by Ava McKnight
I set the bottle of merlot on the coffee table and curled up next to him on the sofa, not yet touching the food. I asked, “Tell me what changed from the first time we made love Sunday night to the second time.”
He drew in a deep sip of the burgundy-colored liquid and then rested his forearms on his thighs, his hands between his legs as he continued to hold the glass.
When he seemed to have his thoughts sorted out, he glanced over at me and said, “I’ve wanted you for a long time, that’s no secret. But I didn’t realize how much I wanted you until I was making love to you. And then I realized that wanting you wasn’t just a physical desire with some emotion around it. The truth is, Lacey, despite how phenomenal it feels to be inside you, that actually dulls in comparison to how phenomenal it feels to be in love with you.”
Tears instantly sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t imagine anyone saying something more poignant to me.
Continuing, he told me, “It was a bit overwhelming. And, like I said the other night, I tried to tamp down some of those feelings. I tried to stay in control of them by not being so intimate with you. But I know now that’s impossible. We’ve both reached the same conclusion. It doesn’t matter how we have sex. It is going to be explosive between us. And intimate. It’s innate because of the way we feel about each other and the way we respond to each other.”
He paused, took another sip, then added, “I just wish it’d been perfect that night.”
As fat drops rolled down my flushed cheeks, I said, “That night was perfect. Regardless of the hiccups, it was perfect, Mike.”
He gave me a funny look that made me laugh. I swiped at my tears and explained, “It was very moving, extremely powerful. It was also a catalyst. I found it more difficult to write that letter to you after you’d left on a sour note than if you’d stayed and everything had been hunky-dory between us. If we hadn’t suffered the emotional conflict, I probably would have kept things status quo as long as possible. Even though I knew I had all these feelings inside that were dying to be let out and which mirrored your own emotions, I would have kept them bottled up if I hadn’t felt an urgent need to express them.”
I let out a long sigh as I owned up to all of this, allowing him to as well. Finally, I said, “I don’t want be that person, Mike. I don’t want to keep playing it safe when it comes to you. I want to be open and honest and…fearless.”
His ocean-blue eyes crinkled around the edges as one corner of his mouth lifted. “You never fail to amaze me, babe.” He leaned toward me and planted a stellar kiss on me. Then he whispered, “I’m convinced we’re meant for each other.”
I took the wineglass from him and placed it on the coffee table. With his hand in mine, I stood, tugging gently so he’d join me.
I said, “You know the best part about Chinese takeout?”
His grin widened, clearly knowing what was on my mind. “What’s that?”
“It’s just as good heated up if you don’t get to it right away.”
Pulling me into his tight embrace, he kissed me passionately again. When we came up for air, he said, “See? You’re not predictable at all.”
Another scorching-hot kiss had me melting in my slippers. I honestly could not think of anything other than the two of us. The rest of the world—including my favorite TV shows and duck Peking—ceased to exist.
Dragging my mouth from his, I said, “Make love to me. Any way you want.”
He released me and I led him into the bedroom. We’d barely crossed the threshold when he reached for me once more. He pulled the sash at my waist, untangling the bow. The robe fell open and he sucked in a sharp breath. I stepped away from him in order to light a few more candles. I felt his gaze on me as I moved about the room.
Satisfied with the ambience—I didn’t bother with music because it’d started to rain and the drops pelted the windows, creating a seductive backdrop with the candles—I slipped out of the robe.
Mike swallowed hard as he took in my chemise, with the thin straps on my shoulders, the plunging neckline and back, and the ultra-short hem. Heat lit his eyes as they roved my body from head to toe, indicating he liked the stockings and heels as well.
As he yanked his black T-shirt from the waist of his Levi’s, he closed in on me. He pulled the shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. I marveled at his perfectly sculpted torso, realizing I had desperately missed looking at him—and touching him—the past couple nights.
“Hercules called while you were away,” I said in a sultry, flirty voice. “Said he wanted his body back.”
“Oh yeah?”
I grinned, then said, “I hung up on him.”
Mike chuckled. “And what about the lingerie model who wants her body back?”
A prickle of excitement against my clit made my tone breathless as I teased, “Like what you see, bad boy?”
He groaned, low and deep. Igniting a fire inside me. “Do I ever. Tell me you brought home shopping bags full of stuff like this.”
“As a matter of fact…” I wagged my brows suggestively. He reached for me and hauled me up against his hunky body.
“You make me hard and I haven’t even touched you,” he said in a gruff voice.
Sparks shot out in all directions within me, prickling all my sensitive spots. Making me hot and restless and in desperate need of him. Only him.
“Well, who’s stopping you?”
With desire and much deeper emotions flashing in his eyes and stamped across his face, he moved us backward until the undersides of my knees brushed the edge of the mattress. He eased me down to the bed, sprawling on top of me, settling between my parted legs. I loved the feeling of his weight on me, but more than that, I found I yearned for the closeness we shared, physically as well as emotionally.
