Wine, Tarts & Sex

Twelve

Liv could have used some of her own advice about knowing the facts and sleeping better, because she was having serious trouble falling asleep. When she should have been getting a good night’s rest for her busy day tomorrow, she was tossing and turning, kept awake by persistent memories of Jake Chambers looping through her brain.

When she shouldn’t be thinking of him at all.

Because-realistically-she and Jake Chambers had had a good time, but that’s all it was: a good time.

It would never do to become infatuated with him because he was incredible in bed. The long list of women before her who had enjoyed his sexual favors suggested infatuation would be a waste of time.

As for an actual relationship, it was not only ludicrous but lunatic to even contemplate such a thing after one night of sex, however mind-blowing.

There. Really. She was a mature adult. She was capable of separating lust from fantasy. More importantly, she did not, nor had she ever, had fantasies about any man. Period.

Maybe she could fall back on the same excuse as Jake. She was tired, not thinking straight. In the morning- if she could ever get to sleep-her world would return to normal. Her vineyard, winery, and the work she loved would suppress the tumultuous moonlight madness keeping her awake.

Jake had spent the day sleeping, so when he woke up at eight, he knew he was going to be up for the night. For the next few hours, he worked on some rough sketches for re-modeling the restaurant. Nothing major. The main dining area didn’t need much altering, but he would be adding the sports bar he’d always wanted, and that would entail more substantial changes. Walking downstairs, he eyeballed the dimensions of the spaces, the position of the windows overlooking the river, considered the possibility of adding a terrace outside, decided the east wall would probably have to be knocked out to make the bar area larger.

He wanted his River Joint to be like the bars he’d hung out in back home in Seattle: neighborhood places where people could relax, eat good food, visit with friends. He’d been thinking about his menu for a long time, probably as long as his discontent with the razzle-dazzle world he’d inhabited for so many years had been simmering in his brain. He wanted a menu heavy in small plates so customers could taste a variety of foods and flavors. And he wanted a bar menu that ran the gamut from Bud to private-label liquor with wines from speciality vineyards.

He made lists on top of lists, e-mailed more of his suppliers on the West Coast, decided about eleven that it wasn’t too early to call some vineyards in France. An hour later, he set down the phone, having ordered several hundred cases of his favorite wines.

It was nearly midnight, he was hungry, and the small niggling thought he’d been able to keep at bay with constant activity suddenly surfaced.

He literally muttered, “No,” aloud, rose from his chair overlooking the river, and hied himself upstairs to his kitchen. He’d make himself something to eat, then maybe go for a walk. He was not going to call Liv Bell only hours after leaving her. He wasn’t some horny adolescent who couldn’t control himself. So get a grip.

That stern admonition lasted ten minutes-maybe less. Whether he liked it or not, his cock had other ideas, and his sex drive being what it was, he struggled to keep himself in line. With considerable effort he restrained himself from calling her, flipping through the channels on cable instead, looking for distractions.

Wouldn’t you know-nothing appealed.

For five minutes more, he tried to talk himself out of obsessing over having sex with Liv again. It was totally bizarre how he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t fucked plenty of beautiful, blonde models before.

So what was the freaking problem?

Was it some voodoo magic? Yeah, right.

Was he just flying high now that he was living his long-unrealized dream? Possibly.

Was Liv Bell hotter than other women? Absolutely.

So there. A simple answer. It was just pure lust. Nothing to angst over. He was experiencing basic male urges. Although his fierce impatience to assuage them did give him pause. For maybe another two seconds.

He glanced at the clock. Midnight. Fuck-it was late.

He picked up the phone anyway and hit 411 for information.

A few moments later, having received her number, he waited for the connection to click through.

Liv answered on the first ring.

“Did I wake you?”

“I should say yes, but no, you didn’t. For some reason, I can’t sleep.” She wasn’t about to say he was the reason nor that her pulse rate had accelerated big time on hearing his voice.

