Stranger

by Megan Hart

  “How’m I doing so far?” he asked, his head bent so his mouth brushed my cheek.

  “Good. Very…good.” Speaking took the effort of concentration I found difficult with his hand on me. So far he’d done no more than press against me. Hadn’t even rubbed. But primed by the long, slow minutes of kissing and the hours of mental foreplay I’d gone through already, my body was more than ready for him.

  His lips slipped down my neck to center over the pulse in my throat. Sam sucked, gently, then took the skin between his teeth. The bite didn’t hurt, but it did send sensation ripping through me. I arched beneath him. My hands found the back of his head, the smooth silk of his hair, and I wound my fingers in it. Pressing him to me, keeping his mouth there while he sucked my skin. I would bruise. I couldn’t, just then, care.

  “I like the way you say my name,” he murmured. His tongue slid along the place where he’d left his mark. “Say it again.”

  “Sam.” I breathed it.

  I heard the smile in his voice when he spoke again. “I am.”

  Then we were laughing again, until he took his hand from between my legs and used it to tug open the buttons on my blouse, one at a time. Then I stopped laughing, too breathless to do more than sigh. He eased open my shirt. He pushed himself up on one elbow and folded back the material to show my bra. His fingers traced the lacy edges over the tops of my breasts.

  My nipples had gone tight, hard, aching. When Sam’s thumb passed over one, I sucked in a breath. I watched his face as he looked down at me. When he bent to kiss my exposed skin, I bit my lower lip. My body moved beneath him.

  Sam sat up. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and pulled his shirt off over his head, leaving his hair standing up all over the place. His body was as long and lean as his legs. He knelt beside me, one hand rubbing his chest almost absently. His other hand toyed with the open belt buckle, then the button beneath. He undid it, but left the zipper alone.

  I watched him, enjoying the show. “Are you going to take those off?”

  Sam nodded, solemn. “Absolutely.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

  Sam laughed. “Yes.”

  I slid one stocking-clad foot up over his thigh and rubbed the front of his jeans. “Are you shy?”

  Sam’s hips pushed forward at the touch of my foot, and his mouth parted. His hand paused in its rubbing, fingers going flat over his heart. “Maybe. A little.”

  Holy hell, that was hot. I didn’t believe him, really. He hadn’t acted shy anytime tonight.

  “Want me to go first?”

  Sam’s grin melted me. “Okay.”

  I got off the bed to make it easier for myself. Without my shoes on, I was face-to-chest with him—not a bad view at all. Sam’s bare chest was smooth and muscled, with a hint of six-pack abs but nothing overdefined. I took a couple steps back. My shirt hung open, courtesy of his unbuttoning. I took my time sliding the fabric from one arm, then the other. I tossed the shirt onto the chair. Sam’s eyes didn’t even follow it. They stayed on me.

  I’d chosen my skirt for the ease of getting it off, but though it would have taken me but a second to unhook and unzip it, I took much longer than that. Never taking my eyes from his, I slipped open the button at my hip. A second later I unzipped, inch by slow inch. Then I slid the fabric over my hips and let the skirt fall to the floor in a puddle at my feet. I stepped out of it and hooked it out of the way with my foot. I stood before Sam in my white lace bra and matching panties, in the wispy garter belt and nude, seamed stockings.

  The look on his face had made every second worth it.

  I would never win any beauty contests. Too many bulges in places I wanted to be flat, too little curve in places I wanted to be round. I also knew that really didn’t matter. Not really, not to most men.

  Sam didn’t appear to have any shields on his expression. His pupils had gone large and dark, nearly swallowing the green-blue. His lips glistened from where he’d swiped his tongue.

  “…Wow.”

  The compliment was all the nicer because it sounded so sincere. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t move. One hand still pressed over his heart, the other hooked into the front of his jeans. He looked at me, his mouth pulling up on one side. “My turn, huh?”

  “Your turn, Sam.”

  “God,” Sam said. “I love the way that sounds.”

  “Sam,” I whispered, stepping toward him. “Sam, Sam, Sam.”

