Though it’s time to step that pace up a bit. Taking a deep breath, I reach behind me, searching for the fastening of my bra. I pop it open, freeing my breasts, and let it drop to the floor. I am all over him now, my smooth bare thighs pressed against his hairy ones, my soaking crotch rubbing against his cock, my tits dangling invitingly in his face. When Ivor rises up and catches one of my nipples between his lips, I don’t pull away. I can’t. The electric thrill that goes through me as he sucks on my flesh is making me dizzy with desire.
Should I be doing this with a man I met less than an hour ago? Probably not. Should he be doing this when he’s days away from getting married? Almost certainly not. But I don’t think either of us cares. We’re lost in the moment, only aware of our need for each other, a need that’s getting stronger by the minute. Fate dumped him on my doorstep and maybe this was meant to happen. After all, it’s not as though we’re ever going to see each other again.
His hands are on my breasts now, squeezing them together so he can lick my nipples in turn. The feel of his mouth is exquisite, but it’s still a shock to realise that the woman who is moaning and begging him to suck harder is actually me. What happened to being the one in control? I try to assert myself again, unfastening the dressing gown and pushing it off his broad shoulders so I can get at his body, but he’s doing something to my nipples with his thumbs now and his teeth are nipping at a spot on my neck that seems to be connected directly to my cunt, because I can feel the sensation down there, too, and I just want him to go ahead and fuck me.
His fingers push their way down the front of my shorts, homing in on my clit. Again, he teases me, not touching with quite enough pressure to help me on the way to my climax. The pad of his thumb brushes against my rosebud, threatening to sink into the tight little hole. I whimper in frustration, wriggling against his fingers, wanting to be filled. And then he’s pulling my shorts down and off, and grabbing handfuls of my bum so he can lift me up and onto his cock. He’s so hot, so hard inside me, and I rock to and fro, quickly finding a rhythm that suits us both. I stare into his eyes, not quite believing how good this is, how right. How can two people who don’t know each other at all make this happen so perfectly, when others try for years and never reach the heights we’re reaching now? And then I can’t try to puzzle it out any more, because the pleasure is peaking and peaking and his cock is pulsing inside me. As he comes, he calls my name.
We roll together on the bed, my head on his chest, his arms wrapped round me. He’s asleep within moments, which doesn’t honestly surprise me after everything he’s been through. As I begin to drift off myself, I don’t regret what I’ve done, only the fact that it won’t ever happen again. Whoever the future Mrs Curtis may be, I just hope she appreciates what she has.
When the knocking on the door wakes me, I feel disorientated. I have no idea what time it is or why I’m still in bed, until the sight of the naked man lying beside me reminds me of what’s happened. I shrug on some clothes, as Ivor sits up and runs a hand through his messy hair, and tell him I’ll be back in a moment.
There’s a Jeep parked in the road outside the cottage and a lanky blond standing on my doorstep who, even out of a suit and tie, looks every inch the City boy. My second stranger of the day, but I’d know it was Jonny even if his T-shirt didn’t have the words ‘Last Days Of Freedom Tour’ emblazoned on the front. I’m pleased to see he seems more than a little worried.
‘Hi.’ He’s holding a pair of sunglasses, even though it’s January, and he twiddles them compulsively between his fingers. ‘I’m looking for a friend of mine. I – er – dropped him off here last night and he left me a message to say that you were taking care of him for me.’
Funny how he neglects to mention the umbrella, the parcel tape and the complete lack of clothes. ‘I’m not sure, maybe you ought to call the police,’ I say, wanting to laugh at the look of panic that streaks across his face. ‘Or maybe you just ought to come inside for a minute.’ I call up the stairs, ‘Ivor, I think there’s someone come to apologise.’
He appears at the top of the stairs, wearing Mike’s dressing gown, and comes trotting down when he realises it’s Jonny.
‘You OK, mate?’ he asks nonchalantly.
Jonny’s expression is thunderous. ‘“Come and get me,” you said. “I’m in a thatched cottage with ivy round the door,” you said. Do you know just how many cottages round here look like that? It was like driving through the picture on a fucking chocolate box … But it’s still good to see you.’
