by Desiree Holt
“Bridget?” His mouth was close to her ear and one hand cupped her chin.
“Uh-huh.” Her breath was trapped in her throat.
“This may be a big mistake but I’m gonna do it anyway.”
The moment his mouth touched hers fire exploded in the pit of her stomach and fanned out to every part of her body. She knew her crotch was suddenly damp with her juices and she worried that Clay could feel it through her thin yoga pants. Her breasts tingled, just begging for his mouth.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips before urging them open and slipping inside. He licked gently everywhere, his tongue gliding over hers. His fingers threaded through her hair, cupping her head and holding it in place so he could slant the kiss this way and that. At first it was gentle. Coaxing. Testing. But as she found herself sinking into it an urgency crept in and the contact became hot and fierce.
It’s pitch-black in here. Only a tiny sliver of moonlight. He can’t see my eyes. Or my body, and compare it to his mysterious woman. I can be totally anonymous again.
And that quickly she let herself fall into it, sliding her hands through the silk of his hair and pressing herself against him.
“Jesus, Bridget.” He tore his mouth from hers, his breath coming in uneven rasps. “What the hell are we doing here?”
“You tell me,” she whispered, and wriggled her ass against his thickening cock.
“Do that one more time and you’ll be in big trouble.”
In answer she moved again.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he ground out and slid his hand beneath her t-shirt.
Bridget suddenly remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra. She always took it off when she got home and changed into comfy clothes for the evening. Now Clay’s large callused palm was sliding up her rib cage and cupping her breasts, the contact of skin against skin electrifying.
“Sweet,” he breathed and pinched her nipple.
She jerked in response and a tiny moan whispered over her lips as she arched into his touch.
He pinched her nipple again and tugged at it lightly. His tongue was back in her mouth again, firing her senses. She moaned again as his hand moved down over her tummy beneath the waistband of her yoga pants and into the nest of curls. He nipped the end of her tongue as his long fingers slid against the lips of her pussy and found her opening, circling with a slow movement.
Automatically she moved her thighs to give him better access and one finger slid easily inside her. Bridget ran her hands over his shoulder, down his arms and beneath the fabric of his shirt to find the dusting of hair on his chest and his flat nipples.
He groaned and added a second finger to the first. She clenched around him and rocked back and forth in tiny movements. With each shift of her buttocks she rubbed the thick ridge of his cock.
“Okay,” he gasped, tearing his mouth from hers. “Enough fooling around, I just hope to hell one of us knows what we’re doing.” He pulled his hand from his body and cupped her cheeks. “Bridget. Listen to me. I have to go home and get a condom. They aren’t usually part of this outfit. When I come back if you’ve changed your mind it’s okay.”
Her throat was so dry she could hardly speak. “I-I won’t change my mind.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “If you do, I’m just telling you it’s all right.” He set her on the couch and stood up. “I’ll leave the door open so it won’t be quite so dark in here.”
Then he was out the door with his long-legged stride.
Bridget nibbled her bottom lip, wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life. After she had her surgery—if she passed all the qualifications—and she told Clay she was really Red, would he be mad as her for the whole seduction episode? Madder yet that she had sex with him as Bridget without telling him? If so, maybe she should grab on to the unexpected opportunity and run with it.
Deliberately she made her mind a blank she removed her t-shirt and yoga pants along with her thong and lay back down on the couch, her heart pounding like that of a racehorse. Her breath caught in her throat when she heard Clay’s feet on the back porch followed by the closing of the door. Then he was standing beside her and he was shucking his clothes.
His fully erect and swollen cock brushed her cheek and she closed her fingers around it, stroking the familiar velvet-over-steel that she remembered from their night together. Once. Twice. Then her hand slipped down to cup his balls and run her fingernails lightly over the sac that held them.
Clay brushed her hand away and she heard the crinkle of the foil wrapper, sensed him sheathing himself in the latex. He knelt between her thighs on the couch but instead of entering her he bent his head to kiss her again, his cock rubbing against the mound of her pussy.
She rubbed her hands over the hot skin of his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath it, her tongue meeting his in a delicious duel.
His broke the kiss and trailed his mouth across her cheek and down the column of her neck, pausing to place a kiss behind one ear and at the hollow of her throat where her pulse was beating wildly. Then downward until his lips closed over one nipple, sucking on it deeply before turning his attention to the other. Over her stomach, his tongue drawing circles around her navel and finally to her pussy, where he licked the length of her slit.
Bridget was on fire, the need in her so strong it engulfed her. She pressed her feet into the couch cushion, thrusting herself to his incredible mouth as he licked and stroked and tasted. His tongue swirled around the nub of her clit, sending fire spearing through her.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she murmured as his very educated tongue drew incredible responses from her. “Please. Oh, please.”
He lifted his head. “Please? Please, what?”
She could hardly get her breath. “Please. Inside me. Now.”
The head of his cock nudged her opening and then he slid in smoothly, filling her completely. He paused a moment, letting her adjust to him although the feeling was so familiar it brought tears to her eyes.
