by Desiree Holt
One thing was for sure. He’d never enjoyed a woman as much as he was enjoying this one. Nor felt such an instant emotional connection. He wanted more than sex with her. A lot more. How to approach it, though, was the problem. Come hell or high water, somehow he’d find out who she was, because he had no intention of letting this end when morning rolled around.
When he carried the tray back into the bedroom Red was still stretched out on the sheet, one arm thrown over her forehead, the other hand resting on her slightly—and delightfully—rounded little tummy. He stopped for a moment, thinking he could stare at her like this for the rest of his life.
The rest of his life?
Shit, Randall. You’ve got it bad and after only a few hours.
“I think you actually have to bring the tray over here for me to reach any of that,” she joked.
“What? Oh, sorry.”
He placed the tray on the nightstand, waited while she hitched herself up with the pillows behind her then handed her the wine goblet. Taking the tumbler with his own drink he touched it to her glass.
“To seduction.”
Below the edge of the three-quarter mask her lips curved in a smile.
“To seduction.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, nudging her over to make room for himself. “So, is this playing up to your expectations so far?”
I cannot believe I asked that dumbass question. She’ll think I want her to stroke my ego.
Well, I do. And something else along with it.
“Why, Black, are you worried you might fall short of my expectations?”
“Not a bit.” He leaned forward and ran his tongue over her lips. “Just checking. The night isn’t close to being over.”
“Good.” She licked her lip where his tongue had been, the gesture sending urgent messages to his cock. “That’s good.”
He lifted a pretzel from the bowl he’d dumped them into and held it to her mouth, waiting while she took a bite of it before bringing it to his own lips. Again that little tongue glided over her full bottom lip, catching the crumbs from the pretzel. God, she was just the sexiest little thing he’d ever met in his life. Clay was sure by the time she ate the whole damn thing he’d be harder than concrete. He needed to distract himself.
“Is it against the rules for you to tell me about yourself?” he asked, picking up another pretzel.
“But then the mystery would be gone, right?” She bit down on the pretzel.
“Maybe we could stay away from things that are too personal. For instance, what’s your favorite movie?” He popped the rest of the pretzel in his mouth and chased it with some bourbon.
“It’s an old one and you’ll laugh when I tell you.”
“Why? Because it’s a typical chick flick?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. Delta Force with Chuck Norris.”
Clay laughed. “That’s probably the last answer I’d expect.”
“See? I’m still a woman of mystery. Now you. Your favorite.”
“Also an oldie. The Hunt for Red October.”
“Hmm. So we both like military thrillers. Okay. Favorite kind of music.”
She took a sip of her wine. “Easy. Anything country.”
“No kidding? Me too. Although I tend to like the older stuff better.”
He picked up a chocolate cookie and put it to her lips. She bit down on it, the action more sensual than he would have imagined. She swallowed the bite but little chocolate crumbs stuck to her lower lip. Clay couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and captured them with his tongue, the softness of her lips as intoxicating as the rich taste of the chocolate. Clay was sure he’d never enjoyed minibar snacks this much before.
“Favorite food,” he continued.
“Pizza,” she answered at once.
“Steak and fries,” he came back.
She giggled. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Too cliché? Typical macho fare?”
“Uh-huh.”
He smiled. “What can I say? I play to type. Okay, favorite color?”
“Red.”
“Mine too,” he grinned. “Especially after tonight.”
“Really?” Her glanced flicked to the rumpled pile of his pirate clothes. “I would have thought black.”
“Black is only who I am for the night. All this talking must be making you hungry.”
“I’m not sure that’s what revved up my appetite.”
He fed her another bite then waited while she chased it with a swallow of wine. Everything she did, from drinking her wine to chewing the cookie to all things sexual, she did with incredible grace. Yes, he could definitely get off on watching her for hours.
“So, are we through with Twenty Questions yet?”
Her hand, resting on his thigh, was moving casually back and forth, closer and closer to his cock, which definitely wanted to come out and play again.
“I guess talking is highly overrated,” he growled, unable to stand it a moment longer.
He placed both of their glasses on the tray and stretched out on the bed beside her, shifting her so she was spooned against him. One hand cradled a breast, the fingers idly pinching and tugging at the nipple, while the other drifted down to the softness of her pubic curls and the damp heat of her cunt. She was still delightfully wet, the lips warm to the touch. His fingertip just grazed the tip of her clit, drawing a quick intake of breath from her.
“Feel good?” he breathed in her ear.
“Oh, yes.”
He lifted her top leg and moved it so it rested on his thigh, giving him greater access to her. Slowly, gently, he stroked her clit, squeezing her nipple in a matching rhythm. Red moved her hips in a slow, liquid tempo, riding the movements of his hand. What he really wanted to do was play with her until she was nearly to the point of madness, pull her to her hands and knees and fuck that sweet ass that made his mouth water.
But he hadn’t come prepared for that, hardly expecting that the woman of his dreams would seduce him into an impromptu one-night stand. And he was sure she hadn’t. In fact, he was pretty damn sure her ass was virgin. He wanted to be her first and so he didn’t want to do anything to hurt her. Damn! He was going to have to find a way to see her again. Somehow. Some way.
