by Alison Kent
“So I see,” she said with a prurient grin she couldn’t help. And then she held out her hands. He took them in his, stepped onto the blanket and slowly lowered them both to their knees.
Once there, facing each other, bodies pressed close, he kissed her, cupping her face with one hand, her nape with the other, sliding his fingers into the fall of her hair and winding the strands around his wrist.
He moved his lips from her mouth to her chin, her neck, tasting her throat, licking and nibbling his way from the hollow of her throat to her breasts. He sucked one breast, and she groaned as the sensation spiraled through her body.
She tightened her sex and held the feeling close, moving her hands from his shoulders to his waist, where she encountered the elastic band of his boxers and the tip of his erection straining to be free.
She didn’t wait, didn’t ask. She wanted to touch him and so she did, easing the fabric over the bulge of his cock’s ripe head and down the length of his shaft that was thick and veined and pulsing with the flow of his blood.
While he got out of his shorts, she turned to the box on the table, her heart pounding at the thought of sharing with Quentin the pleasure found inside. She chose a soft leather cock ring and asked his permission with only the lift of one brow.
He gave a single nod. She supposed that was about all he could manage what with the way his pulse was popping in the vein at his temple. She wrapped the strap around the base of his shaft, enclosing his sac, her eyes on his as she tightened the weighted leather ties.
He shuddered at the constriction and the pull, closed his eyes as she fondled his balls, as she wet her fingers with the sticky moisture he’d already released and used it to ease her way farther between his legs.
He spread his knees wider, giving her the access she wanted. She played with the ridged extension of his erection, with the puckered flesh behind, returning to slide a finger between his balls, separating his sac and rolling his jewels in the cup of her palm.
His eyes were still closed, his jaw taut, his hands laced together on top of his head. And so she leaned forward, ran the tip of her tongue around one nipple, then the other, before dipping down and taking his cock into her mouth.
She worked her tongue along the seam beneath the sensitive head, sucked the plump mushroom cap between her lips. Holding him with one hand, she explored between his legs with the other, gauging his release by his pulse and the constriction of the sac around his balls.
It didn’t take him long. His hands came down to grip her shoulders, and his hips began to thrust. She continued the pressure and suction of her lips, releasing the leather strap she’d bound around him.
He came in bursts of warmth, which she caught with the cup of her tongue, and she stayed with him until he was finished, giving him the pleasure of her love in the most intimate way she knew how to do.
She waited until his shudders had finished before she released him, tossing the cock ring to the wastebasket near the armoire as he collapsed into the throne of pillows piled on the blanket.
He looked up at her from where he lay on his back. “Give me five. That’s all I need.”
Men were just too cute, she thought as she stretched out beside him. “Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere. And just so you know, my favorite scents are herbal and citrus.”
“Three more minutes, and you’re in for the massage of your life,” he said, his breathing beginning the long return to normal.
Turning onto her belly, she raised up onto her elbows, tucking a pillow beneath her, and stared out the open doors at the wide expanse of the sky. “I wonder what sort of view I’ll have should I end up having to move.”
He turned his head toward her. “When will you know if you’re going to have to?”
She shrugged, shook her head. “After the photo shoot tomorrow I plan to corral either April or Evan—or both if I can—and get some sort of concrete answer. If I know what’s going on, I can deal. It’s the uncertainty and the waiting that’s making me nuts.”
Quentin rolled onto his side, rested his palm in the small of her back, rubbing circles there for several seconds before saying, “You know I’ll help you any way I can.”
His hesitation endeared him to her even more. She knew what it cost him to hold back, to offer what to him was no doubt so little.
He could’ve offered—again—to set her up in her own place, to pay her way through school, to call in all those markers on her behalf.
But he hadn’t. He simply lay at her side, caressing her and letting her know he was there for her, that he wouldn’t let her starve or end up in a cardboard box.
She glanced over, her eyes watering, and leaned close to kiss the tip of his nose, laughing as she pulled away.
Instead of laughing with her, he frowned. “What was that for?”
“For being you. For paying attention.” She was enjoying his warmth at her side and the night air blowing over her skin.
“Ah. Herbs and citrus, right?” he asked, getting to his knees and crawling across her body to study the bottles of massage oil in the gilt-edged box.
“That, yes. But you also managed to bite that generous tongue of yours.”
“Generous, huh?” he asked, settling in behind her, his knees straddling her legs. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s meant as one. And I thank you for the reassuring offer.” Knowing she had somewhere to turn should worse come to worse made the future easier to face.
“Promise me you’ll come to me before you hit your cardboard-box bottom,” he said, rubbing his palms together to warm the oil he’d chosen that smelled like a mixture of basil and nectarine.
“Mmm. I promise.” She closed her eyes, wiggled and shivered beneath him, feeling his soft penis stir against her bottom when she did. “That smells so good.”
“I hope it feels good,” he said, starting at her shoulders, kneading the muscles there and making his way down to her biceps before returning to the base of her skull.
