by Carla Fredd
The buckle of his belt pressed against her stomach. Holly reached between them, grazing his washboard stomach. Mike moved to lie on his side while she struggled with the belt buckle. Finally, the catch released on the belt and she unbuttoned the single button of his jeans, then pulled down the zipper tab, revealing white cotton briefs and the bulge of his manhood. Reaching inside, Holly stroked the hot bulge, tearing harsh groans from Mike. She moved over the cotton briefs from the very base of his shaft to his smooth, velvety tip.
Mike reached down and caught her hand. He guided her to the rubber waistband of his briefs. His eyes held hers as he slowly slid her hand underneath the fabric. Holly felt the springy short hair which covered his firm stomach. Inch by inch her hand traveled down his stomach, moving in rhythm with the rise and fall as he breathed deep, rapid breaths.
Then a shrill beeping sound pierced the room. They froze, then looked down at his watch, which was partially covered by the waistband of his briefs.
"Damn!" That one word conveyed all of Mike's frustration. Holly watched the struggle in his face. Anger, frustration, and unmistakable desire showed in his black-brown eyes. Reluctantly, he removed her hand and rolled over on his side with his back to her.
Holly struggled to catch her breath as she listened to the steady beep of his watch alarm. Mike turned off the alarm and the silence was broken by the harsh sound of Mike trying to catch his breath. Holly also struggled to regain calm. The unfulfilled desire throbbed through her body, leaving her waiting and wanting. Confused, she watched Mike rise from the floor and zip his jeans. He straightened his shoulders as if to prepare himself for a difficult battle, then turned to Holly.
The desire and wanting were still visible in his expression, but so was resignation. "I've got to go to work, sweet."
Work? Work. Holly closed her eyes and groaned. She'd totally forgotten about his job. She'd forgotten just about everything but the passionate desire that he seemed to bring out in her. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again and watched as he reached down to pick up his discarded shirt. She watched his muscles ripple when he put his arms through the shirtsleeves. She looked lower to the still rigid bulge in his pants.
"Stop it, Holly," he said, his voice deepened by desire.
She dragged her gaze back to his face. The passion in his eyes nearly burned her. Holly lowered her gaze and spotted her bra at the foot of the chair. She reached across the floor and picked up the lacy garment. She shivered when the material rubbed her sensitive nipples.
Mike walked across the room and picked up her rumpled blouse. He held out his hand to help her stand up. She placed her hand in his and stood.
"I'm sorry," he said, holding out the blouse.
Holly quickly put on the blouse. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."
"My timing could have been better . . . for both our sakes. Come to the show with me. I don't want to be far from you tonight."
They arrived at the studio thirty minutes before showtime. He hadn't completely relaxed when he'd arrived, so he wore the oversized jacket to his suit. Holly was quiet on the ride down. It had taken some convincing to get her to come tonight, but he couldn't leave her in his house alone. He didn't want her to get cold feet and go home.
He watched her study the movie collection in his office and remembered her face when he'd stroked her breasts. He remembered the way she'd arched her back and held his hands over them. Feeling his manhood stir, he dragged his thoughts away from her and attempted to concentrate on the list of questions for tonight's guests. When the time came to go out on stage, he was glad that he wore the suit with loose, baggy pants and a large jacket. The show seemed to drag on. Although he knew that the show lasted the same amount of time, he was ready for the guests to leave. The only time that he forgot to be anxious to leave was when the singer walked to Holly, who was standing off to the side of the stage, and led her out on the stage as he sang his last song, which was a love song.
It was at that moment that Mike realized that he loved her. Lightning didn't flash across the sky and thunder didn't roll. He just felt a quiet assurance that this was the woman he wanted to marry. He watched as she blushed under the attention of the singer. When the song finished and the singer kissed her hand, Holly looked over at him, ignoring the man whom women from all over the world would do just about anything to get close to. But it was him she wanted. Mike could still detect traces of desire in her eyes when they met his, the same desire that she'd displayed earlier in his bedroom.
Finally, the show was over and the audience started filing out of the studio. Mike ran through post-production with the speed of a madman. Several times people asked him what was his hurry. For the first time, he left the studio before post-production was complete. Members of his staff stared after him when he and Holly left the studio and they were the cause of gossip that evening. But Mike only had making love to Holly on his mind. Quickly, he drove from the studio to his house. He held her hand as they walked to the bedroom without saying a word. The passion that was banked this evening burst into flames as they entered his room. The soft light from the lamps on the two night-stands created an intimate glow in the room.
Mike picked her up and gently laid her on his bed. He knew that nothing was going to stop them from making love tonight. And it would be love on his part. He removed her shoes and tossed them on the floor. He stood beside the bed and looked at her. Then he took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt and tossed them on the floor next to her shoes.
"You have on too many clothes." He sat down on the edge of the bed. Then reached across to gently unbutton her shirt. Her bra was removed, along with her shirt. Hungrily his mouth closed over her nipple, and he caressed the other with his hand.