“Same here. Although I slept all day, so I’m not exactly tired. How are Janie and Matt doing?”

“Good. They’re sleeping.” Is that why he called? Hoping to talk to Janie?

“So what are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I admit you’ve been in my thoughts, too.”

“How far is it out there?”

“It’s too far. An hour.”

“I drive fast.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s really late, and I have to work tomorrow. ”

“You mean it?”

“No.”

“Give me directions.”

She lay in bed after she hung up, shaking faintly, wondering what had come over her that the mere sound of his voice could make her feverish with longing. She’d never believed such feelings actually existed, that another person could provoke such spine-tingling sensations. When other women had talked about the breathless ecstasy some man provoked in them, she’d always thought they were overemotional wing nuts.

Apparently, she’d been wrong.

Which was good and bad. Good, because what she was feeling was fantastic. But not so good that she was wildly out of control.

She’d never been that kind of person.

The man behind the wheel of Chaz’s silver-gray BMW was speeding north with one eye out for the highway patrol. Less introspective by habit as well as circumstance-in this case, his rock-hard cock was serving as power player-he was pretty much focused on consummation. Issues of restraint or the lack thereof would have to wait until a more coolheaded time.

He glanced at the clock on the dash, flicked his gaze upward to check out the rearview mirror, then quickly surveying the wide-open road before him, punched the accelerator.

His voice of reason tried to make itself heard, clamoring, Turn around, turn around, don’t get involved! But his libido was deaf to reason, or maybe the stereo, turned up high, drowned out admonitions to caution.

He had the windows down to the summer night, a prime song was singing the pleasures of foxy ladies and wild sex, and he was on his way to get some.

Let’s see what this baby can do, he thought, flooring it.

What to wear, what to wear! Tossing the covers aside, Liv quickly rose from her bed and moved toward her closet, looking for inspiration. Should she greet him like this- naked? Or should she dress or wear a robe or maybe some sexy lingerie? Aaagh… stupid indecision, when in the past she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. She would have welcomed him any which way. Dressed or undressed, sexy or not sexy, however the mood struck her. And now she was debating the minutia of sexual politesse as though she’d never had a man sleep over before.

Really, this was ridiculous.

She stopped just short of her closet, her decision made.

She’d put on an ordinary robe, like the blue seersucker one on her chair. Keep it casual. Don’t make this something it isn’t. Sex is sex is sex.

Or not, as it turned out.

Fortunately, it took Jake nearly an hour to reach Liv’s farm, allowing her the opportunity to try on and discard a dozen different outfits. All of which were now-in her haste-tossed out of sight in her closet. Finally, glancing at the clock, she had no choice but to give it up and race downstairs. She wanted to wait on the porch in order not to wake Matt or Janie.

Just as she stepped outside, car headlights appeared at the entrance to her drive.

She stood at the top of the stairs as the car approached and came to rest at the edge of her lawn. She didn’t move as Jake stepped out and walked toward her unless the faint tremble in her hands counted. When he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and smiled up at her, she thought she might come just looking at him. He was consummate male machismo limned by moonlight. Powerful and assured in what she was coming to recognize as his uniform of jeans and a white T-shirt, he looked up at her with lady-killer eyes.

“Nice,” he said, indicating her dress with a lift of his hand. “The age of innocence in moonlight.” Her eyelet dress was pure white virginal chic.

“Thanks.” She tried to keep her voice placid like his but didn’t quite succeed. She touched the Dolce and Gabbana ruffled skirt with a shaky hand. “I didn’t know what to wear,” she added with a whisper-soft naivete that matched her little-girl dress.

It shouldn’t have mattered to him that she was skittish and trembling. He shouldn’t have felt so pleased she was turned on. After all, he’d come for himself, not her. As always. And, as always, he’d remembered to bring something because women liked presents. “Here,” he said, mounting the stairs, holding out his hand.

