by Lavinia Kent
Of course, that was avoiding the real problem with the date.
Not one tingle.
Not a single one.
Physically he’d been everything she’d asked for and still she hadn’t felt anything. She’d even let him kiss her, let him pull her tight…but nope, not even warm lips and a hard masculine chest could get her juices flowing.
At least he hadn’t seemed irritated when she’d made her excuses, claiming an early morning. And it was true. She had scheduled the car to drive her back to Forbidden Cove for seven-thirty. Of course, she could have changed it if she’d wanted to. She’d actually, privately, planned on it. She’d had every intention of keeping her promise to have a little fun.
Only, no tingles.
And she refused to have sex with a man if she didn’t really want to.
Was there something wrong with her? No other woman she knew had this problem. Many of her friends seemed to hook up without a second thought and not a drop of guilt.
Maybe she should make an appointment with her doctor. Could there be something off with her hormones?
The bell dinged and the light above the door lit.
She stepped back. The door slid open.
She froze.
She knew that butt. She’d dreamed of that butt.
The man stood facing into the corner, talking quietly into a cellphone.
Her eyes moved over him hungrily. Tight, high behind. Her teeth ached to bite it.
Had she really just thought that? Not even in her dreams had she considered such a thing, contemplated putting her mouth there. And those shoulders, stretching the crisp white shirt tight. The curls of dark hair brushing his collar. The muscled strength of his neck.
His voice was low and deep, and her stomach tilted at each indistinct word as he spoke into the phone.
It had been less than a second and she was ready to say yes to anything.
It was ridiculous and she knew it.
Still, her mouth watered.
Her eyes fastened on his face as he turned.
She couldn’t breathe.
Their gazes met.
She knew him. She knew she did.
She just couldn’t figure out how.
But those eyes, those deep, startling blue eyes. She’d know them anywhere. They seemed to look deeper into her than anyone had ever looked, to see things she wasn’t even sure were there.
Who was he? Where did she know him from?
He was young, far younger than she’d expected. Not a friend she’d met through Mark. Who was he?
Holding her gaze, he murmured a quick farewell into the phone and slipped it into his front pocket. Her eyes followed the move, admiring the lean hips, the tight fit of the pants, the bulge that seemed to grow beneath her gaze.
Her eyes flew back to his face, her cheeks tinting with heat.
He stepped forward, paused. His eyes moved over her, almost burning her. She was not alone in the want, in this need, this desire.
She moved forward into the elevator, felt the door slide closed behind her.
Neither of them moved, but their eyes met again and locked.
The elevator stayed still. Blindly she reached to the side, pushing a number. Any number. It didn’t matter which one.
The elevator jerked upward. They moved together. Jordan wasn’t sure who stepped forward first, but suddenly they were only inches apart. His breath was warm on her cheek, the slight smoke and sweetness of a fine whiskey. Her chin tilted up. His came down.
Her body tensed in anticipation.
“Mrs. Robinson,” he whispered, just as his lips met hers.
* * *
—
Clay’s mind was blank, utterly and completely blank. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. It was full of feelings, deep, intense feelings, feelings that overwhelmed him, left him without control.
He brought his mouth down, without a thought of gentleness. All he knew was need, need that filled him entirely. Not even when he’d been younger, when his fantasies had been full of her, had he felt this way, felt this desire that washed him clean and left him without choice.
Her mouth was warm, warm and wet. God, that sounded like something from a porno, and this was anything but.
She pressed closer to him, although it was still only their mouths that touched. His lips pressed hard, but hers met his with equal force, with equal fire.
Whatever it was between them, it was not only on his side. He inched forward, felt the brush of her breasts against his chest, the tips hard. One hand rose, slid about the back of her head, pulled her closer, crushed her lips tight against his.
Her tongue slipped out, slid along the seam of his mouth, liquid heat. His lips eased open. Her tongue darted in. God, she was sweet. He sucked hard. She moaned, the vibration echoing between them.
He stepped forward, pressing her back against the wall of the elevator, feeling her tremble.
His tongue pushed out to meet hers.
He was hard. Harder than he could remember being. He cocked his hips forward, rubbing against her, ease and agony all in one.
A bell chimed.
Fuck.
He moved back slightly, breaking contact, as the door opened. No one there.
Thank God.
The door slid closed again, but the elevator did not move.
Fuck. He tried to clear his thoughts, but it was hard to move beyond how good she tasted, how much he wanted her, needed her, all the other places he wanted to taste.
She stared at him, her eyes almost black, her breasts rising and falling frantically. Then she pushed forward. Brought her mouth against him, hungry, so hungry.
“Are you staying here?” he gasped, before devouring her again. She had been going up, unless she was heading to the rooftop bar he’d been coming down from.
“What?” she moaned against his mouth, clearly as mindless as he.
“Room? Are you staying here? Do you have a room?”
She pulled back. His lips hurt from missing hers.
“Room. Yes.” Her eyes dropped to a small clutch she still held in one hand. He hadn’t even noticed it. With trembling fingers, she opened it, pulled out the key card, still in its envelope. “Room 1214.”
