All I Want…

by Isabel Sharpe

  “Tiny, blond, sexy as hell, willing to be with a stranger in the dark—I’d say you’re quite unique.”

  “In a good way?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  She laughed, shocked at how the question had come out. In a good way? Like a whiny grade-schooler fishing for whether or not he liked her. When it wasn’t supposed to matter whether he liked her or not, since this was Relationship In a Void. Two bodies enjoying the hell out of each other.

  She was not going to start hoping for anything. She was not going to start pressing him for anything. She was not going to let this turn into another disaster.

  Not.

  “So you like the image of me as a bad blond bitch?”

  “Mmm, yes.”

  “Maybe a black bra, black spiky boots, black garter and police cap?”

  He ran his hands down to cup her buttocks and push his rapidly firming erection against her. “That’ll work.”

  “Crack my whip, blow my police whistle and order you to pleasure me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. How do you want it, ma’am?”

  She had to work to keep from giggling. His transformation from smooth operator to cowering submissive was perfect. Only she’d felt the strength in his body and felt it instinctively in his character, so she doubted he was seriously into being dominated. In fact, she had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to keep the act going.

  “Like this.” She pushed herself off him and, straddling him on her knees, moved up until her sex hovered over his mouth. “Pleasure me. Now.”

  He laughed, low and slightly mischievous, then his tongue started in on her and any thought of being in control of the situation vanished. He was a master, varying the pressure and rhythm until she was a gasping mess, clinging to the headboard, surrendering to the inevitable build toward heaven.

  He added his fingers to the mix, pushing inside her with one, then two, making her legs threaten to give way.

  He caught her hips and pushed her down to the side. She rolled to her back, spreading wide, eager—no, greedy—for the finish.

  His hands grabbed her wrists and held them down by her hips; his forearms rested on her upper thighs, pinning them open. She waited, hearing her own breath, loud and fast in the darkness.

  Except he seemed in no hurry to help her out.

  “John.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Are you trying to make me lose my mind here?”

  “Yessss.” She could feel his breath sliding over her sex. He was so close—and so far. “Don’t move.”

  “What?” She lifted her head—stupid since of course she couldn’t see him. “Why? What are you doing?”

  “Shhh, don’t talk.” He tightened his hold on her wrists and pushed harder on her thighs, and it suddenly occurred to her he had her completely helpless. “Just listen.”

  She should be frightened. She should be. He was a complete stranger who had her entirely at his mercy, naked, in a hotel room, and no one else in the world knew where she was.

  Any sensible person would be struggling, trying to escape, running to the exit or, even smarter, dialing 911.

  She, however, was just getting even more turned on.

  Great. Now on top of foolish and reckless she could add twisted.

  “Why shouldn’t I move?” She listened, wondering if he heard someone coming down the hall or about to knock. “I don’t hear anything.”

  A deep chuckle and more warm breath between her legs that made her squirm and want to lift her hips to his mouth.

  “Stay still and listen to your body.”

  “I know what it’s saying.” She affected a deep half-crazed voice. “Please make me come. Now.”

  Another chuckle. “Listen. Relax and listen.”

  She took a deep breath, forced herself to relax one muscle at a time, toes to knees to stomach to shoulders to scalp, the way her stress-relief tape had taught her. Clear your mind. As if that ever happened.

  “Okay, I’m relaxed.”

  “Listen.” He purred the word. “Just listen.”

  She made her breathing even and deep, tried to clear her mind and go inside herself the way the meditation portion of her yoga tape instructed her, the way she couldn’t ever manage for more than thirty seconds before her brain started chattering at her like a monkey.

  Breathe in, out. Breathe in, out. Breathe in, out.

  She didn’t know how much later—two, five, ten minutes?—something happened. She was alert, aware, and yet…her mind did seem to have reached a quiet place, almost like sleep, and her other senses started taking over. She heard the hum of the heating unit in the room and muffled noises from elsewhere on the floor. She felt the smooth comfort of the quilt underneath her, felt the heat where his forearms and hands touched hers and the slight moisture of their combined skin.

