Strokes of Midnight

by Tarr, Hope

  Head tucked beneath his chin, she slid her hands under his jacket, savoring the sensation of shirt-covered muscles rippling beneath her fingertips. “Thank you for asking.”

  She wasn’t sure what she would have done if he hadn’t asked. Invited him back to her own small room, she suspected. She’d never propositioned a man in her life, but this was her day for firsts. Certainly she couldn’t imagine parting ways in the bar downstairs. The episode at the piano was a prelude, not an ending. As amazing as those moments had been, they had only whetted her appetite for more—more of him.

  Never before had she felt so sexy, so completely and thoroughly desired. Knowing how much Max wanted her, seeing and feeling the proof of it in the hot glances he sent her way and the hardness crowning his thighs was an incredible turn-on. Even though she’d climaxed mere moments ago, she was already pulsing with a sweet liquid ache, an ache she knew he could more than satisfy. But more than him giving a repeat performance of the interlude downstairs, it was her eagerness to give back that had her counting ascending hotel floors with the bated breath enthusiasm of a New Year’s countdown only in reverse.

  Max’s thoughts were apparently tracking hers. Glancing up at the lit display above their heads, he blew out a heavy breath. “Suddenly a rooftop suite doesn’t seem like the good idea it did when I booked the reservation over the phone.”

  She smiled into the heat of his strong neck, drunk on the smell and taste of his skin, loving the way his lean, hard body fitted hers. Remembering the amazing feeling of his lips and tongue pleasuring her, the incredible turn-on of looking down and seeing his blond head buried between her thighs, and the erotically wicked feel of doing all those things atop a piano in a public place sent more warm moisture jetting. Though she was sure his suite would be many times larger and many times nicer than her small third-floor room, Becky wished they’d stopped off there instead. She didn’t need a fancy backdrop to set the mood for making love. She was already in the mood and then some. All she really wanted was Max naked and inside her.

  Another tortured few seconds passed and then the elevator doors opened. Becky stepped out first, her shoe’s narrow high heel catching on the metal groove and sending her flying.

  Max caught her elbow, saving her from falling on her face. She sent him a sideways look of apology. “Believe it or not, I’m not usually this klutzy.”

  He held her steady while she slipped her foot back in the shoe. “C’mon, Cinderella, we’ve already made it past midnight. You haven’t turned into a pumpkin yet, and I don’t think I can stand to stop and hunt for any more left-behind shoes.”

  They hurried down the hall, Max leading the way. When they came to his suite, he shoved the key card into the slot and pulled on the handle, cursing beneath his breath when the door didn’t immediately open. He succeeded on the third try, and they stumbled inside.

  Max fell back against the closed door, bringing her against his chest. “God, you feel so good against me.”

  He hooked his hand to her nape, and she tilted her face up to receive his kiss. Even wearing her Cinderella slippers, she had to stand on her toes to reach him, but it was worth it—more than worth it. His lips were warm and moist, his tongue flavored with the rich Scotch he’d drunk, as well as some other earthier flavor. It took her a handful of seconds to realize the earthiness she tasted was herself, her essence. She shouldn’t be surprised. She had come in his mouth. Like making love atop a piano, that was another first for her. Thinking how gentle and generous he’d been with her, how natural it had felt to open her legs and accept his intimate kisses, to, for once, turn off her brain and live fully and completely in her body rather than vicariously through her fictional characters, she tore her mouth away and kissed his closed eyelids, the corners of his sexy mouth, and the cleft of his square chin. She kissed his lightly lined forehead, his dark blond eyebrows, and the tip of his slightly-too-long nose. She kissed the hollow of his throat, the corded muscle that ran alongside and the sculpted V of his breastbone. She kissed him because she couldn’t stop kissing him, because in the small sensory sphere to which her world had been reduced, not to kiss him was unimaginable.

  Remembering how impatient Elliot had been to get to the main event, she stopped and said, “I’m sorry. All this kissing, is it too much? Am I…bothering you?”

  Max groaned and slid his hand into the back of her hair. “Are you crazy? I love the way you kiss me. I’m drunk on it, but I really need to get you—us—into the bedroom.”