He took the key card, pushed the corresponding floor button and pulled Jordan back to him. It was only two floors away, but that was time for one more hotter-than-hot kiss.
* * *
—
The elevator chimed again, bringing Jordan back to the moment. What was she doing? This was not like her. Even in her deepest fantasies she never just grabbed some stranger. Only, she did know him. She knew she did. The fact that she didn’t quite remember how didn’t actually make him a stranger. And he had been at the Petersens’, so clearly they knew the same people. And his lips were here and now. His tongue was here and now. The feel of his chest was here and now, rubbing against her shirt, the lace of her bra abrading her nipples. And the need between her legs, the growing, pressing heat and need. This was no tingle. This was an earthquake. A hurricane. A tsunami. A…
And that was too much thought.
Through the door, down the hall, lips drifting apart and surging back together. He pulled away from her as he used her key card to open the door. The coolness of the room hit her, waking her briefly from her passion. Then they were in her room. It was large, almost a junior suite. She had been staying there for two days for the managing nonprofits conference. Even though she was staying tonight, she’d packed before her date, knowing she was heading back early. These were all things she knew, things her brain processed—almost.
Then it was all mouths and tongues and teeth. He nipped at her lower lip, pulling it, hard and gentle at the same time. The slight edge of pain firing through her body, hitting nerves she’d never known were t
here. His hands slipped up the shoulders of her dress, sliding the wide neckline down off one shoulder. His lips followed, the slide of tongue, the slick trail of kisses, the nip of teeth. Her whole body was sensation. God, she wanted this, needed this.
Her fingers found his belt, yanked at the leather. It held firm. Her hand eased up, pulled his shirt loose, began to work at his buttons. Flesh. Skin. She needed to feel him against her. Her fingers yanked anxiously. She felt a button pop. Didn’t care.
“Zipper. Get my zipper,” she urged.
His hands complied. She felt the cool breeze on her back, felt the release of tight fabric on her ribs. Her dress slid down, catching at her waist before falling to the floor. She kicked it away; it caught for a second on one of her heels—damn, were her shoes still on?—and then went flying.
His shirt was open and she pressed against hot, silky skin, the slight abrasion of hair.
More. More. More. She needed more. Needed to feel him. Needed to taste him. God. God. She was nothing but need.
Then she was up in his arms, her legs wrapped about his waist. She raised and lowered her hips, rubbing against his hard, hard dick just where she needed, where every movement sent spikes of pleasure through her. It felt huge. She couldn’t even imagine that in her. Actually she could imagine it perfectly. Her inner muscles clenched tight, her core ached. She needed him in her, filling her. Her panties were soaked. She rubbed more, driving groans and cries from his lips.
His mouth crushed down on hers again. Or up on hers, given the way he was holding her. She sucked him in once again, their teeth clinking.
Her back came off the wall. He was carrying her, moving her.
She moved her breasts back and forth against him, the lace of her bra driving her onward. She wanted to be bare, to press herself against him, all of him. Wanted him to suck her, bite her, take her.
And the kiss. The kiss went on and on. She was not sure if she was devouring or being devoured.
There was a whoosh of air and for a moment she felt like she was flying—and then her back hit the bed. She shivered slightly, cold without the warm contact of his flesh. But then she met his gaze again and heat filled her. The desire in his gaze was all-encompassing, encasing. Flames flickered in her belly and rose to inferno. She could die in a moment like this.
She held out her arms to him, urging him nearer.
He stood there for a moment staring down at her, magnificent tanned chest bare, shining with sweat, between the hanging sides of his shirt. And then the shirt was gone. Her eyes widened at his beauty. He pushed at his pants. Her mouth grew dry, her eyes focused. She had thought it could not be as good as her dreams but it was—large, hard, glistening with his need. He reached down, grasped himself, pulled upward and stroked down.
Now her mouth grew dry, ached with the need to taste.
She swallowed, and her eyes moved up to his.
Again, she was struck with the sensation of knowing him, of knowing him well. And he did know her name. She tried to focus on that, to put everything into place, but all she could think of was how much she wanted him in her, wanted to feel him, all of him.
She started to slip off her bra, wanting things to move faster, but he held up a hand, stopping her. “Let me look.”
She shivered under his gaze, feeling more naked than if she were actually fully bare. Her already tight nipples puckered further, rubbing against the lace. And then he crawled onto the bed, between her legs, moving to rest above her, his eyes still holding hers. One soft, gentle kiss and then his mouth moved down her chin, her throat. His teeth nipped and his lips and tongue soothed. He went over the lace of her bra. His lips locking about her nipple, drawing her in hard, even as his tongue rubbed and pressed, the rough lace causing impossible sensation. Her breathing grew uneven. He moved to the other breast with his mouth, while the cool air hit her damp nipple. His fingers followed, pinching, pressing. Fuck. It was all too much.
Her hips rose on the bed, demanding. He pressed them back down with the weight of his body.
A moment of nothing.
Then her bra was gone.
He rose up. The weight of his thighs heavy.
“You are so beautiful.”