Desire, hot and powerful, surged though her body to the very depths of her. She could feel the urgency in him as she caressed and held his head to her chest. "Michael, oh, Mike."
He felt a wave of satisfaction as she arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward. He turned and suckled her. Then he kissed his way across to the middle of her chest. He spread leisurely kisses down her stomach and felt a thrill when she moaned.
"Do you like that, sweet?" He spaced each word with a kiss. "Or do you like this?" He unbuckled and unzipped her red pants. Spreading the fabric, he exposed her belly and the white lace panties that matched her bra. He bent his head and traced the outline of her navel before touching the nub of her navel with his tongue, mimicking the caress she'd given him just hours ago.
He felt the bite of her nails into his shoulders. He heard her incoherent moans. "I've wanted to do this all day." Rising to his knees, he slowly slid her pants down and off. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her. A sharp wave of desire shot directly to his already heavy manhood.
She was on fire. The feelings that overcame her were like nothing she'd ever experienced before. She couldn't get enough of his touch. She sat up in bed. She reached for his belt buckle, then unzipped his pants. The familiar white briefs appeared. She slipped her fingers just beneath the elastic waistband. He held his breath as she pulled his pants and briefs down to his knees.
Holly forgot to be shy when she saw him nude for the first time. He was magnificent. Thick, wide shoulders tapered down to slim, firm hips. A thick thatch of black hair covered the base of his hard, broad manhood. His long, powerful thighs were covered with thin, fine black hair. He looked like everything that a lover should be . . . hard, long, and ready.
Mike kicked off his pants, then leaned her back against the pillows on the bed, turning her on her side to face him. They shared a single pillow. He brushed the back of his fingers along her shoulder and down her arm and he laced his fingers through hers. He brought her hand to his chest and held it there.
"Touch me, Holly."
His heart pounded beneath her hand. Hesitantly at first, she caressed his chest, but she became bolder. She moved closer to him and kissed his lips gently, then, with more force, increasing her passion. Her hot, open-mo
uth kisses were returned in spades. Her hand traveled from his chest and down his stomach before sliding through the thick patch of hair to the very tip of his manhood. With the tips of her fingers, she drew lazy circles around the tip of him. She stroked the length of him.
"Yes, Holly, yes!" He rocked his hips against her tender caress. His hand tightened against her waist before cupping her buttocks. He ran his hand down her thigh to her knee. He groaned when she began the milking strokes up and down his manhood. The pleasure that she gave him almost undid him. He reached between them and took her hand.
"I can't take much more of that." He moved her hands to his chest and she instantly began stroking, touching, and caressing him. He held her hands firmly against him, curbing her movement until she was still. He placed her arms at her sides and reached across the bed to his nightstand. He quickly put on a condom before returning his full attention to her.
Mike stroked her knee, gently guiding her until they lay on their sides facing each other. He slid closer to her and slid his thigh between her legs. He moved his hands to the soft curly hair that covered her, stroking until he found the small nub hidden within her folds. Tears streamed down her cheeks when he brushed the pad of his thumb across it. A fire seemed to consume her body. Her hips bucked against his hand.
"I can't take it. I can't take it," she chanted, and nearly screamed when he slipped his finger inside her.
"You're so beautiful." He marveled at her response. She was wet and ready for him. He moved her thigh around his waist. "Open your eyes, sweet. Look at me."
She opened her brown eyes and looked into his. Slowly, ever so slowly, he entered her. Her body stretched to accommodate him. He filled her. He pulled out slightly, then slid back into her. Her fingers bit into his shoulders. He rocked his hips against her in a slow, steady pace. Her body clinched around him.
"Oh, you feel so good. So good." He rocked faster, deeper, against her.
Holly felt a tension building within her. It was like a small spot on the horizon, but as he stroked her body, the tension became larger, stronger . . . until she felt it overwhelm her in its power. She moved her hips achingly against his, trying to relieve that strange, pulsating tension.
"Let go, baby." Mike moved faster against her. Holly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer to her. Then an explosion of pleasure rippled through her. The tension which had been building inside her snapped. She thrust her hips against him, arching her back.
Mike felt her body contract around him and he watched her as she found pleasure. Her head thrust back and her eyes closed. She looked as if she were in exquisite pain or in the most wonderful pleasure.
He waited until she received her pleasure before allowing himself to be overcome by the pleasure of his release.
Later that evening, Holly groaned sleepily when he eased gently out of her and walked to his bathroom.
When Mike came back into the room, he turned off the lamps, throwing the room into darkness. He slid into bed and wrapped her in his arms.
Holly dreamed that she had fallen asleep on the beach with the warm sand beneath her and the bright sun shining down on her. She snuggled deeper in the sand. Then, suddenly, the sand moved, wrapping itself around her waist.
Holly came out of her dream and squinted her eyes against the bright sun shining through the windows in Mike's bedroom. She knew instantly where she was, and it wasn't the beach. She looked down at the "sand," which was Mike's arm wrapped possessively around her waist, and just as in her dream, the sun was shining down upon her.