He came to rest beside her a moment later, and she saw a small cabochon emerald suspended from a slender braided gold chain lying on his open palm.

“Sorry, it’s not something better.” He shrugged. “There aren’t any shops open this time of night except 7-Eleven. I used these in a promotion once.”

Nice promotion, she thought, recognizing Bulgari. “You didn’t have to-but thanks.” She lifted the necklace from his palm. “I’ll think of you when I wear it.”

A small silence fell, the sounds of crickets and frogs suddenly shrill in the night.

Fuck it, he thought. This wasn’t business as usual; he might as well be honest. “I tried to stay away,” he said. “And yet…”

She nodded. “I know. I couldn’t sleep because of you.”

His smile suddenly flashed white in the moonlight. “Glad to hear it.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I like feeling this way.”

His smile this time was sexy and sweet; they were both on the same crazy wavelength. “Maybe I could make you feel better,” he said soft and low.

She gazed up at him from under her lashes. “No doubt.”

He grinned. “I’ll have you know I broke all the speed limits getting here.”

“So I should stop equivocating.”

He held her gaze. “I didn’t know you were.”

“But then you don’t know much about me.”

“How about I’m willing to learn.”

“You’re way too smooth.”

He shook his head. “Believe me, I’ve never raced to see a woman in the middle of the night.”

“So I’m not the only one losing it.”

“Hell, no. I’ve been trying not to call you since I woke up”-he glanced at his watch-“five hours ago. Unsuccessfully, as you can see.”

She smiled for the first time since his arrival. “We have to be quiet with Janie and Matt in the house.”

He grinned. “I’m not the one who screams when they come.”

“Very funny.”

“Look-they won’t even know I’m here.” He took her hand in his. “Show me your bedroom.”

“I thought you might have been calling to talk to Janie,” she noted as he held the door open for her.

“I told you I wasn’t interested in Janie.”

“I know.”

“I meant it.”

“I’m glad.”

Then she put her finger to her lips as they approached the stairs, and they didn’t speak again until she shut her bedroom door behind them.

“Nice,” he said, indicating her room with a wave of his hand. “Everything in one place.”

She had a small office in one corner: desk, computer, file cabinet, bulletin board with wine brochures and catalogues tacked up. Under the farmhouse eaves, she’d had bookshelves built, crowded now with to-read possibilities. A row of blooming white gloxinia lined the top of the shelves. Embroidered white-on-white linen curtains were open, the windows raised high to let in the warm night air.

And then there was her bed.

She’d found it in an antique store shortly after she’d bought her place. She hadn’t been looking for a bed. She’d already bought a serviceable one that would do just fine. In fact, the only reason she’d gone into the store along the highway in Wisconsin was because the sign outside had heralded Lavazza espresso. Now, she wasn’t into psychic events, but seeing that bed smack-dab in the middle of the store when she walked in qualified as a bona fide mystical experience. She’d immediately fallen in love with it. The enormous size and flamboyant scrollwork of twined branches and delicate leaves reminded her of some whimsical fantasy.

She’d asked the price and, thinking she must have heard wrong, asked again.

The owner explained that it had been part of a stage set for Sarah Bernhardt on one of her American tours, so the price was partially predicated on the celebrity factor. “Try it out,” the store owner had pleasantly offered, as if the lady had known the supernatural was seriously at work in her store that day.

When Liv had lain on the bed, she’d felt as though the bed had been made for her or she for it-a feeling of inexplicable comfort and joy had melted through her senses. Not that she didn’t remind herself that she already had a bed and she had better places to spend her money. Like on her vineyard.

But it’s so you, a little voice inside her head had cooed. And doesn’t it make you feel incredibly, outrageously good?

Liv’s stop for espresso had ended up costing her ten thousand dollars.

“That’s one big bed,” Jake said. “It must have come up in pieces.”

Wasn’t that just like a man. Nothing about its sculptural beauty or antique patina. “Actually, I had the windows taken out and had it hoisted in.”

