by Jo Leigh
The French maid wrapped her arms around him and covered his face in kisses. At least he hoped it was the French maid.
She murmured something in French. He didn’t understand the language, but he did get the gist of her suggestive message. He tried to take a step back to clear his head, but her fingers were frantically working the buttons of his puffy white pirate shirt.
“Slow down,” he said, or rather tried to say. His throat was twisted so tight with need the sounds came out as scarcely more than an excited groan.
Her mind-boggling aroma, which smelled like a cross between apricots and stargazer lilies, filled his nose and shot up his desire. He could see absolutely nothing in the darkness, but the rest of his senses were fully attuned and ready to be indulged.
“What…how…who…” He wrenched out the words, unable to form a coherent thought.
“Shh.” She placed an index finger over his lips. Her skin tasted forbidden.
He thought of truffles and Russian caviar and saffron, the most expensive spice in the world. His nerve endings blazed. In the back of his mind, far off in the distance, sounding as if it had been locked up in a dry, dusty trunk for centuries, his muffled conscience tried to get his attention.
Hey, sport, this seems awfully odd. Sexy babe coming on to you, no strings attached. You know there’s always strings attached. Something’s wrong. Pull your head out of the hormone soup. Think this through. Last thing you want is to be like your old man. Hey, hey…
His scruples got no further because his brain short-circuited, closing off everything except the exquisite glory of her hot little mouth on his.
3
KATIE COULDN’T believe she was really doing this. It felt so naughty, so wicked, so wrong.
And yet, it felt so damn good.
She should have known Richard would be a world-class kisser. He was one of the hottest bachelors in Boston and very popular with the ladies. Why had she waited this long to seduce him?
He seemed so receptive, so responsive. When she curled her fingers around his forearm, he actually shivered.
She was shivering, too.
His mouth was heated and moist and he tasted of peppermint. His arm went around her waist and he tilted her backward in the closet.
The sleeves of the coats on the rack swayed with their movements, the rough material of the garments brushing provocatively against her bare arms. Farther down on the rod, a couple of empty coat hangers rattled against the sway.
His breathing was as ragged and raspy as hers. The bold pirate was plunging his demanding tongue past her teeth, plundering her mouth with a brazen zeal, taking what he wanted, leaving her breathless and clinging tightly to him.
He pulled her closer, crushing her against his broad, muscular chest. The stiff short skirt of her outfit crinkled at the pressure, and her scalp tingled hotly.
Each strumming beat of her heart was a sexual question mark.
What now?
What was going to happen next?
Would he run his rough hand up her leg?
Would he give her the mind-blasting orgasm she hungered for?
“Woman.” The word was dragged from his damp lips in a husky inhalation of breath. He pulled his mouth from hers and tracked his tongue down her chin to her throat. “You are so, so sexy.”
She threw back her head, exposing her throat, giving him greater access to the pulse fluttering at the hollow of her neck.
Oh, he smelled good. Like candy canes and the joy of Christmas morning. She wondered what cologne he had on. Usually Richard wore a much cooler, more sophisticated fragrance.
Hmm, should she ask him?
And possibly spoil the moment? Was she nuts?
That sobering notion quickened her breathing, but it didn’t scare her. And that, in itself, was terrifying.
What was wrong with her? Why was she so willing to walk the edge, to tempt fate, to push the envelope beyond common sense?
Rhetorical question. She knew the answer. Ever since her mother had died she’d felt an overwhelming need to make her emotional pain disappear.
Without Daisy as an anchor, it was as if she no longer had anything to lose. Why not gamble everything for a little fun? What was the point of holding herself in reserve?
Life was short. Live it to the fullest. That was her motto.
Thankfully, his honeyed mouth was back on hers, forcing the dark thoughts from her head, kissing her hard and deep. His wicked tongue did its job, making her forget the emotional pain inside her.
Katie allowed herself to be swept up by the headlong sensation. She refused to think. Her only desire was to feel.
She teetered on her high heels, lost her balance. They stumbled together, slamming into the back of the closet. He laughed then, a hearty, substantial laugh that made her giggle. His arm tightened around her waist.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“I like this French thing you got going on. It’s very hot.”
“Shh.” She wanted him to stop talking and start kissing her again.
“Listen…” he said, “I don’t want you to…”
“No talking,” she commanded.
The costumes made their encounter that much more exciting, but their garments were getting in the way. Reaching up, she pulled off his wig, wrapped her arms around his neck and plunged her fingers through his thick hair.
Her pirate took the hint and his tongue went back to doing maddening things to her mouth and causing wicked sensation to shoot straight into the center of her sex. His leather masked rubbed against hers, creating a sensation so erotic she made a soft mewling sound low in her throat.
Yes, take me to oblivion.
He made a corresponding noise, decidedly more masculine than hers. He ground his pelvis against her pubic bone and she arched her hips, letting him know exactly what she wanted.
Blood surged through her veins in a headlong rush. The darkness was absolute, the anonymity acute. It was incredible.