The more she rocked her hips against his touch the harder his cock became and the more his balls ached. He wanted to shower kisses on her cheeks but the damn mask was in the way so instead he bent his head slightly to kiss the graceful column of her neck. Erotic little sounds were whispering from her mouth, soft cries that threatened his control.
He increased the tempo of both hands, tormenting the nipple as he alternately worked her clit and thrust three fingers in the grasping heat of her pussy. She was breathing hard now, the little moans increasing in intensity. The harder she rode him the hotter he got until he reached a point where he had to be inside her. Right now.
If he couldn’t take her ass tonight he’d at least have the next best thing. Grabbing one of the condoms from the nightstand he ripped the foil with his teeth and sheathed himself with one hand. Rolling her onto her tummy he lifted her so she was on her hands and knees and pulled two pillows beneath her to brace her body.
Kneeling between her legs he placed his palms on the cheeks of her ass and unable to help himself spread them wide to see the winking rosebud of her anus. Impulsively he rimmed it with his tongue, eliciting a shudder from her and a louder moan.
“I’d love to take you here,” he rumbled, “but I’m afraid to hurt you.” He kissed each cheek. “But one of these days, Red, your ass will be mine.”
One of these days? He didn’t even know her name.
Before she could say anything he placed the head of his shaft at the opening of her cunt and drove in with one swift stroke.
Oh, Jesus!
He closed his eyes, letting her wet heat grip him and the feeling of pleasure sweep through his body. And then he began to ride her, plunging in an
d out, making himself keep to a steady, even pace. But as she bucked back against him, matching his rhythm, his pace increased until he was pumping into her harder and faster. Balancing himself with one hand on her hip he slid the other one around until he found her clit.
He rubbed the hot little bundle of nerves and flesh, faster and faster, carrying them both over the edge into a climax that shook him to his very core. Nothing existed except for him and this woman and the racking spasms shattering them both.
“Red?” he murmured.
“Mm-hmm?” She nestled against him, feeling so good next to his body.
“You now we have something going here besides just good sex, right?”
She tensed. “W-what do you mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean. This is more than just sex.”
“But damn good sex, right?”
“Don’t try to distract me. I’d like to see you again. More than just tonight.”
She was still taut, her body strung like a bow. What was with her?
“I…I can’t do that, Black.”
He kissed her blonde curls. “Why not? You’re not married, are you?”
“N-no. Nothing like that.”
“Then what? I think we’ve got a good thing going here. I don’t want to lose it.”
She was silent for so long he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. Then she said, “How about if we talk about it in the morning?”
“Okay. But just so you know, I’m not letting you leave before we do.”
After what seemed like a long time but was probably only minutes he withdrew from her and headed to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. When he climbed back into bed he could sense from the relaxed state of her body that she was seconds from sleep. Pulling her against him and wrapping his arms around her, his last thought before his eyes slammed shut was that she’d find her again if it was the last thing he did.
* * * * *
Bridget opened her eyes and looked around, disoriented at first in her surroundings. A hotel room, and a pretty fancy one. Something was covering her face and when she reached a hand up she realized it was a satin mask. Mask! The masquerade ball! The second thing she realized was a warm, very male body was in bed next to her, curled around her with a hand cupping her breast.
Clay Randall! Ohmigod! She’d actually done it.
No wonder her body felt sore in so many places. Make that delightfully sore as the memories of the night before came crashing back on her.
Glancing at the little bedside clock with its red LED numerals she discovered it was five thirty in the morning. Time to get the hell out of here before Clay woke up and made leaving difficult. Or worse yet, pulled off her mask. Besides, he’d been very insistent he wanted to talk to her in the morning about seeing her again, and that was just not possible.
As gingerly as possible she slid from his embrace and wriggled her way out of bed, groping around for her dress and shoes. She had no idea where her bra and thong were. She’d just have to go commando. Her keys were in one of the deep pockets in her dress along with her little change purse and her credit card. Once she was dressed she’d be good to go.
Clay shifted on the bed and mumbled something, his arm reaching out for her. She froze, holding her breath but in seconds he was back asleep, snoring softly. Tiptoeing into the adjoining living room she pulled on the dress and managed to get herself zipped into it. She eased the door open then closed it softly behind her, slipped on her shoes and headed for the elevator. She had no idea what condition her hair was in and she knew she was bound to get weird looks with the mask on her face but she wasn’t about to take it off. Not yet.
In the lobby she ignored the stares of people milling around, checked out and accepted a copy of her bill then asked the parking valet to get a cab for her. She finally breathed easily when the cab pulled away from the hotel out into traffic and she was heading home.
Last night was definitely one for the memory books. Clay Randall was every bit as magnificent and sexy as she’d imagined. The ball had provided her with the one opportunity to have this night with him. She’d be replaying it in her mind over and over again, reliving every single moment in vivid detail. It had been more than she’d ever expected it to be, worth the price of the ticket and the suite and even more than that.