“It’s old, right?”

“Yes.” No point in mentioning the divine Sarah, she figured when he was talking practicalities.

“It suits you. All sumptuous swank. And I can actually stretch out. Not that I’m tired,” he said with a small smile.

She smiled back. “You had me worried there for a minute.”

“Rest easy, babe. I am so primed.”

A small silence fell.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to raise alarms.”

“No, you didn’t. Look.” She held up her hand so he could see the tremor. “I might be past you when it comes to being primed.”

Curling his hand around hers, he brought it to his mouth and brushed a gentle kiss over her knuckles. “Everything’s on your terms, babe,” he murmured, his dark gaze direct. “Tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, remembering the rapturous feel of him, the hard-ramming size, his wanting what she wanted as often as she. “And thanks for coming up.”

He lifted his shoulder in the merest shrug. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said gruffly.

“You would have liked to, though.”

Another shrug. “Not really.”

Her brows rose. “I’ve never had such reluctant sex before. ”

The wariness left his eyes, replaced by a more familiar amusement. “Wrong word, babe. This is about insatiable. That’s what’s bothering me.”

“So don’t let it.”

He grinned. “You mean-as long as I’m here.”

“And I couldn’t sleep.”

“Not to mention my cock had a mind of its own.”

“There you go. Obviously, we have no choice.”

He gave her a quick, decisive nod.

Something about his sudden certainty and assurance sent a little shiver up her spine. Or maybe it was him suddenly dragging her against his body and the hard imprint of his erection that inspired her response. Not that she needed evidence of his carnal urgency to goad her. She’d gone sleepless the last many hours thinking about him.

Thinking about sex with him.

Thinking about feeling this inside her. Rubbing against his cock, back and forth, back and forth, she purred in anticipation.

Her message came through loud and clear-as if he didn’t know what she liked and how she liked it. Moving backward the few steps to the bed, he sank down, pulling her with him. Sprawled on his back, he settled her astride his hips with a casual strength, shoved her skirt aside, slid his hand between her legs, and glanced up with a smile. “Convenient,” he murmured, running his fingers over her slick pussy hospitably devoid of panties. “No waiting.”

“Plan ahead,” she said on a suffocated breath, his virtuoso touch ramping up every sexual receptor in the immediate vicinity.

He grinned. “Because you can never wait.”

“Give me a break,” she said, spurred on by sharply necessitous, totally wanton urges. “I’ve been thinking about this… a lot.”

“Same here.” His gaze flicked downward to his erection stretching waist-high.

“Perfect then,” she said with soft finality and, taking matters into her own hands, reached out and unzipped his jeans. High-strung, impatient-really pretty much like she always seemed to be with Jake Chambers-she drew out his engorged penis, the swollen gleaming crest and hard, unyielding length sending a rush of liquid longing through her cunt. Perhaps having been forced to wait so long, or maybe simply driven by outrageous lust, without thought for her most basic rule, she forced his stiff cock upright, positioned her throbbing ready-to-party sex over the head of his cock, and began easing downward.

“Hey, hey, hold on.” Grabbing her around the waist, Jake stopped her. “Give me a second to get a condom.”

“Thanks,” she whispered shakily, falling back on his thighs.

“Not a problem,” he said, casual and polite when he could have wondered whether she was trying to make trouble for him, when he really might have if it had been anyone other than the genuine, shoot-from-the-hip Miss Bell. “Two seconds, babe… that’s all I need.” He’d already pulled a condom from his jeans pocket and was ripping open the packet.

She unconsciously licked her lips as he rolled the condom down his better-than-any-vibrator extremely large erection.

“Done.” Equally impatient, he quickly pulled her up on her knees, guided his erection to her sex with a delicate finesse, and slowly slid his cock inside her. Since he planned on fucking her-at the minimum-all night, he exercised caution, not about to abrade or chafe her sensitive tissue. Gauging the receptive elasticity of her tight little cunt, he penetrated her with measured restraint even as her breathy moans urged him on.