He kissed her, fiercely, passionately. He tasted so good-all masculine strength and sizzling heat. Restlessly, she tossed back her head, exposing her throat to him.
“Nibble on my neck,” she murmured.
The minute his sharp teeth sank lightly into the tender flesh at her hollow of her throat, she groaned with pleasure.
Quiet. She had to be quiet. People might hear. But she couldn’t even think straight, much less fret about the potential for public humiliation. At this point, she didn’t care.
His palms skimmed up underneath her flimsy getup, his hands scorching the bare skin of her belly.
Desire exploded into the small tight closet with them, sending Katie on a mission of frantic grappling. She snatched at his shirt, tugging and pulling. She heard buttons pop, spit to the hardwood floor with a series of soft plopping sounds.
Once his chest was exposed, she buried her face there and inhaled deeply. His chest hairs tickled her nose and she held the hem of his shirt, still clutched in the fist of her hand.
He growled.
A tiger.
She was in the dark with a tiger.
A sweet fear washed over her. A sugary terror clogging her arteries and making her gasp for more. Her entire body tingled with fear and joy and hungry, secret longing.
Her knees wobbled. Sensing her weakness, he pressed her back flat against the wall of the closet, holding her in place with his hip.
She was on fire for him. She had never wanted any man this badly.
He didn’t speak.
Golden silence.
This was very good. Dark and anonymous and quiet. Nothing but heavy, excited breathing. Not hearing his voice made her feel as if he were pure fantasy and it escalated her excitement beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of.
She felt raunchy and rash and ready. This was exactly what she needed to bypass all her
troubles.
Wildly, she pressed the tip of her tongue to his broad chest and licked a long path up to the hollow of his throat. He tasted like a seafaring man. Gloriously rich and salty.
She heard her own pulse thrumming through her ears and it sounded like a river rushing downstream.
His movements were measured, controlled, but at the same time relaxed and easy. His fingers were now trailing circles around her nipples, teasing them into taut peaks.
In the inkiness, in the masquerade, he was a creature of the night. Sleek and primal, sexual in a way that quickened her breath and slicked her palms, along with other, more feminine parts of her anatomy.
The stagnant air in the closet was heavy with the sound of their rough, synchronized breathing. It smelled of the musk from their throbbing bodies. It tasted twisted and taboo.
Who-she found herself thinking in the short gaps between utter delight-are you?
She told herself it was Richard. It had to be Richard. Who else could it be?
Her mind thrilled to the possibilities. Why did she find the idea of a masked stranger so compelling? Why did she suddenly want him not to be Richard?
Was she losing her mind? Had she lost it already? Slipping over the edge of reason in a smoking-hot French-maid uniform?
He kissed her again, the glide of his tongue smooth and perfect.
Her blood moved recklessly through her. There was that thrill again, rolling like an electrical storm. Searing and stark and scary.
The pirate growled again, low and guttural. The sound vibrated through her, set her nerve endings flaming, causing her hips to twitch involuntarily and the deep folds of her moist sex to burn for him.
He unzipped her costume and slipped it off her shoulders in the darkness. Then he unhooked her bra, exposing her bare breasts. The pirate lowered his head and began to sweetly suckle one of her aching nipples while lightly pinching the other between his thumb and index finger.
The synthetic material of his fake beard tickled her skin.
Something inside of her slipped, a ship freed from its moorings, set adrift at sea. She reached up to plane his face with her hand, feeling the solid jut of his cheekbone against her palm.
His mouth was skillful. Gentle when she needed him to be, firm when she needed that, too. This pirate was taking his time.
While Katie appreciated his unanticipated leisure, at the same time it added to her anxiety. The longer this took, the more likely they were to be caught.
And that sent a fresh set of brand-new thrills and chills chasing up her spine.
His arms were strong, comforting. Oddly, in spite of the unconventional circumstances, she felt safe. She wished it wasn’t so dark, wished she could see his face.
What, and spoil the fantasy?
He reached down and, grabbing one of her legs, lifted it up and cocked her heel against his hip. Katie felt her stocking being stripped away. He peeled off her stiletto. Let it clatter to the floor. Carefully, he let her leg drop, then repeated the process with her other leg.
She’d intended this encounter to be a clothes-on quickie, but it wasn’t turning out that way. He wasn’t playing his part how she’d imagined.
His breath on her bare skin was deep and rich-black velvet. Nimbly, his fingers worked, tickling her skin. She giggled against the lightness of his touch, the freedom it unwound in her.
Soon, she was standing with her back against the wall wearing nothing but black silk panties.
“You don’t have to get undressed,” she said, taking care to keep her voice disguised, to keep the fantasy going. “We should make this fast. In case someone comes looking for us. We don’t want to get caught doing the nasty at the Ladies League ball.”
“Why not?” he said rough and low. “It’s the perfect high-society sacrilege.”
She frowned. What did he mean by that? She wished she could see his face.
The room was ebony. Only the light from underneath the crack in the door penetrated the darkness.