  Then the warm weight of his tongue again on her sex. A moan escaped her.

  “Shhh. No moving. No noise.”

  She had to move. She had to. Her hips were straining to rise, her hands wanted to touch him, thread into his hair and go along for the ride.

  Somehow she forced herself to lie still, forced her breathing to stay steady and her mind to go back to that calm, clear place.

  He pleasured her with painstaking slowness, quick strokes that made her quiver, long slow deep ones that brought her so close, over and over, she thought she’d go completely raving mad.

  Except…the peace was bone-deep, the awareness of the sensations so acute, it was almost as if she was climaxing over and over again without climaxing at all. Her awareness of her own body somehow grew and spread to encompass an awareness of his as if they were both inhabiting one body together.

  She’d never experienced anything like it.

  He stroked her again with his tongue, brought his fingers along to trace her sex in a slow, gentle circle, then closed his lips over her clitoris and sucked with warm, even pressure.

  Her orgasm built in slow motion, a low burn that spread and intensified to where she had to fight hard not to gasp, to hold herself still, feeling it gathering force, awed that her body was capable of such power and nearly frightened she’d be carried away somewhere too strange and new.

  The peak hit, held and left her gasping silently, wild contractions of pleasure under his fingers.

  He kept pace with her, nuzzling her gently, then finally lifted his mouth off her with a kiss that felt reluctant.

  “Jane Doe.”

  “Yes.” She could barely even breathe the word out. She was hardly able to form a coherent thought. She’d orgasmed plenty of times with her body, but this somehow involved her mind and her heart in such a powerful combination, she felt raw and vulnerable, as if she’d just lost her virginity to someone vastly more experienced.

  “Do you know what happened here?” He loosened her wrist, stroked over her inner thighs.

  “I just had the world’s best orgasm?” Her voice cracked, making her attempt at humor a joke in itself.

  “More than that.”

  “Two?” She barely did better that time, even with one syllable. This had gone way beyond two bodies in the dark.

  “I had you pinned to the bed again, totally submissive.” He sounded husky, awed, grateful, humble. “And you not only didn’t freak, you gave yourself over to me completely.”

  He knew. He’d been right there with her and he knew. She felt suddenly so exposed and scared, she wanted to sit up and fumble for her clothes and get the hell out of there as fast as her shaky legs could take her.

  Because somehow Krista Marlow, reality queen, despiser of fakery, despoiler of all things glittery and false, had unexpectedly, and quite irrationally fallen halfway in love with a fantasy.

  8

  “YOU OKAY?”

  Lucy started at the touch of her accompanist’s hand on her shoulder. She’d been sitting at one of the tables in the lounge, staring at a glass of water as if it held the answers she desperately needed. Steve probably thought she’d lost her mind. She
wasn’t so sure she hadn’t.

  She and Steve had been performing together on and off since college; he knew her performance routine and moods too well to fool him that this night was like any other. All during her first set she’d been distracted, a little off, trying not to scan the crowd too closely, wondering if Josh were here tonight, though she imagined he’d stick out among the decidedly older crowd that frequented Eddie’s Lounge. And as much as she told herself it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter, she couldn’t help a shameful burn of excitement and hope.

  Whether it was hope he’d show or hope he wouldn’t, she still hadn’t decided. Probably both.

  “Thanks, Steve, I’m fine.”

  He started massaging her shoulders, then reached and waggled her jaw back and forth. “You’re tense as a board.”

  She laughed and pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.”

  “Link in the audience tonight?”

  “No.” The bitterness in her voice surprised her.

  Steve pulled out the chair next to her and sat, a burly, balding, comforting presence. “Anything I can do?”