The two men envelop each other in an awkward blokey hug and, to his credit, Jonny does actually say sorry for what he’s done.
‘You’re lucky, you know,’ I tell Jonny. ‘There are people round here who wouldn’t have treated Ivor quite as well as I did.’
Jonny looks from me to his friend. It can’t be hard for him to work out what’s happened, given that both Ivor and I are radiating the aura of satisfaction which follows spectacular sex, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s brought a carrier bag full of clothes from the Jeep with him, and he hands them over to Ivor, who slips his boxers on before removing the dressing gown. When he’s dressed, in baggy combats and stag-tour T-shirt, he takes me in his arms and kisses me goodbye. The kiss goes on for so long that by the end Jonny is shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, anxious to be off. Tough, I think; the whole point of leaving Ivor out here was to embarrass him and now you’re the one who’s embarrassed. I don’t even think I’ll become some dirty little secret to be picked over in the best man’s speech; I sense it will leave Jonny with far too much explaining to do if the story ever comes out, too much guilt about how it could have all turned nasty. Best to leave it as it is: a one-off as delicious as it was unexpected.
Ivor finally breaks the embrace, and he and Jonny make their way out to the Jeep. I wave them off as they head for Bournemouth and normality – or as normal as a stag weekend ever gets. Another mug of tea, I think, as I shut the door behind me, and then straight back to the PC. Inspiration has returned and a new character is forcing his way into my novel. He’s a tall sexy stranger with great thighs and a roguish grin and, for some reason, I picture him as a surfer.
Vacation A. D. R. Forte
‘A FEW EXTRA days won’t hurt.’
‘But …’
‘Whsst! No buts. Jas, you need it.’
Jasalina Milford looked up from her computer and frowned at her boss and best friend, Dani Thompson.
‘I don’t need a holiday. I need you to stop pestering me about it.’ She stuck her tongue out at Dani and turned back to the screen where her hotel reservation blinked patiently and waited for her to confirm dates and enter a credit card.
Dani sat down on the opposite side of the executive office desk and stretched out her turquoise-beringed hands in appeal.
‘Just two days after the conference. Get some sunshine, some sand, some waves. Get a man for God’s sake!’
Dani put one hand to her eyes in tragic despair and Jas burst out laughing.
‘You make me sound as pathetic as you, you old hag.’
Jas swirled the mouse pointer around the screen, but didn’t click the ‘OK’ button to take her to next page. She sat tapping her fingers on the side of the mouse and frowning at the screen instead.
Dani pounced on that fragment of hesitation. ‘You see? You do want to stay. At least when I was your age, I got some action. Well … a lot of action.’
‘Woodstock princess, right?’ Jas said, looking up at Dani from under her eyebrows with a smile.
‘Bet your sweet ass! Oh, those were the days. Music, love …’ Dani swayed to the invisible strains of some long-gone acoustic guitar. Then she stopped abruptly and turned to Jas. ‘But you! Look at you.’ She pointed, jabbing palms upwards, summing Jas up in exasperated disapproval.
Jas shifted in her chair; released the mouse. She leant back, biting one short, already-jagged nail. ‘What about me?’
Dani’s eyes took in what Jas was alrea
dy painfully aware of. Pressed business pants suit over a crisp T-shirt. Sensible loafers. Quality socks. Clean, short, sensible hair.
No dangles, no sparkles, no glitter. None of the whisper of feminine allure that women like Dani carried with them even when they weren’t dressed up. Nope. Jas Milford was sensible. And clean. Clean was a bonus, at least.
Dani didn’t have to say anything; she simply clucked her tongue and shook her head. ‘And these nails!’ She reached across the desk again and grabbed Jas’s hands, staring at the blunt well-chewed surfaces before her in despair. ‘Short of Louisiana hot sauce I don’t know how to keep them out of your mouth, but I know I pay you more than enough to get a manicure.’
Jas shrugged and pulled her hands away. ‘Don’t have time.’
‘You know, anybody would swear I chained you to that desk and beat you with a stick.’