“Unbelievable,” was all she could say. She felt as if she were drifting toward unconsciousness on one of those cotton-ball Oklahoma clouds. “See, this is why we’d never work together. I’d want this treatment all the time, and you’d get tired of pampering me.”
“Who says I would?” he asked, his thumbs working the muscles along either side of her spine, his weight settled on her hips holding her still. “I’m enjoying this probably more than you are.”
“Oh, that’s not possible,” she argued, even as she felt his erection stiffen between the cheeks of her backside and smiled to herself.
He moved lower then, pressing the heels of his palms into the upper curves of her bottom, manipulating her flesh and muscles until she moaned.
“See?” she muttered. “Not possible.”
His responding laugh was low and husky and as raw as the words he mumbled, as carnal as the motion of his lower body as he stroked his cock over her, settling the weight of his balls against the lower curves of her ass.
She lifted her hips, dislodging him and pulling her knees up beneath her so that the height of her backside fit perfectly against his groin. He moved in behind her then, pushed two pillows beneath her stomach before reaching for the bottle of scented oil.
He poured a small circle onto the cleft of her bottom; the oil pooled and ran between her legs, lubricating her for his questing fingers that followed. He teased the seam where her thighs met her hips with his index fingers, used his thumbs to spread open her cheeks.
She trembled there on the sultan’s bed, surrounded by pillows and moonlight and Quentin’s warmth. She loved his touch, his thorough tenderness as he aroused her, seeking out her response.
She couldn’t get enough of that thing he did with his knuckle…yes, that. Right there. Pushing up against her entrance, teasing her and pulling away to circle her clit, rubbing along either side.
It was all she could do not to cry out. But she wanted to wait, to let him play
and discover her body’s secrets.
The wait wasn’t easy, not with his cock as well as his fingers between her legs. He held himself and guided the tight head between her folds, teasing her entrance without slipping inside where she wanted him desperately.
She wiggled, pushed back, leaning onto one elbow and using her free hand to coax him to give her what she wanted. She failed on all counts. He pulled away, chuckling as he continued to tease her.
And then he got serious. He sat behind her, spread his legs on either side of hers and leaned in to replace his fingers with his tongue, pushing inside of her while his hands held her open.
She gasped, groaned, shivered and reached down to press the side of her clit. The stimulation only caused another burst of sensation that brought her that much closer to the orgasm she wanted to save.
And then she gave up. She couldn’t help it. Quentin pushed two fingers inside of her and stroked her, licking at her and whispering words that urged her to come.
The burst of sensation consumed her. She shuddered and trembled and shook. Her belly burned. Her nipples scraped the blanket as she squirmed. It was an orgasmic flash fire, and over way too soon—
Except Quentin had other plans. He urged her to turn onto her back, to draw her knees to her chest, to open her legs as he crawled above her, as he braced himself on his knees and pushed the head of his cock into her sex.
He didn’t move except to fill her, to lower his hips until his body lay flush against hers. And then he propped his elbows on either side of her head, brushed her hair back from her face and stared into her eyes as he begin to move.
It was like nothing she’d ever experienced, this intimacy, this incredible connection of both bodies and souls. Her heart pounded fiercely. She ached from her chest to her belly.
Oh, God, but she loved this man.
She loved his kindness. She loved how he was never selfish, how he always thought of her, looked out for her, tended to her—whether they were in bed, walking in a garden rooftop, sharing a meal of spinach-and-chicken roll-ups or watching a concert DVD.
She loved his determination, his drive, the way he’d made himself into the man he was. She loved the man he was. And when he wiped away the tears running from her eyes to her temples, she shook her head and smiled.
And then she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close while she loved him, while they moved together as if they had both finally come home.
13
EVEN THOUGH IT HAD BEEN close to four o’clock by the time she’d finally arrived home, Shandi was up by nine Sunday morning.
Today was the only day she would have to make this photo shoot work. Evan was off. Kit was off. April was always off. And Quentin wasn’t yet due to leave town. They’d all agreed to meet in the hotel basement at Exhibit A at ten.
Tomorrow everything changed. Work schedules and school schedules and travel schedules would muck things up. This was her one and only shot at getting this right.
If it didn’t work, she’d have to arrange a new time with Kit and April and give up the idea of Quentin as her marketing trump card.
It was bad enough she was going to have to give him up as her lover. After last night she didn’t know how she was going to do it, tell him goodbye, let him go.
She told herself to make the most of these last two or three days. She didn’t know if she’d see him on Tuesday before he flew out.
But she would see him today, all day, and for that she was grateful. She wasn’t going to spend the time moping about what was to come.
She was going to enjoy him, and if she found a way to let him know of her feelings, she would. Not in any sort of twisted effort to convince him to stay with her or make him regret having to leave.
Simply so that he would know what an amazing memory he’d always be. How much she had enjoyed having him in her life. And how very very much she wished things could have been different between them.
But things were what they were, so she packed up her stuff and headed for the hotel. The subway was delayed, and she arrived to find April and Evan already there, sitting cuddled up on one of the bar’s banquettes.