  She shook her head and forced a smile. Steve had the healthiest relationship of anyone she knew. He’d met Scott his freshman year at Tufts and that had been it for both of them. So much for the stereotype of the promiscuous gay male.

  “Okay, time for round two.” Dick, the manager at Eddie’s for probably the past two hundred years, swept past them onto the tiny bar stage, picked up the mike and introduced their second set.

  Lucy straightened her shoulders, flared her nostrils, consciously following the path of air down through her chest into her lungs, making sure her throat was wide, clear and relaxed.

  The audience applauded in its usual enthusiastic fashion. She put on a bright smile, climbed the short set of steps up to the stage and stood beside the piano. This time she was not going to look for him, not going to think about him. She’d relax and get through the second set like she meant it.

  “Hey, everyone. We’re back. Going to start our next set with a number to make sure you’re all in the holiday spirit. Arranged by my fabulous accompanist, Steve Taylor—‘Blue Christmas.’”

  She started slow, mournful, bleak, then launched into the great jazzy version that always made her happy, and felt herself starting to relax. If Josh were coming, he would be here by now. She didn’t need to get herself all whipped up over nothing. It was a relief, really, that he wasn’t.

  Except that halfway through the second verse a dark, slender, graceful man walked in and took a seat at the bar in the back of the room, gazing around at the cheesy red and green and gold Yuletide decor with a smirk on his face she didn’t blame him for.

  Josh.

  She made it through the rest of her song, and the next one and the one after that—somehow. It was as if the usual blur of faces she could play to without effort had shrunk into the background and there was a huge spotlit version of Josh snagging her vision and attention no matter where she looked or how hard she tried to concentrate on her singing and the rest of the crowd. She could swear he didn’t take his eyes off her for one second, didn’t give her even that much of a respite. The intensity of that gaze was making her a little nutty.

  “And now, one of my favorites and yours…”

  She launched right into the number, tonight keeping the patter—not her strength anyway—to a minimum. “I’ve got you…under my skin.”

  The crowd applauded briefly at the first familiar phrase. Josh put down his drink and leaned forward on his knees, nodding every now and then, as if he’d written the lyrics himself because they had particular resonance for him….

  Oh, she was so in trouble.

  Worse, she found herself able to look at him a little more boldly once in a while, found herself playing up the siren side of the song, found herself wanting to be wildly, totally, blow-me-away amazing tonight. To prove she could still be wildly, totally, blow-me-away amazing to someone. Especially someone like Josh Fairbanks.

  The number ended slowly, drawn out. “…under…my skin.” Two beats of silence, then the crowd went wild—except Josh, who didn’t applaud, didn’t move, sat there staring at her with a smile on his sexy full lips, shaking his head slowly as if he couldn’t believe a woman like her even existed.

  She bowed to the applause, cheeks burning, and quickly went on to her next song. The rest of the set roared past, song after song, holiday numbers she thought she’d scream if she ever had to sing again felt like old friends at a party where everyone remembers why they all became so close in the first place.

  Lucy finished the last note, then the last note of an encore and another—a sultry smoky-bar version of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas”—then sailed off the stage feeling as if she’d won a lottery.

  “Wow.” Steve handed over her water bottle, eyes gleaming with approval. “Honey, you were on fire for the second half. What gives?”

  She gulped some water and laughed. “It was a good set.”

  “A good set?” He shook his head admiringly. “It was the best I’ve ever heard you do. Let me buy you a drink.”

  She rolled her eyes at the familiar joke—drinks were on the house after the performance, and she and Steve always indulged in one together to wind down. “You’re welcome to.”

  “Actually I was hoping for that privilege.”

  Lucy felt him behind her before he spoke; she gathered up her self-control and turned, smiling as if he were any old work buddy, grateful Steve would be around to dilute the tension. “Hey, Josh, glad you could make it.”