  I’d heard of kinkier fetishes, but he said he liked it, and…hell, I liked it, too. There was something sweet and sexy about the name. About him. The way each time the word purred from my tongue his smile twitched broader.

  I reached for the front of his jeans. The metal button and zipper were cool compared to the heat coming through the denim. My heart skipped a little when my fingers traced the outline of his erection. He groaned. I wanted to get on my knees at that sound, but I didn’t.

  I looked up at him, instead. Way, way up. I tugged open the button. Click-clicked down the zipper. Always watching his face, not his crotch. Sam hadn’t moved his hand from his chest, though his fingers tightened a bit on his skin. The pulse leaped in his throat, and a muscle in his cheek twitched. His smile had thinned. He reached to push the hair off my face.

  I hooked my fingers in the denim at his hips and pushed. It didn’t snag. He’d worn a belt for more than just fashion, and the jeans were loose enough I had no trouble sliding them down.

  He moved a little, helping me. Our gazes never left each other’s as I bent to push his jeans all the way to his ankles and waited while he lifted one foot, then the other, to pull them off. I stood then, swiftly, running my hands along his endlessly long legs as I did.

  I couldn’t look at his crotch.

  I didn’t know why I had suddenly become shy. I wasn’t a stranger to bulging boxers.

  Something in his face stopped me.

  There is always a moment when the final barrier has to come down. “Sam?”

  He nodded. He stopped holding his heart and reached for me, instead. He bent, I stretched, and we met somehow in the middle with our mouths.

  This time he covered me completely when he laid me on the bed, but I didn’t feel crushed.

  I felt…embraced. Enfolded. There was so much of Sam he surrounded me.

  I should’ve panicked, maybe. Felt trapped. But too busy with his mouth and his hands helping me off with my underwear, too busy reaching to free him from the cotton boxers, I didn’t have time. I couldn’t think of anything but the silky heat of his cock in my hands when at last I found it.

  Sam made a small, helpless noise when I touched him there. I slid my hand along his erection. Sam’s prick, like the rest of him, was long. His fingers closed over mine. There was no room to stroke him, not with him on top of me that way.

  He buried his face in my neck. The rise and fall of his breath pushed our bodies together.

  The seconds ticked out between us, only a few. He moved down my body to kiss my breasts. His tongue stroked my skin and teased my nipples. He moved lower, over my ribs and the curve of my belly. He mouthed my hip, then down a little farther to my thigh.

  I let the pleasure sweep over me, but at the odd motion of his head I had to look down.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Writing my name,” he said without apology, and demonstrated with his tongue on my skin. “S-A-M-S-T—”

  It tickled, and I squirmed. He grinned up at me briefly before dipping his head lower. His breath gusted over my trimmed pubic curls, and I tensed. I always did at that moment, waiting for the first touch of tongue on sensitive flesh.

  Sam, perhaps reading the tension of my muscles as distaste, moved back up my body. He looked up past my face, stretched and hooked open the nightstand drawer with a finger. The movement brought his chest within licking distance, and I didn’t pass up my opportunity. He shivered. He pulled back to me and held open his hand.

  “You pick,” he said.

&n
bsp; I looked over the selection of condoms in his hand, thinking how sweet it was not to need to wonder if there was going to be an issue about using protection. “Wow. Ribbed for my pleasure, extra-lubricated…glow in the dark?” I laughed at the last one.

  He did, too, and tossed it to the floor. He held up one of the ribbed condoms. “This one, then?”

  “Looks good to me.”

  He handed me the package, warm from his palm. Sam rolled onto his back, arms behind his head on the pillow. No more shyness, not for either of us. No point in it now.

  His body was put together like someone had taken extra care to make sure everything fit just right. Legs and thighs and belly, hips and ribs and neck, shoulders, arms and hands. Each of Sam’s pieces fit. Clothed he’d looked a little gangly, but naked he was pretty near perfect.

  He watched me looking, and his mouth tilted again. I couldn’t quite get a handle on Sam’s smile. It wasn’t a smirk, or smug. It was almost a little bemused.