The moment froze as she took in the look in his eyes, the need, the desire.
He bent. She felt the sudden deep thrill as he sucked one of her nipples hard, teeth scraping, pulling her deep into his mouth. One of his hands returned to her other breast, kneading, pressing, drawing out endless sensation.
His other hand brushed down her belly, creating tracks of sensation. A circling at her navel, pressing in before moving lower. His fingers trailed between her legs, rubbed the silk of her panties against her. Her hips rose, thrusting hard. He rubbed again. The delicate silk drawing tight. She moaned. Her hips moved again, trying to set a rhythm, fighting to get what she needed. His palm pressed down, holding her. He rose slightly.
Their eyes met. She could feel his need for power, for control.
His thumb moved downward, pressing the silk between her folds, rubbing it, rubbing her. Her inner muscles clenched, released, clenched again. She squirmed, needing freedom but needing him more.
He held her gaze, then moved his eyes lower, claiming her body, claiming her.
His thumb moved again—and then again. Pushing harder and harder against her clit.
It hurt. It hurt better than anything she had ever felt. Her body so filled with need that she felt she would break.
His movements became measured, careful. She could feel his eyes studying her, judging her. Her hips rose again and this time he let them, his movements mimicking the pattern she set.
It was close. She could feel her body draw tight, feel the…
He pushed hard suddenly, pinching slightly. Fire shot through her as the orgasm took her, wave after wave after wave. She tried to pull away, feeling too sensitive, but he held her, pushing her further, not letting her go until every last shudder had gone.
Her body collapsed back on the bed.
He continued to kneel above her for a moment, his face a mixture of pleasure and desire, his eyes dark circles of passion.
He brought his hand to his lips, licked, smiled. A promise of next time in his eyes.
Then his hands swept down, hooked her panties, and they, too, were gone, leaving her bare beneath his hungry gaze.
She shivered although she felt she could not move. His fingers played through her damp lower curls, pressed against her inner thighs, spread her wide. He bent, blowing softly against her still-sensitive flesh. Her whole body rose from the bed.
He smiled.
His fingers moved closer together, sliding through her moisture, then spread, opening her to his gaze. He stared down at her, devouring. It should have been strange, been frightening, been…something, but it was wonderful, more wonderful, more powerful than anything she could remember.
He straightened, paused, hovering above her, capturing her gaze as his hips moved.
One of his hands rose, wrapping about himself, pumping.
She was completely spent, but still she ached to feel him in her.
He pulled back, his hand still stroking.
He positioned himself, pressed against her.
Then he was in her, filling her, stretching her.
Her body froze.
He looked down at her and started to move.
Slowly, deeply, pushing farther, pushing harder.
Her hips rose. Nerves that had been dulled with exhaustion a moment ago renewed.
Up, down.
There. Yes. Yes. Right there.
More. More. Her hips moved more frantically, seeking, searching.
Again and again, he pressed, hitting that spot on the down, rubbing against her clit on the up. That slight extra movement. She couldn’t take it. She couldn�
��t. She really couldn’t.
God. God. She was coming apart. Reality broke.
Then there truly was nothing but sensation, heat, need, fire.
She heard him scream, “Jordan. Jordan.”
Her body rose, clenched. Fell.
Nothing. She was spent. Every breath an effort.
He fell beside her, one arm rising to pull her close.
Chapter 4
Warm, smooth skin. Salt and musk. Was there anything better? Any better taste?
Jordan stretched, feeling the still-crisp sheets slide against her naked body, catching against the damp of her belly. She leaned forward and placed a single, gentle kiss on the well-muscled shoulder. Her body ached in all the most delightful ways. She moved closer, careful to keep every move slow and easy.
It would not do to wake him.
She closed her eyes and breathed. Yes, musk and sex and man with a touch of lemon—and that edge of wine. What had they done last night? Oh, she knew very well. She breathed again. Yes, man. Wonderful man. Normally, she’d be more creative in her description, even to herself, but here, now, there was something addicting about the way he smelled, something that muddled her mind, leaving her incapable of complex thought. If only she could stay in this moment forever.
Even with her eyes closed she could see him—every plane of his face, every hard angle of his body. Her mind replayed the hours in bed followed by a good stint in the shower. And then the champagne. No, not champagne. Cava. Her belly drew in with the memory of the chill. She’d never done half those things before. A flash of disloyalty filled her. Mark. But no, her marriage had been something completely different. There was nothing to compare between the two.
She would not feel guilt, only pleasure. She had done nothing wrong—and it certainly had felt more than right. She would not feel guilty for sleeping with a practical stranger. He clearly knew her, but she still couldn’t quite place him. So familiar, but…
Opening her eyes, she stretched and turned fully on her side, wrapping herself in the sheet, continuing to stare at him. Tousled dark curls, tipped by the sun, spread across the crisp white cotton of the pillow. His broad shoulders and back lay bare above the sheet that draped his hips, hiding that oh-so-biteable ass. His long arms sprawled across the bed, his fingers tangling in her long dark hair, his skin a deep tan beneath the brush of scattered hair.