Yes, yes, yes!
This was what she’d hungered for every night since the masquerade ball. What she’d dreamed about.
And then he moved, slowly at first then faster. Bridget wound her legs around his waist and lifted herself to him so she took him deeper and his balls slapped against her with each thrust. She clamped her inner muscles around him, riding him, nothing existing in the pitch dark except her, this man and the incredible soaring feeling rising inside her.
He moved one hand between them to find her clit, rubbed it, rubbed it, and then they were plummeting into space together, bodies shuddering as spasms rocked them. A long time seemed to pass before the heavy tremors began to subside. Clay collapsed on her then eased himself out, his breathing still choppy.
“I don’t want to crush this sweet, sweet body,” he rumbled, his voice still ragged.
Bridget struggled to get her own breathing under control. “I’m okay. Honest.”
She was vaguely aware of him standing, doing something—disposing somehow of the condom—then sitting beside her on the couch. Pulling her into his arms.
“Bridget,” he began.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice muffled as he pulled her to his chest. “Just please don’t say you’re sorry.”
“No. It’s not okay. And I’d be lying if I said I’m sorry, but I feel like a real shithead.”
“Don’t,” she protested. “Please do not say you’re sorry. Do not do that. I wanted this as much as you did.” Maybe more. “It…just happened.”
He brushed her hair back from her face and she wondered in panic if somehow he could see her features in the blackness.
“I worry that I took advantage of you in a vulnerable situation.” He sighed. “And then there’s…” His voice trailed off.
“Your mystery woman,” she finished for him, her heart twisting.
“Yes. There’s her.”
Silence stretched between them until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She lifted
her hand, searching until she found his face. She smoothed her fingers against the stubbled skin.
“Let’s just say you helped me when I needed it and let it go at that.” She pushed herself up and gave a slightly hysterical giggle. “I think I’m relaxed enough now and you need to go.”
“I feel like a bastard walking out on you like this.”
“You aren’t walking out. I’m giving you permission to leave. Really. Go. Please.”
She heard his sigh. “Let me take you into your bedroom and do this right. Please?”
In her bedroom? Was he kidding? Does his male ego just demand that he give a better performance? Not on his life.
Secretly she’d hoped that her body would be familiar to him. That he’d somehow recognize Red. That the feel of her around him would trigger the memories.
Apparently not. And maybe she’d made a mistake falling for him in the first place and going through with the elaborate charade. Now she wanted to scream at him Just get out but instead she scrabbled around for her clothes and began pulling them on. “How about this? You were a whole lot better than a drink or a tranquilizer, and the memory will be more pleasant. We’re good, Clay. Really.”
“This will sound stupid but are we still friends?”
Friends. The word suddenly took on a whole new meaning.
“Of course. And I might even find a way to help you locate your mystery woman.”
She heard the rustling of fabric as he dressed then felt his lips on her forehead.
“Don’t forget I owe you dinner.”
“I’ll be sure to collect.” Not in this lifetime.
“If you’re sure you’re okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” Go. Now.
Actually she was an emotional wreck and about to explode but she wanted him out before that happened. The darkness was no longer the only thing threatening her sanity.
“I’ll check on you later.” His lips found her forehead in the darkness.
“Actually, I’m going to grope my way to bed now so I’m good. Thanks. Really.”
She kept her head averted as he opened the back door, afraid a sliver of moonlight might cast itself on her.
“Bye, Bridget.”
She heard the soft snick of the door closing and stretched out on the couch, her arm over her forehead. The lights chose that moment to come on, flooding the house with light.
Thank god Clay has already left.
But as if he might return any minute she hurried into her office to find her glasses. Back in the kitchen she finally got her glass of ice water and sat at the breakfast table sipping it. Holy god, what had she done? She could only chalk it up to the intense need to be with Clay again and the overwhelming panic of the blackout.
What would he think? His head was so tied up with his mystery woman, by tomorrow she wouldn’t even be a blip on his radar. How would he react when he found out the truth of the situation? Be happy? Hate her?
She chugged the rest of the water and stuck the glass in the dishwasher. She still had a good hour of time to write tonight. Maybe she could lose herself in the pages of her book instead of the mess that her life was becoming.
* * * * *
Well, that was certainly a fucking mess.
Clay slammed his back door. The power was back on so he stuck the flashlight in a kitchen drawer. Maybe he should stick his head in with it. What a bonehead thing he’d just done. Probably ruined a good friendship at the same time.
Bridget was…Bridget. The really nice next-door neighbor who he chatted with over the fence or the garbage cans. Who he’d just recently poured his heart out to about a woman he’d fallen in love with. That he was desperate to find. And tonight, when she’d been frightened out of her wits, what had he done? Fucked her like some bimbo he’d picked up and brought home.
Shithead.
He pulled a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, popped the top and took a long swallow. It seemed as if lately he’d been doing a number of really stupid things. Like crawling into bed with a strange woman, fucking her brains out while they still had their masks on, falling in love in less than a twelve-hour time slot and letting her leave without getting her name or any idea of how to find her.