He said nothing, but she heard the quiet whisper of his zipper sliding down.
She sucked in her breath.
Wet heat gushed through her body. The muscles deep within her pelvis tightened. Her heart beat faster and she surprised herself by how quickly she grew slick.
His hand was a hot pressure as he reached out to trail it across the soft silk between her legs. He stroked her gently, his fingertips executing a slow, deliberate circle.
Whimpering softly against the erotic sensation, she grasped his arm for support.
He kissed her tenderly while his fingers kept exploring. A warm, soft kiss of satisfaction.
Lust swamped her. She had to have him. Had to have him or she would surely die. She ran her tongue around his lips and he made a masculine noise of enjoyment.
He slipped her panties down then, edging them over her hips, below her thighs. When her panties fell to her ankles, she kicked them off and curled against him.
He sank slowly to his knees.
Uh-oh. What now?
She felt the touch of his lips against her upper thigh and pulled in a hissing breath as his mouth inched toward the place Katie most wanted him to touch with that quicksilver tongue.
Wanted it, but was she ready for it? Few had ever gone there. She put a hand to the back of his neck. “Wait, I…”
He lifted his head. “Don’t be shy,” he whispered, and then made a promise. “I won’t hurt you.”
His strong outer lips rested against her soft inner lips. Instant heat. Boiling, building. She was a teapot-hot and ready to let off steam. She had no idea she was capable of feeling such physical intensity.
He made a sound of hearty appreciation and clasped her tightly in his muscled arms, pressing her hips firmly against the wall. Pinning her. His prize.
Her hands were frantic, raking through his hair. She was desperate. Raw. Hungry need personified. Taking lust, turning it into trust.
Foolish, perhaps, but here she was.
She accepted what he gave her. She didn’t ask for more. There was no reason. She did not require it. He conferred upon her everything she desired.
No one had ever touched her in the way Richard was touching her. Inside. Deep inside. He found all her secrets, exploited them to full advantage.
It felt so good it almost hurt. This free-falling pleasure and pain.
Lost. She was afloat in the sweep of his tongue, the moist heat of his mouth. The tension was impossible. His tongue teased and pleased. Taunted and tamed.
She wanted to cup his head in the back of her hands, drop to her knees and face him in the darkness.
But she was afraid. Afraid to learn too much. Afraid to ruin the fantasy. Afraid of being caught in a whirlwind of chaos from which she might never recover.
His head was buried between her legs, his tongue stroking her hooded femininity. She savored the wild ride. This encounter was special. Something she’d remember to the end of her days. She did not want reality to intrude.
He teased her clit, circling slowly at first, and then faster and firmer, pulling her toward a beautiful climax. But he wasn’t going to let it be that easy. He eased off on the pressure, slowed down. And then he took her up again. Up and down in a tumult of sensation until she thought she’d go mad with need.
“I want to feel you inside me,” she murmured. “I have to…feel you. Now.”
He pulled back, rose to his feet. She heard him rustling. What was he doing? She was so wet and hot and achy. She needed him. Now, now, now.
“Do you have a condom?” she whispered.
“Got it covered,” he said.
There was a slight tearing sound of a small package being opened.
She touched him down there, through the opening in his leather pants. Her hand closing around his steely shaft, and she heard his low groan of pleasure.
He was so hard. So big.
“Hurry,” she insisted, growing suddenly scared against a nameless sense of dread crowding inside her chest. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said, pushing her shoulders against the wall, “and grab the clothing rods.”
Heart pounding, she did as he asked. One hand wrapped around the hanging rod on the right, the other on the left, her legs serpentined around his hard waist. She could feel the tip of his penis throbbing against her bare buttocks.
She felt like an acrobat, a trapeze artist. It added to the excitement.
Carefully, he entered her warm wet center. She could feel the material of his pants rubbing against her thighs as he moved. Katie reflectively closed her eyes, gasping in reverence.
What an incredible sensation.
She was entranced, filled up by him. She relished the wonder of his body, the excitement of her fantasy, of the life force pulsing through him and into her and back again.
He pushed into the hilt.
And then he began a slow, meticulous thrusting.
Swept away, she matched his tempo, arching her back, pushing against him, using the hanging rods as a fulcrum, increasing the tension. The rhythm between them was quite extraordinary. They were so in tune with each other.
He thrust, she parried.
It was almost mystical.
This slow, sweet journey. The intensity rising and swelling, dropping and climbing.
“More,” she gasped, barely hanging on to her French accent. “I’ve got to have more.”
“Greedy,” he accused.
Yes, yes, she was greedy and not the least bit remorseful.
Biting need flowed through her body. She needed this intimacy, needed him. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and she held him tightly.
The orgasm rose in her, in a hot, loud knot. She let go of the hanging rod so she could stuff her right fist against her mouth to hold back her cries of ecstasy.
He gave one last thrust and his body twitched with the power of his own climax. The sound of his breathing was rough against her ears.
And just after his release, she came as she’d never come before. Wave upon wave. An entire ocean crashing through her.