  Naked, I knelt next to his thigh. I stroked his erection, and he pushed his hips upward when I did. He untucked a hand from beneath his head and slipped it between my legs. His thumb pressed my clit, and it was my turn to shiver.

  I stroked. He rubbed. In a minute we were both panting. He moved a finger along my folds. I knew he felt how wet I was. How ready. He slid a finger inside me and my grip on him faltered as I gasped.

  “Grace,” Sam whispered, voice gone guttural and low. “I hope you’re ready, because I can’t wait much longer.”

  Neither could I. “I’m ready.” I paused, then added, “Sam.”

  I had no trouble figuring out what his smile meant that time. I shifted on his hand so he could slide free. I put the condom on him, and a moment after that, myself. His hands gripped my hips. I leaned forward, my hands on his shoulders.

  We looked into each other’s eyes.

  He moved me, at first, with slow, steady strokes. We found our rhythm almost at once. My clit rubbed him with every thrust, the pressure tantalizing but not quite enough. Sam solved that problem in another minute when he put his thumb against me again.

  I didn’t care what came from my mouth just then. A string of words that made no sense, maybe. Something halfway between a prayer and a curse. But one thing I do know I said was his name.

  Orgasms are like waves, no two alike. They ebb, flow, rise and crest. And crash. Mine crashed over me so fast it took me by surprise. Hard, almost sharp, the pleasure peaked as I moved on Sam’s cock. His thumb ceased its pressure, easing off just when I needed it to, but in the next moment he’d started doing this little jiggling motion that sent me up and up again. The second climax followed the first without time for me to catch my breath, but when it was over, that was it. Warmth rippled through me and languor crept along my limbs. I put my hand over Sam’s to keep him from moving it.

  I didn’t know how close he was, but when I opened my eyes, his were closed. His hands gripped my hips again. His thrusts got harder. Sweat had broken out along his hairline. I wanted to lick it, and the sudden stab of fresh desire surprised me as much as the intensity of my orgasm had.

  “Sam,” I whispered. I watched his face contort. “Sam…”

  And he came. His face twisted and his fingers clutched, giving me more bruises. He arched and fell back onto the pillow, and let out one last, long and heavy breath.

  He opened his eyes a moment later and smiled at me. His hand came up to twine in my hair. He tugged it, pulling me close to kiss my mouth tenderly. His pupils were still wide and dark, with nothing to reflect me.

  We disengaged and took care of the things that needed to be done, but I hadn’t yet managed to rouse myself enough to climb out of bed and go to the bathroom when the distinctive jangle of my phone came from my purse.

  “Is that ‘Smoke on the Water’?” Sam lifted his head to look at me.

  “Yes.” I ignored it, too sated to think about getting up for a phone call, even though I knew I should.

  Sam’s broad and hearty laugh shook the bed, and I looked over at him. “Awesome.” He made rock horns with his fingers.

  I had to laugh, too. He seemed younger with postsex sleepiness lodged in his eyes and his hair all rumpled. Not that it mattered.

  He yawned and of course, unable to help myself, so did I. He kissed my bare shoulder and rolled onto his back again, hands tucked under the pillow, to stare at the ceiling.

  “I knew that fortune cookie was right,” he said without looking at me. “It said you will meet someone new.”

  “My last fortune cookie told me I was going to find money,” I said. “So far, nothing.”

  Sam turned his gaze to me, though his head stayed still. “You’ve got time. I don’t think there’s a statute of limitations on fortunes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I wish it would hurry up, though. I could use some money.”

  Sam’s expression shifted, subtly, as we stared at each other. My phone rang again, this time with the less awesome ring tone that meant I had a message. I couldn’t ignore that, since it was probably from my answering service. Someone must’ve died.

  “I have to get that,” I said without moving.

  “Okay.” Sam smiled.

  I leaned over to kiss him quickly, on the cheek. I felt his gaze on me as I gathered my fallen clothes and my purse and went to the bathroom. I punched in the number of the answering service as I slipped into my panties and juggled the phone while I hooked my bra. The garter belt and stockings I tucked into my bag, not wanting to bother with them when I was going home.