To make matters worse he’d dumped all over his captain and the captain’s wife as well as Bridget. But having sex with her just now was the frosting on the cake of stupidity. What kind of person tells a woman he’s in love with someone else, someone he can’t even find, then fucks her in the dark like he did. She probably thought she was a poor substitute for his mystery woman. So what kind of asshole did that make him? The kind of asshole he detested?
As if that wasn’t bad enough, the whole time he’d been with her, short as it was, he had the weird feeling that he’d done this same thing with her before. There was a familiarity about her body, about the way her tight pussy clenched around his cock. About her breasts, as stupid as that sounded. Maybe it was her laughter or the gentle cadence of her voice.
But he knew that was unreasonable. He and Bridget had never been intimate before tonight.
Intimate.
Now there was a word to describe what he and Red had experienced. More than fucking. More than sex. Better than just making love. They’d been intimate. It sounded hokey to say it but it felt as if she’d touched his very soul and unlocked something that had been isolated for a long time.
What was it about her that had turned him on so unexpectedly? A sudden thought left him thunderstruck and he stopped where he was, every brain cell frozen. Was it possible… No. Now he was really letting his mind run wild. No way could Bridget and Red be the same person. He was just superimposing memories on the real thing, because he wanted to find her so badly.
So now he was in deep shit twice. He had no idea how to find Red, a woman he found himself feeling unfaithful to, and he may have ruined his relationship with Bridget.
Way to go, dickhead.
Chapter Seven
Bridget settled herself at her desk, having checked her blouse, her hair and her makeup at least ten times. It was just shy of eleven o’clock Saturday morning and she was about to have her video chat with Georgina Hawthorne. She was so nervous she hadn’t even been able to eat any breakfast.
What if they decide I’m not a good candidate?
Stop it. They contacted me, didn’t they? I’ll just have to make my case.
The video chat was all set up. At eleven o’clock exactly her computer dinged to let her know she was getting an incoming call. She clicked on the icon to open the program and there, in front of her, was one of the most elegant women she’d ever seen. She could have been anywhere from fifty to seventy, slender in a pretty shirtwaist dress with her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless.
Bridget felt like a gnome by comparison.
“Good morning, Bridget.” The woman’s voice had a musical quality to it. “It’s so very nice to meet you.”
“G-good morning, Miss Hawthorne.”
“I was very much impressed by your letter,” the woman continued. “You expressed yourself very well.”
“Thank you. I tried to write from the heart.” Did that sound stupid? She wasn’t exactly sure how you spoke to a living legend, much less the woman who held your future in her hands.
“And you did.” She lifted a sheet of paper, obviously a printout of the email. “I see you’re a writer.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Romance novels.”
Georgina smiled. “Romance is such a wonderful world to lose yourself in. I checked your website. It’s very well done.”
And a place where anonymity is queen.
“Thank you.”
“And the blurbs and excerpts of your novels sound fascinating. I can see why your publisher wants you to create a presence for yourself at their conference.” Her smile was sympathetic. And I understand your reluctance. In my generation people were judged solely on appearance and it was a truly artificial world. One that destroyed many.”
&nbs
p; “As I said in the email, this is something I’d really like to do. That is, if…” She let her voiced trail off.
“If you have the surgery.” Georgina looked down at the email again. “And there’s a man in the picture.” Her lips curved in a smile. “I think the way you went about arranging an evening with him is extremely inventive and took a lot of guts. That’s what I look for, Bridget. Guts. And wouldn’t it be nice to be able to be with him without the masks?”
“Yes, it would.”
“Tell me a little more about yourself.”
So Bridget told her about her family, about how they were all following their own dreams. About her fantasy of becoming a writer and her desire for Clay. How desire had turned into love so quickly and unexpectedly and she wanted the opportunity to find out if it was real.
Georgina stared at her through the video camera for what seemed like the longest moments in Bridget’s life.
“Could I ask you to remove your tinted glasses for me, please?”
With a hand that trembled slightly she removed them, leaving her feeling naked and exposed.
Georgina studied her for what seemed an interminable amount of time. Then she nodded.
“I’m sorry that you’ve been dealing with this in your life, although you have a lovely face, my dear. Elegant bone structure. But I do believe that having the surgery will be a gift you won’t misuse.”
“Oh! Oh, thank you, Miss Hawthorne.”
“Georgina,” the woman reminded her. “And you are truly welcome. Someone will be in touch with you about the psychological evaluation. Once that’s completed we’ll forward a list of recommended surgeons in your area. Let us know which one you select and we’ll take care of everything else. Bye, now.”
Then she was gone and Bridget was staring at a blank screen.
It’s really going to happen!
It was a long time before she was steady enough to get up from the chair and leave the room. She wanted to sing. To shout. To tell someone about her great good fortune. She was sure she’d pass the psych eval. And then…
Yes. And then.
Needing to do something with her sudden abundance of restless energy, she decided to do her grocery shopping. In a few weeks she’d be cruising the mall, shopping for new clothes to go with her new look.