He kissed me lustily as his large hand swept under the hem of the chemise that pulled tight against my upper thighs. Palming an ass cheek, he gave it a slightly rough squeeze that jolted me in a deliciously wicked way.
As our upper bodies pressed together and our legs tangled, his fingers on my backside slipped behind the thin string of my panties and brushed the cleft, from the rim of my anus to my swollen labia and back. Making me ridiculously wet as he continued.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and plowed the fingers of one hand through his thick hair. The other hand clutched his shoulder, keeping him close to me.
When he targeted my swollen pussy lips and then my clit, I tore my mouth from his and gulped in air. My flushed skin burned and my insides sizzled. I squirmed against him, whimpering softly as the tension built within me.
He worked two fingers into my wet cunt from behind and they filled me. I let out a sharp gasp, followed by a throaty moan as he stroked my inner walls. His mouth was on my neck and he nipped and suckled my flesh as he finger-fucked my pussy. One of his jeans-clad legs was wedged between mine and my labia and clit rubbed against it through the thin fabric of my G-string. The satin material that covered me, and his thick thigh massaging me, created a titillating sensation that added to the intensity of his foreplay. I literally rode his thigh as his fingers pumped in and out of my pussy.
I teetered on the ragged edge. Everything about him—and the things he did to me—sent me into sensory overload and pushed me to the limits of my restraint. As much as I wanted to hold on to the wild and wicked feelings coursing through my veins, I couldn’t stop the swelling inside me that ballooned and burst in a vibrant flash of breath-stealing ferocity.
“Oh God, Mike!” I called out. Clutching him to me, I let the waves of ecstasy pull me under as his fingers continued to massage my dripping cunt, sliding in and out a bit easier now.
I hadn’t expected him to get me off so quickly, but should have. When I opened my eyes and found him staring intently at me, I could see he had a need to make me come. In fact, he gave me mere seconds to recover my breathing before he pulled away, whisked off my panties and tossed them aside. He positioned himself between my parted legs and spread them wid
e, the bottom of the chemise inching up to my hips to accommodate the way he opened me to him. His head lowered and he licked my labia, wrenching another lustful moan from me.
“You taste so good,” he whispered against my mound, his breath teasing my dewy flesh. “And the way you smell… It drives me crazy.”
He suckled a pussy lip and then the tip of his tongue flicked against my swollen clit, over and over, until I was writhing and moaning and barreling toward the edge again.
“Michael,” I mumbled as my body bowed off the bed, my hips lifting to press myself against his mouth more firmly. I cupped my breasts and toyed with the tight nipples, rolling and pinching them as he pushed me to that beautiful precipice.
While he continued to lick me, two of his long, tapered fingers plunged into me again and he pumped fast as my hips undulated to his rhythm.
“Yes,” I whispered in a harsh voice. “Just like that. Make me come. Please make come.”
Everything inside me felt tight and tingly and fiery. As much as I loved how sensational it all was, and tried once more to prolong it, I desperately needed the release. He gave it to me.
His fingers stroked me quickly and he suckled the knot of nerves between my legs and, suddenly, everything coursing through me collided and erupted and I cried out his name again.
He pushed deeper and I clenched his fingers, riding out the powerful orgasm. Mike seemed to be in no particular hurry. In fact, he kept up the stroking and the licking as I burned from the inside out.
Eventually, I flattened a palm against his shoulder and gave it a light shove. “You have to stop. I’ll either spontaneously combust or I’ll die of want.”
His head popped up from between my legs, his brow lifted. “Die of want?”
“Yeah. Die of wanting you inside me.”
“Can’t have that,” he murmured as he moved away and stripped off his jeans.
I watched him undress and roll a condom he’d extracted from the front pocket of his Levi’s down his thick shaft. I remembered how he’d looked a week ago, when he’d used my shower. Interestingly, I’d found him fiercely attractive as he’d stood in my bathroom in all his tempting nudity and every time thereafter when I’d seen him naked, I’d thought he was even hotter. Sexier. Tonight, I was convinced no man had been sculpted so perfectly.
Just a week ago, I’d thought I could play with fire and not get burned. That I could beg him to fuck me just once and then be done with it. Be done with him. Yet, as he climbed into bed with me, my gaze locked on every inch of his masculine magnificence, I knew I could never have been with him just once, regardless of my supposed convictions.
The fact was, I couldn’t get enough of him. I couldn’t get close enough to him as he settled between my legs and sank into my wet and oh so ready cunt. I couldn’t get enough of his searing kisses and his skillful hands on my body. I couldn’t get enough of the electric current that naturally arced between us, creating both a physical jolt that rocked me to the core, but also a visceral bond that satisfied my emotional needs.
This was the intimacy I’d longed for my entire adult life. I’d found it with Mike Lucas, the reformed womanizer who was still one delicious bad boy. My bad boy.