‘You don’t?’ Jas grinned at the older woman. ‘Look, Dani, darling. I know you’re trying to help, but I’m just not –’ she waved her hands in the air in an exaggerated approximation of Dani’s own flamboyant gestures ‘– frilly. Girly. And OK maybe I work too hard but it’s not like I have anything else to do.’
‘Whose fault is that?’
Giving in, Jas sighed. ‘Mine. Mine, mine, mine. But I’m fine. I’m OK. I –’
‘You got bags under your eyes, honey.’
Sigh. ‘I’ll stay. Two days.’
Dani clapped her hands and started to talk but Jas cut her off with a slicing gesture. ‘No. No new clothes, no manicure. No men. Or women. I’m just taking a short holiday.’
Dani’s face fell again, but she knew when to cut her losses and move on. ‘Did you book an ocean-view suite?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jas turned back to the screen, tapped in her credit card and confirmed the reservation. Then she swivelled the monitor for Dani’s perusal. ‘OK?’
‘OK. But next time …’
‘Next time.’ Jas waved her towards the door. ‘Now get out, you’re making me lose productivity.’
With a laugh Dani left the office and Jas sighed again. Two whole days at a beachfront resort. What the hell was she going to do?
Admittedly, the resort was gorgeous. South Florida in May, before the tourists flooded it in messy, loud droves was a beautiful, beautiful place. And best of all, there was no line at the checkin. Just one lone traveller in faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt.
A white T-shirt that was rather tight across a muscular back and jeans that hugged a very toned ass. South Beach diet and hours on the treadmill no doubt. Nice to look at, but not much more. Dani didn’t get it: those worth a second look weren’t worth the time and vice versa. This was why she worked and watched movies; it was time far better spent.
She walked up to the counter, credit card and ID at the ready. And her phone rang. She reached for it, mistimed her grab and her conference name-tag spun to the floor. The phone followed it because her fingers had gone all thumbs suddenly. A happenstance she was sure had nothing to do with Blue Jeans having turned and knelt to retrieve her name-tag. Nor the fact that he was still on one knee and looking up at her, all Viking ice-blond hair and green eyes and features that could cut cold butter.
She held her breath as he handed the phone back to her and then the name-tag. He glanced down at the card as she took it and he stood.
‘Jasalina? Is that right?’ A voice like war drums rolling across northern seas. And he had the pronunciation perfect, rolling her name off as easily as if he’d said it a thousand times.
‘Erm, yes. But I go by Jas. Usually.’
‘It’s pretty. Tyrell.’
‘Nice to meet you. And thanks.’
‘My pleasure.’
She extended a professional hand and he took it, her tiny palm swallowed in his, her skin pale as moonlight against his tan. The grasp lasted no longer than it should, and he smiled, shouldered his bag and left. But the sound of his voice still rumbled in her ears. Confusing her. Jas Milford, who was never confused. And the desk clerk had to ask her name twice before she could find herself again.
When Dani called to check on her, she lied. Nothing of interest. Just got here, checked in, ordered salmon for dinner.
‘No cute guys?’ Dani asked.
‘Not a one.’
After she hung up, she lay staring at the ceiling. Why hadn’t she said anything? Dani would have been thrilled.
Because there was nothing to tell. This was a hundred-plus-room hotel and she was never, ever going to see him again. And what were the chances he was there for the same conference she was anyway?
Exactly none. Just as she’d predicted.
She looked over the faces at breakfast and in the meeting rooms simply because it was natural to seek out familiarity. And beauty. But it wasn’t disappointment she felt in not finding the face she sought. It was vindication. Because she’d been right.
And she continued to be right, up until lunchtime the next day when she sat beside the bronze mermaid fountain, ostensibly reading the ten or fifteen ‘Steps to Effective Negotiation and Communication’. Fussy tourists and harassed business travellers were proving more interesting than the fourth step, however, and she was busy people-watching from under her lashes. Which explained why she didn’t know she had company until that voice tore through all her safety nets, and proved her wrong.
‘Hi. Can I join you?’