“More, more… more,” she begged, trying to break his tight grip on her hips, wanting to feel him deeper, faster. Wanting him to cram her full.

“Take it easy,” he whispered, brushing her hands away. “We have all night.”

“I don’t want to wait.” After hours of contemplating this, she needed surcease to her flame-hot cravings; she needed to feel more of his erection buried inside her. She needed to come-soon. “Jake, please-hurry,” she cried, struggling to break his hold as her orgasm began-too early, too soon-before he was completely submerged.

Fully aware of what was happening, he immediately dropped his hands from her hips, and she impaled herself on his erection so swiftly, her bottom jarred his balls. Not that he was complaining; it was a very gratifying jolt. After which, he had the pleasure of watching her and-even better-feeling her ride his dick to a precipitous orgasm.

Unlike darling Livvi, he wasn’t into speed and, rigid inside her, he remained motionless as she uttered breathy sighs of orgasmic content, and her last piquant flutters of pleasure dissipated.

When she finally opened her eyes, he smiled at her. “Better now?”

Stretching lazily, she ran her fingers through her pale, tousled hair. “You didn’t come.”

“There’s plenty of time. I’m not going anywhere.”

A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “So I have this… here”-she wiggled slightly on his erection-“for as long as I want?”

He grinned. “We’re here for you, babe.” He traced the delicate outline of her mouth with a fingertip. “How about another quick one, then we’ll get undressed and do some serious fucking.”

Her smile was pure sunshine. “This must be one of those times when everything’s going my way.”

“This way?” He swung his hips upward.

She gasped faintly, caught her breath and, leaning forward, placed her palms on his chest. “And this way, too,” she murmured, swinging her bottom in a lazy circular motion so they both felt every delectable nuance of sensation.

“Are you on the pill?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Side effects.”

“Too bad.” For the first time in his life, he considered going condom free, an impulse so incredibly rash he immediately called himself every kind of stupid.

“Too bad? You gotta be kidding.”

His brows flickered. “Consider it a moment of insanity.”

“Just so you know,” she said carefully, “I don’t do sex au naturel.”

“Me either-normally. Don’t worry. We’re cool.”

“I’m glad you’re not completely cool,” she murmured, sliding upward on his cock, slowly descending again. “I’m glad he’s still fired up.”

As she slipped into a languid up-and-down rhythm, Jake’s eyes went shut. He could talk about taking it slow, but he’d been thinking about fucking her since he’d left her that morning, and present reality far exceeded any abstract contemplation. With a soft groan on a particularly deep downstroke, he gave himself up to the full gravitas of sensation. Not that he didn’t intuitively gauge the progress of her next climax, particularly since he planned on matching her simulcast. Which he did, meeting her in a blast-off of such monumental proportions, he didn’t actually hear her screams that time.

Neither moved for so long afterward, they could have been participants in a tableau vivant. Like in the red-light district of Amsterdam.

But Jake managed to pull himself together first, because he wasn’t about to admit that something of a cataclysmic nature had occurred. Nor that his heart was still racing like he’d run twenty miles. Male survival instinct forced him to move and, lifting Liv up and away, he set her on the bed beside him.

“I can’t talk,” she said in a wispy breath, every nerve in her body aglow with glorious satisfaction.

“Don’t worry-I didn’t come here to chat,” he drolly replied. Sitting up, he stripped off his condom and came to his feet. Hitching up his jeans, he walked into the adjoining bathroom, discarded the condom, washed himself off, zipped up and, standing in front of the mirror, stared at himself as though expecting some obvious change.

Nope. Excellent. See? A physical high, no matter how staggering, didn’t amount to some grand metamorphosis. Liv Bell was just hotter than most women, that’s all.