And for the first time, I realized that previously thinking he was almost completely irresistible had been a ridiculous notion to latch on to. There was no almost about it. I was hopelessly lost in his lovemaking, in the way he stared deep into my eyes, in the way he made me come. No way could I walk away from this. He was one-hundred percent irresistible.
With a dreamy sigh as I held him to me and moved with him, I said, “I hope you brought more than one condom.”
He kissed me softly, then resumed the intense eye contact that made my heart flutter. “Oh, yeah. But I’ll be visiting the drugstore first thing tomorrow morning. We have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
My cunt clenched at his words and he groaned.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Squeeze me tight.”
I did, clenching and releasing as our tempo increased. He thrust more forcefully into me, sending me to all-new heights of arousal.
We didn’t break the eye contact as he made love to me. And when we came together, our cries of pleasure filling the quiet room, I knew one true and sound absolution. We really were meant for each other.
Epilogue
Stopping to Smell the Roses.
(Or, in This Case, the Ocean.)
After successfully making it through the first full month of our committed, sexually and emotionally charged relationship, Mike and I found ourselves in-between investigative gigs and decided to try our hand at vacationing together.
We both agreed on the Riviera Maya and booked a cozy room at a small resort nestled amongst lush foliage and located at the water’s edge. With our toes in the sand, the ocean undulating before us and the warm sun caressing our skin, we sipped margaritas and enjoyed a respite from the hustle and bustle of New York City, our chaotic careers and the insanity of finding that simpatico niche with each other.
Without doubt, we were finally on the same page.
“Should we snorkel today?” he asked as we lounged in plush, comfy chairs and a waiter refreshed our cocktails. “See what’s out there in that big, blue ocean?”
“How about tomorrow?” I suggested, having no desire to move from this particular spot. Besides, Mike shirtless and wearing a pair of navy-and-white board shorts was currently the only visual in which I was interested.
With a chuckle, he said, “Okay. Whatever you want.” As casual as can be, which had, over time, eased my OCD. We were perfect together.
Unfortunately, my ringing cell phone interrupted our tranquility. I’d slipped it into my beach bag in the event my mother tried to reach me. She didn’t respond well to voicemail. She believed if you carried a cell phone, you were always available. Especially when you knew it was your mother calling.
I set aside my margarita and answered, though it wasn’t her.
“This is Lacey,” I said, my tone as casual as Mike’s.
“Miss Mansfield,” a deep, no-nonsense voice on the other end filled my ear. “This is Jacob Holden, CEO of Holden Industries. Mav Linnear recommended I contact you regarding a slight…problem…I have.”
Perking up, I asked, “What can I do for you?”
He briefly relayed the highlights of his predicament and my toes tingled with excitement.
“I’ll be back in the States on Monday,” I told him. “Is that soon enough to meet with you?”
“At my office. I’ll send you the information.”
“Wonderful. And, by the way, feel free to call me Lacey.”
“I’ll see you on Monday, Miss Mansfield.”
Hmm. One of those…
I disconnected the call and dropped the phone into the bag, where it landed on a beach towel.
Mike leaned over and kissed me just below the ear, sending a shiver of exhilaration along my spine. “Who’s your date with?”
“Holden Industries. Misappropriated funds. No paper trail.”
Mike whistled under his breath. “That’ll be a fun case.”
Indeed.
He continued to kiss my neck, then whispered, “Hey, I forgot to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
“I think we should move in together.”
My heart fluttered. “Like a serious couple?”
“I am saving up for a ring.”
I likely would have lost my footing had I been standing. “Mike Lucas. Whoever would have thought…?”
He grinned at me. “Is that an informal yes…to both suggestions?”
“You can consider them formal acceptances, if you want.”
My lack of hesitation deepened his smile. “You know I’m going to hold you to that.”
“No worries there,” I said as I settled back in my chair and reached for my drink. “I’m in love, remember?”
Finally, Lacey Mansfield had struck the right balance with the u
niverse.
And I had the fearless supermodel and the gorgeous super-hunk to thank for it…
About Ava McKnight
Multi-published and award-winning author Ava McKnight’s love of romantic fiction began as a teenager. She holds degrees in General Studies and Communications and has worked on newspapers as an editor and reporter. Most recently, she worked in PR, writing speeches and Congressional testimonies.
Ava is a member of Romance Writers of America and one of its Phoenix chapters, Desert Rose. She has served as a Board member, Newsletter Director, National Contest Chairperson and Arbitration Co-Chair. She is also published in romantic fiction as Calista Fox.
Ava welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Ava McKnight
All for Shayla
Beyond Third Base
Island Fantasy
Jordan Tamed
Lured
One Spark
Satisfying Sophie
Scandalous
Vaughn’s Bidding
Playing With the Boys: Pure Pleasure
Playing With the Boys: Right Moves
Playing With the Boys: Wanted Distraction
Worth the Wait
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Champagne & Cravings
ISBN 9781419943881
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Champagne & Cravings Copyright © 2012 Ava McKnight