But that would be the end of it. She couldn’t go around wearing the mask forever and once Clay got a look at her eyes she’d be lucky if he even socialized with her over their garbage cans.
Her problem, however, was that, just as he’d said, the night ended up being about far more than sex. Clay had touched her feelings, brought up emotions she hadn’t expected to come into play. Now she wanted more, and not just more sex. She wanted everything. With him. The whole nine yards.
Except she knew she couldn’t have it. It was just a fragile dream.
She was so lost in reverie she didn’t even realize the cab had stopped moving.
“Hey. Hey, lady.”
She looked up to see the driver leaning over the back of the front seat.
“Yes?”
“We’re here.” He pointed out the window. “This is the address you gave me.”
“Of course.” She pulled out her change purse, paid the driver and eased herself out through the door. “Oh, and here.” She handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Please. If someone tries to find out where you took me can you ask the dispatcher not to give out my address?”
“Sure thing.” He frowned at her. “You gonna be okay going inside by yourself?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine. And thanks again.”
She gathered up her skirt and hurried up to the porch, unlocking the door and practically falling inside. Just in case Clay managed to wake up right after she left and headed home she wanted to be tucked away in her house before he could see her. Leaning against the closed front door, she paused a moment to catch her breath. Then she ripped off the mask and tossed it onto the little wall table.
I’ll bet that thing made a mess of my hair and face.
In her bedroom she got herself out of the dress and hurried into the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror.
Oh, yes. A mess. Her golden curls the stylist had carefully arranged on top of her head were falling this way and that, drooping now across her forehead without the mask to hold them up. And the mask itself, after being worn for so many hours, had left lines on her forehead and cheeks and reddened her skin.
It had more than been worth the damage but now it was time to turn back into plain old Bridget with the ugly eyelids. As she looked at herself in the mirror it seemed to her that the heavy fold of skin had grown even bigger but that had to be her imagination. Didn’t it?
Sighing, she turned on the shower and when the water was hot enough stepped into it and let the spray beat down on her. She hated to wash Clay’s scent from her body but last night was over. Finished. She needed to get rid of everything but her memories.
Bridget spent a long time in the shower, lathering her body twice with scented shower gel and thoroughly shampooing her hair. Then she took even more time drying off, blow-drying her hair until it hung in its usually straight curtain to her shoulders. She rubbed lanolin-rich cream into her face, soothing the places where the mask had cut into it and finally, when she’d done all the repair to her body she could, she pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants and went into the kitchen to make tea and toast. Skipping dinner and spending the night in hot sexual activity should have given her a bigger appetite but she could feel the adrenaline that had kept her going all night washing out of her system. And with it her appetite. She knew she’d be crashing any minute now. That was okay. She could fall asleep and dream about Clay and the erotic things they’d done together. Later she’d make herself a better meal.
She brewed another cup of tea and was sipping the hot liquid when she heard the sound of a car in the next driveway. Clay! She set the tea down on the counter and hurried into the living room. The blinds on the pictur
e window were closed but she peeked between two of them, just in time to see Clay’s car pull into his garage. She glanced at the funky wall clock hanging by the door. A little after seven.
Had he slept an hour after she left then left the hotel? Or had he spent part of that time trying to find out who had rented the suite, or checking with the head valet to see if she’d taken a cab or driven herself? Had he actually gone looking for her or had he just written it off as one night of hot sex and goodbye?
And why do I even care? Nothing will ever come of it.
A car moved slowly down the street, stopping at each house. The newspaper carrier. Her own paper landed on her porch with a thunk! Making sure that Clay was nowhere in sight she opened the door, scurried out to get the paper and ran back inside, slamming and locking the door.
And why would I care if he saw me? I take my newspaper in every morning.
She was just spooked, that was all.
Sighing, she tossed the paper on a small table and headed to her bedroom. The adrenaline crash was about to overtake her completely and she needed a bed.
* * * * *
Clay took off the pirate garb and tossed it onto a chair in his bedroom. In his bathroom he turned on the shower, letting it get as hot as he could stand it then stepped in under the punishing spray. His body ached from head to toe and he had no idea why. This wasn’t the first sexual marathon he’d been involved in so why was it this time his muscles were protesting? Was it because he’d worked harder, been more intense this time? Because for the first time in ages it had really meant something?
He soaped his body, wishing Red was in the shower with him. He’d love to see the drops sliding down that lush body, beading on her breasts and nipples, leaving droplets on the dark-blonde hair covering her mound. He closed his eyes and leaned against one wall of the shower, remember every dip and swell of her body, the roundness of her breasts, the swollen buds of her nipples.
In a flash he recalled the feel of her sweet, sweet pussy, so tight, clenching around his cock, milking it. The taste of it, sweet and tart, rich on his tongue and lips. He licked his mouth now as if he could still taste her. He wanted to suck that sweet little pussy, thrust his tongue into its hot walls. Scrape it against her sweet spot and feel her convulse in his hands. Hear those wonderful little whimpers of pleasure.