  I took care of the call and finished dressing, then patted some cold water on my face.

  Sam’s bathroom looked used, a rumpled towel on the floor by the toilet and a small toiletries bag on the sink. He used an electric razor and favored a different toothpaste than I did, but this peek into his private life seemed intrusive and personal and I stopped looking. I took an extra few minutes to freshen my makeup and tie back my hair.

  When I came out of the bathroom, Sam had pulled his boxers back on. The remote lay next to him on the bed, but he hadn’t turned on the television. He sat up when I came out.

  “Hey,” he said.

  My phone beeped again with another message. Someone had called while I was on the phone. I pulled it from my purse but didn’t flip it open. “It’s been great, but I have to go.”

  He got up, towering over me even after I put on my heels. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  I shook my head. “No. You don’t have to. I’m fine.”

  “But I really should.”

  I looked up at him. “Sam, it’s okay.”

  We smiled at each other. He walked me to the door, where he bent to kiss me far more awkwardly than he had before.

  “Good night,” I said on the other side of the door. “Thank you.”

  He blinked and didn’t smile. “You’re…welcome?”

  So cute.

  I reached up to pat his cheek. “It was great.”

  Sam blinked again, those dark brows knitting. “Okay.”

  I waved and moved toward the elevator. He closed the door behind me, and I heard the blare of the television almost at once.

  At my car I remembered to check my voice mail. Sitting behind the wheel, buckling my belt, I punched in my password and listened, expecting to hear my sister’s voice. Maybe my best friend Mo’s.

  “Yeah, hi,” said a voice I didn’t recognize. “This is Jack. I’m calling for, um…Miss Underfire. We were supposed to meet tonight?”

  He sounded uncertain; I felt suddenly sick. Miss Underfire was the name I used with the agency, the name I used to keep everything discreet.

  “But I’m here at the Fishtank, and…well…you’re not. Um…call me back if you want to reschedule.”

  I listened to a very long pause while I waited for the call to disconnect, but it didn’t.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry,” said Jack. “Something got messed up, I guess.”

  A click, and he was gone, and
the pseudofeminine robotic voice-mail message was instructing me how to delete the message.

  I closed my phone and put it carefully into my purse. I gripped the steering wheel tight, with both hands. I waited to scream, or laugh, or cry, but in the end I only turned the key in the ignition and drove home.

  I’d wanted to sleep with a stranger, and that’s exactly what I’d done.

  Chapter 02

  “Earth to Grace.”Jared snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Gloves?”

  I blinked and shook my head a little, laughing off my lack of concentration. Jared Shanholtz, my intern, held up the box of latex gloves that had seen better days. “Sorry. They’re in the laundry room, I think. On the rack of shelves by the wall.”

  He tossed the battered cardboard box into the trash. He nodded toward the body on the table in front of us. “Need me to bring anything else?”

  I looked over Mr. Dennison’s still form. “No. I think he’s just about done.”

  I leaned forward to brush the hair back from his forehead. His skin, cool under my fingers, had a faint dusting of powder. It didn’t quite match his natural skin tone. “On second thought, grab me the box of foundation, okay? I want to redo this.”

  Jared nodded and said nothing, though I’d already spent an hour on Mr. Dennison. I stared down at him. He couldn’t care if he looked like he was wearing makeup, but I did. Even if his family didn’t care, I still did.

  Pride didn’t do diddly for my fingers, though, that kept fumbling with the small pots and brushes I used on the corpses. I’d nearly made a mess of the embalming, too, but turned it around by giving Jared the “opportunity” to do most of it himself while I supervised. Jared was the first intern I’d ever hired and though it was hard for me to give up control of what went on in my business to give him the chance to learn, I was glad he was there then. Thank God he was good.

  If he’d been a bumbling disaster, we’d have been screwed.

  Screwed.

  I turned away from Mr. Dennison’s placid face. I had to take small sips of air to keep from bursting into a flurry of giggles I would’ve been hard-pressed to explain to Jared. The stifled laughter twisted in my gut and made it hurt. Coffee would help. Maybe.