  “Josh, huh?” Steve sent Lucy a teasing glance. “I think I figured out why you were—”

  “Josh Fairbanks.” Lucy threw Steve a finish-that-sentence-and-die look and gestured toward her coworker, trying to look casual, trying not to notice Josh’s biceps tightening the short sleeves of his blue polo shirt or the trim lines of his legs in black jeans. “He works on me at Stenk—with me at Stenkel, Webb and Reese.”

  Okay, just let her die now.

  Josh chuckled and shook Steve’s hand. “Great job tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Steve glanced at Lucy and back at Josh. “Well. Have fun, you two. I have to get going home.”

  “You can’t stay?” She sent Steve a pleading glance, which he ignored. Et tu, Stevie?

  Count him in the Down on Link Club, too. He’d been encouraging her to move on for months. But he barely knew Link and had a weakness for big-eyed wiry brunettes like Josh.

  “I’ll call you.” Steve kissed her cheek as an excuse to whisper, Get him, tigress, packed up his things and left her to the wolves. Or wolf. Or…Lord, she was confused.

  “So how about that drink?”

  “Oh…” She laughed and rubbed her bare arms, though she wasn’t remotely cold. Standing next to him on an iceberg wouldn’t be cold. Of course, she’d worn her itty bittiest black dress with the rhinestone trim, and of course she was regretting it now, because of course it would look as if she wore it for him so he’d get ideas….

  Which, of course, she sort of did. And she’d sort of love to hear what those ideas might be.

  “I guess a drink would be nice.” She needed one, regardless. “A friendly one.”

  He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Am I going to have to fight the deep freeze much longer?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. As if it was only a matter of time before she thawed?

  “Josh, I’m involved with—”

  “Believe me, I know.” He took her arm and escorted her over to the bar, gestured her onto a stool, took a seat next to her and turned with one of his beautiful baleful looks. “I’m sorry if I sounded—”

  “Lucy, dear?” A couple of regulars came over and congratulated her on her set—Mr. and Mrs. Epstein, who’d been married longer than she’d been alive. She smiled and chatted politely, aware Josh was restless next to her, ordering himself another drink and champagne for her. The second they left, another couple stepped forwa
rd, then a single woman, then another couple who lingered, the husband telling too many stories about his wife’s long-ago career before she finally pulled him away and Lucy was able to turn back to Josh.

  “Do you have to put up with that a lot?”

  Lucy shrugged, surprised he’d ask her that way. But then he doubtless didn’t understand what a thankless job performing could be. She liked talking to her fans. Not much else about the business was that pleasant and immediately rewarding. “It goes with the territory.”

  “I guess. Anyway, as I was saying…” He stood, moved his stool closer to hers and sat again. “Well, let’s drink first to tonight. You were fantastic.”

  “Thank you.” She clinked her glass to his—looked like he was drinking whiskey, as her father did. “It was nice of you to come.”

  “I wanted to hear you sing. I wanted a taste of this other side of you. It’s…beyond fabulous.” He took a swig of whiskey and put the drink on the counter, leaned close. “Do you have any idea how sexy you look up there?”

  She blushed—of course she did, and where was her siren act now? “Wow. Thank you. I don’t really know what to say.”

  “How about that you’ll take a walk with me tonight?” He gestured toward the exit with his glass. “Somewhere, anywhere, so we can look at the stars.”

  She pictured it immediately—walking along the streets, frosty-breathed, maybe hand in hand, stopping to look at the stars, pointing out those they knew. Then his hand on the back of her head and another of those kisses that would burn her from the inside out.

  “I can’t.”

  He made a sound of frustration. “I’m trying to be patient, Lucy. But when I want something—or someone—the way I want you…”

  “Please, Josh.” She cringed. She was being ridiculously weak. Either she had to jump or pull back. It wasn’t fair to Josh to keep him guessing like this. She just couldn’t seem to make herself go either way.

  “Okay.” He picked up his drink and drained it. “I’m sorry, but I’m going crazy. You give me go signals all over the place and then I keep bouncing off the same barrier.”