She looked up and forgot the fourth step, the tourists and pretty much everything else. In jeans and T-shirt he had been rugged, dashing, attractive. In shirt and tie, hair slicked back from his face to reveal all of its knife-edge beauty, he was beyond words.
‘Yes. Yes, certainly.’
She shifted to create unneeded room on the bench. Better to put as much distance as possible between herself and that powerful body. In those powerful, treacherous clothes that made her think of taking them off. Slowly.
It was a good thing, a very good thing, she didn’t blush easily.
‘Thanks,’ he said. He dropped his laptop bag on the ground and dug out an energy snack bar, opened the soda bottle he carried. Jas only watched. No, she stared; she couldn’t help it. She had to say something.
‘Busy day?’
He smiled. Oh God, he smiled.
‘Yes. Client meetings all day. Then wouldn’t you know I leave a contract for my afternoon meeting in my room this morning. And the softcopy won’t open.’
She nodded eagerly, vigorously. Glad for common ground, something safe she could talk about without thoughts of captured Viking warriors and stone towers and whether that pin-straight hair would soften in the steam from a scorching hot bath.
‘Been there,’ she agreed. ‘Many times. And it’s always the presentation for the most anal-retentive v.p. that decides not to work.’
He nodded, munching on his power bar. He swallowed, took a drink of soda and raised his eyebrows. ‘But all you’d have to do was smile and nobody would care.’
Act stupid. Act as if she didn’t get the implication. That was safe. ‘I only wish. Smiling and nodding only works when you’re not over budget.’
She looked away at the two church ladies chatting nearby.
Don’t look at him. Pretend he’s not looking; divert his attention.
It worked until a sharp jolt of pain shot through her hand, making her hiss and jump. She’d bitten clear through her nail to the quick and it was bleeding. Damn.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine I just … oh.’
A warm hand was over her wrist and another was wrapping a half-folded sheet of paper over her thumb.
‘Sorry, I don’t even have a napkin. But might as well put this contract to good use.’
Horrified, she stared at him, ignoring the painful throb in her finger. ‘That’s your contract?’
He shrugged, flashed her a wicked smile. ‘Only the part that details our liability. They don’t need that in there.’
‘But. Your meeting’s this afternoon!’
&nbs
p; ‘Jas, it is Jas right? I can have my assistant fax them a copy tomorrow. It’s fine. You’re hurt now.’
Forget her thumb. It was her mind she couldn’t hold on to.
Somehow she mumbled, ‘Thanks.’ Putting a hand over her makeshift bandage, and thereby dislodging his grasp, she risked a glance upwards. ‘I should just learn not to bite my nails.’
He laughed and rubbed a forgiving hand along her arm. ‘You should. Took me years to break the habit myself. Sometimes I still slip up when I’m really worried.’
She looked down at his hands. Warrior’s hands. Broad, powerful. Long fingers with rough cut but even nails. Impossible to imagine they’d ever been bitten.
‘You know, like when I forget important contracts.’
She looked at him, guilt and desire and all kinds of uncomfortable, inconvenient things conspiring to make her heart pound and her finger hurt even more. ‘I’m sorry, Tyrell. Thank you, yet again. That’s twice now.’
He stood and reached down for his bag. To watch him move was an indulgence in itself. A sweet lazy one. Like expensive chocolate.
‘Good thing I’m around at the right times. But I have to run. Maybe I’ll see you later?’
This was going too far now. Clutching her thumb, she frowned. A small polite frown tempered with an even politer, keep-your-distance smile. ‘Maybe. Good luck this afternoon.’
His smile faded and he nodded as if waiting for her to say something more. ‘Thanks. You have a good afternoon too.’
He nodded goodbye, turned away. For half a heartbeat, one insane moment, she drew breath to call him back. But she didn’t. Safer that way.
She ate dinner alone, early, skipping the post-conference happy hour. In the half-empty restaurant dining room, she got a seat at a window table where the sunset did its best to seduce her with vivid reds and burnt oranges. She promised herself a walk later when the sky had cooled to deep purple and the sand would be soft powder under her toes.
Sex with Strangers Page 19