She lifted her head to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand and dropped her head back on the pillow. It was ten o'clock. Pam was probably ready to call the police by now when she didn't show up at the office. She could imagine what she did when she'd called Holly's house and gotten no answer.
Holly carefully tried to move Mike's arm without waking him. Instead of releasing, her like she'd planned, his arm tightened around her, drawing her closer to him. After several failed attempts to move his arm, she realized that she wouldn't get out of that bed without waking him. She turned in his embrace and looked at him.
His expression was one of total peace. His long, thick lashes rested on his cheeks. She felt a well of tenderness as she looked at him. A faint stubble covered his jaw, and his lips were slightly parted as he slept.
"Mike," she said softly, and caressed his cheek.
Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at her. Then he pulled her closer in his embrace.
"Tell me that this isn't a dream and you are here with me." His voice was husky with sleep.
"It's not a dream."
"Good. Then I can make love to you again."
Holly felt the desire all the way down to her toes. What was it about this man, that she couldn't get enough of him? "Before you do, I need to call the office and tell them not to expect me."
"Okay," he said, without moving.
"Mike, you need to let me go so I can reach the phone."
Reluctantly he moved his arm. Holly sat up and reached for the phone. When she dialed the office, Robyn connected her directly with Pam.
"Hi, Pam."
"Where the hell are you?"
"Good morning to you, too." Holly laughed at the snap in Pam's voice. "I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, but I'm not going to be in today."
There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "You're not coming in the office and you sound like you just woke up. Hmm. Sounds like you've been having yourself a good old time."
Mike reached across the bed and began to caress her thighs.
"I've got to go now, Pam."
"You might want to call your brother. He was worried when you didn't answer the phone last night and this morning."
"I'll call him later," Holly said in a husky voice.
"Just one other thing, Holly." Pam paused, then yelled into the phone, "Hi, Mike!"
Mike laughed, and said, "Hi, Pam. Holly's got to go now."
" 'Bye Pam." Holly hung up the phone and put it on the nightstand. Mike pulled her down in the bed.
"You look a little tired, sweet." He caressed her face with the back of his fingers. "Why don't you just lie down and rest for a while?" He brushed his lips over hers. Passion sprung up between them and it was lunchtime before they made it out of bed.
"It doesn't feel right, eating pancakes at one o'clock in the afternoon," Holly said, as she cut the fluffy brown cakes covered with real maple syrup.
"Somewhere in the world it's time to eat breakfast. Just pretend that you're there."
Holly glared at him. "Yeah, right."
"Some people have no imagination, no vision . . ."
"Some people have a strong sense of reality," she interrupted.
"Just eat, woman." He gave her a mock frown before he reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
Several times today, he'd almost told her that he loved her. But he knew that she wasn't ready to hear that now. She probably wouldn't believe he really loved her. He was determined to prove his love for her. He would make her forget about moving to Seattle, and together they would build a life together.
He looked at her from across the table. She had brushed her hair back off her face, leaving it loose. Her face was free of makeup, but beautiful nonetheless. Her face was the one he wanted to see across his table for the rest of his life.
"I've got to go home and change," she said, when they'd finished their breakfast. She stood and gathered the dishes to take in the kitchen.
"Okay. I've got to make a call. It shouldn't take long," he said, and followed her to the kitchen.
Henry looked up from the chicken that he was deboning. He didn't look happy to see them. Holly felt as if she had entered his personal space and nearly backed out of the door until she bumped into Mike.
"Holly?" Mike gently nudged her in the back.
She smiled weakly at the giant of a man. "Good afternoon."
Henry nodded at her and continued t
o cut the chicken.
"Hi, Henry," Mike said, and walked to the dishwasher. They loaded the dishwasher and Holly jumped when Henry started to chop up the chicken with a cleaver.
Chapter 10
They never made it to Holly's house; they never even made it out of Mike's front door. The drawstring shorts that Mike gave her to wear hung loosely on her hips and the T-shirt was almost as long as the shorts. The way she was dressed was the last thing on her mind.
Holly looked down at the blackened blobs on the plate. "Are you sure you don't want the Chicken Kiev that Henry made?"
"No, I want a hamburger."
"Mike, I think we should give cooking a rest now."
"Let me try it just one more time," he said, standing in front of the stove, molding another beef patty in his hand. He had incinerated four hamburger patties within thirty minutes. The windows in the breakfast area of the kitchen were open. The ceiling fan and the fan above the stove made a valiant attempt to blow the smoke out of the room.
"You might try scrubbing the pan, instead of getting a new one." Holly looked at the stack of dishes in the sink.
"Why? I've got two more pans." Mike reached under the cabinet for a clean pan with one hand, holding the hamburger with the other.
"You can leave those dirty dishes for Henry if you want to, but I don't think he'll appreciate it." She leaned against the counter and watched the muscles in his back ripple against the cotton T-shirt.
He placed the pan on the stove. "A dishwasher works wonders. Tell me again: how do you know if it's done?" Mike put the newly formed patty on a plate beside the stove and looked at her with a puzzled expression.