Rolling her eyes, Shandi glanced around, realizing how much different the place looked without the billowing smoke with the trace of mint scent or the blue lights casting a seductive—if not eerie—glow over the white room.
Walking farther inside, she saw that her friends weren’t just cuddled up but were drinking coffee and sharing a plate of Chef’s famous Bouche s’mores made with house marshmallows and imported chocolate.
No doubt Kit’s handiwork—though the other woman was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Quentin. Obviously April and Evan had spent yet another cozy night at April’s place and needed the jump-start of sugar and caffeine.
Hmm. On second thought, that didn’t sound so bad.
Shandi had to clear her throat twice before they looked up. “Are you two going to scarf down all of that yourself or could you possibly share?”
April looked up, smiling. “Hey, Shan. Scoot on in here. Kit went to get more coffee and another plate. Oh my God, I’ve never eaten anything this good in my life.”
“What, the Carters of Connecticut don’t melt marshmallows over campfires?” She bit into one of the squares and realized she’d never eaten anything this good in her life. “Uh, never mind. I think Chef has cornered the market.”
“No joke,” Evan added. “And I don’t even like chocolate that much.”
The door opened again and Shandi looked up to see Kit usher Quentin inside, another plate of s’mores in her hand while he carried one of the kitchen’s thermal carafes and a small crate of mugs, sugar and cream.
Shandi didn’t say a word. She just watched, breathless, thinking of their last hours together, her body heating in response, her heart warming with joy.
He set everything in the center of the large circular table that during showtimes would be covered with a cloth, then leaned down to kiss a smudge of chocolate from the corner of her mouth before grabbing a s’more of his own.
Her friends giggled, and Shandi wanted to roll her eyes. But she couldn’t. Quentin had captured her gaze and she couldn’t move.
He was the most beautiful man she’d ever known, and she ached with the power of just how much she loved him.
Kit slid onto the banquette to chat with April and Evan and pour coffee for everyone else, leaving Shandi with nothing to do but stare as Quentin finished off a marshmallow-and-chocolate concoction, then reached for his cup.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked, lifting the fresh brew and blowing across the steaming surface. “You look tired.”
“A few hours,” she admitted, noting that he, of course, looked as if he’d just slept for weeks. “I’m pretty much running on adrenaline.”
“You’ll get some rest once we’re done here?” It was a simple question, asked with the nonchalance of a casual friend.
But she heard everything he didn’t say bubbling beneath the surface in a cauldron of emotionally charged words.
They were the same ones she wanted to use to tell him how what they’d done last night had changed her world. To tell him that she loved him. That she wondered what she was going to do once he left her, left the city, left a huge gaping hole in her life.
Instead she shrugged and reached for the caffeine. “If I have time. My shift starts at six.”
“Then we should get started, yes?” He arched a brow, signaling that she needed to take care of herself, that he intended to see that she did.
Breathless, she nodded, glancing at the other three in the photo-shoot party. “Evan, I thought we’d use the platform and see how that goes. Quentin can help you. So if you want to get started setting up your equipment, I’ll work with the girls on their makeup and hair.”
“Sure thing,” Evan said, washing down the rest of his breakfast with his coffee and waiting for Kit to slide out of the booth so he could follow.
Shandi got to
her feet, as well. So did April. Both women had done nothing more than wash and blow-dry their hair as straight as possible.
Shandi glanced from one fresh face to the other. “You brought your clothes, right?”
Kit nodded, gestured to the banquette on the other side of the one in which they’d been sitting. “Hanging behind us. Shoes and everything.”
After working out her concept days ago, Shandi had raided the closets of both April and Kit looking for outfits in the color scheme she’d chosen.
Not surprisingly, considering the size of the two wardrobes, she’d come up with exactly what she’d hoped to find, right down to the shoes.
“And you?” she asked, looking back at Quentin now that she could breathe again.
He held his arms out to the sides. “What you see is what you get.”
What she saw worked. In a very big way. He was wearing the unstructured ivory linen suit he’d had on that night she’d sat on his lap in the library…a memory that she quickly forced away.
She would have preferred a color that was a shade or two darker, that of bamboo or coconut skin, a blend of Kit’s chocolate brown sheath and April’s silk tank shift that was just this side of white.
But she hadn’t been about to ask him to buy a new suit for an ad that was a simple class project that she hoped turned out as brilliantly as she’d envisioned.
“You’ll do,” she said, ignoring the spark in his eyes and gesturing with an index finger. “Though you’ll need to lose the band. This is about hair color. So I need to be able to see your hair.”
One brow cocked, he reached back, pulled loose the strip of leather and shook his hair free. The strands fell like a cascade of caramel, and Shandi swore she heard the other two women behind her sigh.
She loved his wildly mussed look, hated his wildly mussed look, wished they were back in his room so she could muss him up even more. He was perfect for the king-of-the-jungle slant of her ad.
Suddenly she just wasn’t sure she wanted to share her own private Quentin with her girlfriends or the women in her class. Not when the two beside her were in need of a shovel to pick up their dropped jaws.