  They backed across the living room, passing an ornately carved fireplace mantel and several pieces of framed artwork, shedding clothes along the way—Max’s jacket, Becky’s coat, the dress she suddenly couldn’t wait to get out of and no longer had to.

  By the time they reached the bedroom, Becky was stripped down to her black bra and panties, lace garters and silky hose. Shirt hanging open, Max sat her down on the side of the bed, a king-size four poster, and went down on his knees.

  He slipped off first her right shoe and then her left. “You have such little feet.” He unsnapped her garters and rolled off her stockings, pausing to press savoring kisses along her inner thighs.

  Becky glanced down. “My older sister used to say I had funny-looking feet. The second toe is longer than the big toe, see.” She lifted a foot to show him. “Maybe that’s why I like shoes so much. It’s a great way to cover up the flaws.”

  “I say they’re beautiful.” As if bent on proving it, he took her foot between his hands and carried it to his mouth. He laid a tingling trail of kisses on her arch and ankle, and then sucked her big toe into his mouth.

  Oh, my God. Just as he’d made love to her hands earlier, he was making love to her foot now. And amazingly it didn’t tickle. In fact, it felt really, really good.

  Hands on her upper arms, he ran his hungry gaze over her as though he couldn’t get enough of looking at her. “You really do look just like you did in my fantasy.”

  “You actually fantasized about me?” When he’d first said so downstairs, she’d assumed he was exaggerating or just being nice.

  He nodded. “After you left me standing on the street, I couldn’t get you out of my head. On the walk back to the hotel, I kept imagining you wearing the red shoes and nothing else. Well, I imagined your peach panties, too.” The corners of his mouth lifted in that oh so sexy smile.

  “I fantasized about you, too.”

  The smile reached his eyes, bringing out that sexy crinkling about the corners. “You did?”

  “Uh-huh. When I got back to my room, I took a really long shower.”

  He cocked a sandy-blond brow. “A shower, huh? A cold shower?”

  She shook her head. “A really hot one. Steaming, almost scalding, in fact.”

  Intense blue eyes bored into hers. “What did your fantasy…involve?”

  “Well, first, this…” She slid her hands inside his shirt. Feeling his firm, flushed flesh beneath her fingertips, she slid the garment over his powerful shoulders and off.

  Becky sucked in her breath. She’d known even before unhooking the first shirt button out in the living room he would be strong and lean and fit, but not even her writer’s imagination could have prepared her for the purely perfect beauty of Max’s bare chest, the sculpted planes dusted with golden hair and flexing with muscle. She ducked her head and drew one flat, brownish-pink nipple into her mouth.

  Max groaned and sank hard fingers into her hair. “God, woman, what are you doing to me?”

  Outside of her books, Becky had never before been so bold. Looking up, she couldn’t help smiling, a very Angelina-like smile, she was sure. “I was showing you my fantasy. If you stand up, I’ll show you the rest.” He hesitated and then rose to his feet. Looking up, she snagged his hungry gaze along with the tab of his zipper. “I imagined taking you as far down my mouth and my throat as you’d go. Would it be all right if I acted on that part of the fantasy, too?”

  Gaze riveted on her mouth, he swallowed hard and nodded
. “Believe it or not, that was part of my fantasy, too.”

  “Good, because it’s a big part of mine. A huge part you might even say.” She carefully rolled the zipper down over his erection.

  He wasn’t wearing briefs, and the backs of her fingers trailed down his bare skin. She slipped a hand inside, drawing him out. Becky sucked in her breath. She’d known he was very hard and she’d guessed by the bulge in his jeans he would also be large—make that very large—but she couldn’t have known how perfectly shaped he would be, how beautifully formed.

  “When I asked you up here, I figured I’d be doing most of the seducing.”

  She tilted her face to look up at him and ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. “That’s not a complaint, I hope.”

  He let out a ragged laugh. “Not hardly.”

  “Good.” She bent her head and lapped at the creamy bead of moisture crowning the tip. “Hmm, you do taste good, delicious in fact. Mind if I have some more?”