His five-second therapy session having put him back on track, he returned to the bedroom, his plans unaltered.

Fuck until you drop, and then go home.

With that in mind, he undressed, sat down on the bed, and began to unbutton the top of Liv’s ruffled dress.

“I need a break.” Her eyes were still at half-mast, her voice hushed. “That was one supercharged climax.”

“I’ll just get you ready,” he said, slipping one of her arms free of the chemise top. “Then you tell me when you want my cock inside you again.”

His deep voice was utterly composed, as though he was willing to play affable stud to her passions. Why was it then that she felt as though it was she who was submissive to him?

Why did she feel as though he was master of this game?

Worse, why did she want his cock inside her the moment he brought up the subject?

Rising on her elbows, she gave him a charged look.

“Here, let me get this off,” he said, ignoring her stare, freeing her other arm.

“Something’s different.”

“You got that right.” He smiled. “I’m trying to ignore it.”

“This is just good sex, right?”

“Ideally, yes.”

“Then why-”

“Let’s not go there.” He smiled. “You have nice freckles, ” he added, brushing his finger over her cheek.

“Are you changing the subject?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Because?”

“Because I don’t talk about stuff like this, let alone actually think about it.”

“Just like a man,” she said, suddenly smiling, relieved by his answer, reminded that her yin/yang considerations weren’t a sensible train of thought.

“What can I say? Sex-change is not an option for me. Lift up, babe, and I’ll pull down this dress.”

“What if I said no?”

“I’d figure you were playing hard to get,” he said, sliding the dress down her hips and legs and tossing aside Dolce and Gabbana’s irreverent take on chastity.

“What if I meant it?”

“But you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t like smug men. Have you thought of that?”

“Not much, considering your nipples are really hard,” he murmured, touching one tip with exquisite gentleness. “I think you want to get screwed again.”

“Know-it-all. I should say no.”

Why would you even want to? he thought, but since there was no point in being rude at this stage of the game, he said instead with a grin, “But you won’t, cuz you’re polite.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I wish.”

“It really doesn’t matter. Come on, relax,” he said, lifting her against the pillows. Gently spreading her legs, he kneeled between them, cupped her breasts in his palms, bent his head, and sucked first on one nipple then the other until her cunt was aching, throbbing, pulsing with every beat of her heart. Until it was only a question of whether she was going to come with or without him inside her.

For a fraction of a second, she debated her outrageous willingness or his outrageous appeal. But just as she was deciding she should be less slavishly under his spell, that she could control her desires if she only put her mind to it, he slipped two fingers in her so-so-ready-for-action vagina, a streak of ravenous lust ripped through her fevered senses, and there was no longer any question of going it alone. “Jake, now,” she fervently cried.

“In a minute.” His voice in contrast was serene. Then he went back to sucking her nipples and massaging her G-spot and clit while she panted and squirmed and pleaded. Stopping his feel-good therapy just nanoseconds short of her liftoff to climax, he sat back on his heels. “Hey, babe- intermission.”

It took her a moment to respond, to put sound and words in some reasonable frame of reference when she was totally absorbed in sensation. When she finally realized what he was doing, she said, “Don’t be a prick.”

She was right, and if he’d not been struggling with his own ungovernable cravings, he might not have given in to his baser instincts. It was probably some Neanderthal defense mechanism-having to be in control. Moving off the bed, he held out his hand. “Come here, and I’ll be as nice as you want.”

She scowled. “No.”

He shouldn’t have felt such a lecherous rush at her unwillingness. “Come on. I’ll fuck you. You want that, don’t you?”

Her indecision was palpable.

“Think of it as part of the game.”

“What if I don’t like your game?”

He smiled. “But you do.”

Damn him for looking like some female fantasy: tall, powerful, too good-looking for even a smidgen of humility, with a cock that literally stretched from crotch to waist and could have been an ad for Viagra, since it was hard forever.

As if he could read her mind, he lightly traced the length of his erection with his fingertip.

