it were lotion. It had been so much more intimate than sex. Her definition of intimacy was changing. Intimacy was trusting a man enough to do things for him that you would never do for anyone else. The things your mother would have washed your mouth out with soap for mentioning.
Kinky wasn’t bad; it was incredibly intimate. She would do just about anything he asked her to. What exciting thing would he want from her tomorrow night?
AFTER RETURNING FROM LUNCH THE NEXT DAY, RACHEL LOGGED into her personal email. She didn’t make a habit of checking it at work, but if Rand had something special in mind for tonight, like a particular outfit or something he wanted her to bring, she might have to stop on the way home. Yeah, yeah, it was an excuse to get a kick out of talking to him, even if it was only email.
She’d given him her cell number, now her email address. Pretty soon, she’d tell him her last name and give him her home address. But Rachel didn’t care. At the oddest moments, during her morning work routine, while she was getting ready for bed, she’d smell him, as if he were standing right behind her. He was intoxicating. He’d gotten into her head.
Her heart skipped a beat. There it was. His email handle was generic, as was hers, and the subject merely read “Tonight,” but her pulse started to race anyway.
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