  Eyes stark with need, he answered with a sharp shake of his head. “I don’t know how much more I can take, how much longer I’ll last…”

  “Let’s find out.” She angled her face to his groin and guided him into her mouth, slowly sliding her lips over the silken length of him, savoring inch upon precious inch. “Hmm, so good,” she murmured, and then relaxed her throat and drew him deeper still.

  “God, I love the way you smell,” he said. His hands stayed buried in her hair, fingers threading through her curls, gently pulling her head down. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”

  She pulled back and stroked her hand over his balls. “I don’t wear perfume. It must be my bath gel.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m drowning in it. I could buy it by the case.”

  “We can go back to my room later and take a shower with it if you like.”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “Now that I have you behind closed doors doing…that, I can’t imagine letting you back out anytime soon.”

  So he meant for her to stay the night or what remained of it. When they’d left the bar, it had been just after midnight. Though she was in no danger of turning into a pumpkin—she had both slippers in close proximity—there were only so many hours left before morning, not nearly enough time to do all the things she was fantasizing about in her mind.

  Anchoring her hands to his waist, she pushed the jeans down his narrow hips and then the rest of the way off. Max stepped out of the pants, sweeping them aside with an impatient foot. She slid her gaze over his body, wanting to appreciate him properly before they spiraled further out of control. He was a beautiful man, broad shouldered and narrow hipped with a washboard stomach and a tight ass that made her want to bite into it like an apple. He was muscled in all the places a man ought to be, but not too much, like someone who used his body in a very physical, very real way rather than just pumping iron at the gym.

  “I’m sorry, Rose, I can’t wait anymore. I need to be inside you.” Hands on her shoulders, he gently pushed her back on the bed.

  Becky hesitated for the first time since he’d walked up to her at the bar. “I brought condoms with me. They’re in my purse on the table in the other room.”

  Max nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  Becky took advantage of the time alone to pull back the covers and slip beneath. Max returned a moment later and handed her the purse. Sitting up against the headboard, she opened it and took out the three packets.

  The mattress dipped as he joined her on the bed. Holding her gaze, he went up on his knees. “You do the honors.”

  Becky ripped open one of the gold foil squares and took the disc of latex out, anticipation making her clumsy. She rolled the condom over him, loving how long and thick he was, how beautifully big and hard. Too bad she hadn’t considered buying a larger size. Max definitely qualified as extra large. He stretched the standard-size prophylactic to its limit.

  Finishing, she looked up at him and asked, “Does that, um…hurt you?”

  “It’s a little tight,” he admitted, “but in the next couple of seconds, it’s going to feel really good, and I’m not going to care.”

  He eased her onto her back and straddled her hips. Fitting himself to her, he said, “I’m a lot bigger than you are. You’ll have to tell me if I hurt you.”

  The remark tugged at her heartstrings. Stranger or not, he really was the most tender man. “You won’t hurt me.”

  Looking up into his warm blue eyes, Becky found herself wishing she’d told him her real name if only so she could have the pleasure of hearing him call it out when he came inside her. Though she’d lectured herself ad nauseam over the past year about trusting too much too soon, she knew in this case it was all right. Max really wouldn’t hurt her.

  He entered her very slowly, very gently but neither of them had counted on how wet she would be, how ready to take him all the way. He glided inside, burying himself to the root, filling and stretching her to her limit. She anchored her hands to his hard shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist as she had downstairs, loving the way he moved his hips in slow circles and full-on thrusts, reveling in the delicious feeling of having him fully inside her.

  He reached down between them and found her clitoris with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t wait anymore.”

  Drowning in his eyes, in the throbbing heat his hand was raising, Becky wrapped her arms about his damp neck, pulling him closer. “Don’t wait. I don’t want you to wait.”

  Max pulled out and thrust hard and deep. He let out a hoarse cry and came inside her.

  * * *

  2:30 a.m.