“I’ll do this to you later,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Make you wait.”

“But you don’t have to wait.” He crooked his finger.

She scowled. “I could use my vibrator.”

“Do that when I’m not here.”

“Don’t sound so sensible when you’re pissing me off.”

“Come on.”

Who could refuse? Maybe someone with zero libido. Hers, unfortunately, was operating at maximum capacity. Moving to the edge of the bed, she took his hand and came to her feet.

“Over here,” he said, detouring long enough to pull a condom from his jeans pocket. Drawing her to an upholstered chair near the window, he turned it around so the chair back faced the room. “Bend over this.”

She didn’t move.

“Do what you’re told, babe, and I’ll put my cock in you and make you come.”

“Fuck you,” she muttered, glaring at him.

“Or I could fuck you,” he gently observed.

He shouldn’t have felt such elation as she complied, bending facedown over the chair back. But her submission struck some perverted chord, his cock surged higher, and in compensation for his brute behavior he promised himself she could come as many times as she wished.

He had the condom in place a second later and, moving up to her prominently displayed sex, he grazed the gleaming pink flesh of her vulva with the tip of his erection, tracing her slippery, wet cleft from top to bottom. “Now, if you ask real nice, I might-”

Surging upright, she spun around, swung at him furiously, and would have landed a square punch on the jaw if he hadn’t quickly sidestepped. As it was, she left a streak of scratches down his cheek. “Get out!” she snapped.

“No.” He held his arms out. “I won’t move this time. Take your best shot.”

“I could call the cops,” she muttered, steamed and breathing hard.

“Be my guest, but I’d rather stay, and we could take advantage of this.” He glanced downward, his upthrust penis hard against his stomach.

She didn’t answer, but her gaze was directed at a point below his waist.

“Look, I was out of line,” he said very, very softly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t,” she said with a little pout.

He was pretty much home free at that point, but he knew better than to gloat. And bottom line, it was to his advantage as well to reach rapprochement. “Just an observation,” he said, with utmost diplomacy, “and I offer it as a suggestion only, but if you’d care to give that chair a try, I can guarantee you’ll like it.”

“Is this in your play book?”

“I don’t have a play book,” he said, ultrapolitely. “Call it a hunch.”

“Hmph.”

“Come on, babe,” he softly cajoled. “You and I both know we’re operating under some goddamned irresistible mind fuck. I promise not to give orders.”

She looked at his engorged cock, then at him, her gaze still partially shuttered. “So you’re telling me this is going to feel better than usual.”

“I have no idea about what’s usual for you, but let’s just say I’m pretty sure you’ll like it. And I’m sorry, okay?” Although he was mostly sorry, she’d become an obsession for him.

She smiled faintly. “You can be damned polite.”

“I usually am. That other stuff-consider it an aberration. Not to be repeated.”

“Sounds good,” she said briskly. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Bitch. She was deliberately goading him. But never one to let anger get in the way of mind-blowing sex, he said, polite as hell, “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

He was less polite a moment later as he rammed his cock into her cunt. Not that she seemed to mind, if her breathy cries were any indication. Nor did he get the feeling he’d be leaving anytime soon as she eagerly lifted her bottom in anticipation of his downstrokes, uttered high-pitched, feverish screams when he buried his cock in her, and came so many times he lost count.

Eventually, collapsed over the chair back, she whispered, “Stop.”

Good, he thought. There was only so much wear and tear one condom could take. Not that he intended to be entirely selfless.

His own climax was relatively quick; he’d been curtailing his orgasm for damn near a record length of time. But quick didn’t mean it didn’t pack a wallop.

The record this time was one of intensity.

Like a stage-two hurricane.

Or a boiler exploding.

Or the exquisite feel of a woman who was doing a real number fucking up his purposefully independent life.

Not that he was giving much thought to cerebral issues when there were hours yet till morning. And he had plans.