  Becky lay on her back, her legs spread open and knees bent. Max knelt in the space between, resting back on his heels. They’d made love a second time since coming upstairs, a quick, feverish coupling that had left them sweaty and satisfied and lying in a twist of damp sheets. Now that the initial sexual tension between them had been sated, she was ready for a more leisurely ride.

  Even fully, gloriously erect, Max didn’t seem to be in any hurry, either. He had one finger buried inside her and was patiently working in a second, the milking motion of his hand sending sticky warmth sliding down her thighs.

  She lifted her head from the pillow. Never before had a lover treated her with such thorough care. Feeling almost guilty and wholly decadent, she said, “You don’t have to keep doing that. I mean, you must be getting tired or bored or…”

  “Bored?” He looked at her and smiled. “I could play with you this way for hours. In fact, I just may.” He moved the thumb of his other hand over her clitoris. Becky moaned. “Right on your clit, is that where you like it, or do you like it lower, more…here?” He slid his thumb down to her slit. “I want to know how to touch you. It’s important,” he added, as though the fate of the free world rested on her getting off.

  Becky hesitated. She’d never before had a lover so eager to please her in every way. “Lower feels nice, too, but it feels…well, it feels really good higher.”

  “I thought so.” Pulling out of her, he bent and licked the hood of her clitoris, raising her turn-on to a whole new level of heat. Suddenly she came apart, the spasm striking deeper than she’d ever before experienced.

  The last flutter of contraction was still rolling through when Max turned her over onto her stomach. She scrambled to her knees and spread her legs, wanting to share the last ebb of pleasure with him, her hunky blue-eyed stranger, not exactly a stranger anymore. Even though the connection they shared wasn’t strong enough to survive the morning light, he was the first lover she’d ever had who’d made it possible for her to fully let go.

  He went still behind her. “Baby, your back. You should have told me.” Pulling out of her, he pressed a light kiss to her bruised buttocks.

  Becky shivered, his lips in that spot raising all sorts of erotic thoughts. Until he’d mentioned it, she’d forgotten all about being banged up. If anything, she’d never felt more whole in her life. “I’m okay—be
tter than okay. Just don’t stop. Please.”

  He entered her again in one smooth thrust. She arched back to meet him, capturing him inside her, deliberately flexing her inner muscles in a way calculated to drive him over the edge.

  Max’s breath was a balmy breeze against her damp nape. “God, you’re so tight. I love the way you fit around me.”

  “You feel pretty amazing yourself.” She bit her lip, absorbing the blunt pressure and the delicious edgy thrill of going down on her hands and knees for him.

  Reaching down between them, just above the place where they were joined, he stroked her clitoris.

  Palms braced on the mattress, Becky bit her lip. “Oh, God, I’m going to come again.” She’d assumed she was through with orgasms for the night.

  Max’s voice was a warm whisper in her ear. “Go ahead and give in. If you fall, I’ll be right there to catch you.”

  Becky grabbed the edge of the pillow and focused on free-falling into the building climax. She had no doubt Max would make good on his promise. Her sexy Prince Charming had come to her aid two times already, in front of the hotel that afternoon and then stepping out of the elevator tonight. After all that rescuing, what would a third time matter?

  Max would be there to catch her—but only until morning’s first light.

  * * *

  3:30 a.m.

  Max rolled onto his side and reached for her. “Show me how you like to be touched—how you touch yourself when you’re alone.”

  Half asleep, Becky had been having—or was it living?—the most deliciously wicked dream. Pulled from the thrall of it, she lifted her head from the pillow. “What do you mean?”

  He kissed her shoulder and thinking of where those lips had recently been, she felt a shiver shoot through her. “You know what I mean.” He wrapped strong fingers around her right wrist and drew her hand down to her pubis. Setting it there, he turned his head and gently bit the lobe of her ear. “Touch yourself for me.”

  Becky hesitated, feeling shy for the first time that night. Silly, since they’d been making love almost nonstop. It wasn’t as if she was a prude. After the things she’d done with him already, what he was asking wasn’t even all that risqué. Even if it was, just thinking about it was an incredible turn-on. And yet the thought of masturbating in front of him had her feeling vulnerable and naked in a new, not entirely good way. Go figure.