Calendar Boy

by HELEN HARDT

  “Is there…more chocolate?”

  “Of course, there’s plenty. Your sandwich is here too.”

  Sandwich? Right, she’d been famished. She still was…though not for food at the moment. What she wanted now was one giant chocolate-covered cock.

  She glanced over at the table where the food sat. A small silver bowl held the chocolate, surrounded by the strawberries in a larger bowl. She grabbed several strawberries and picked up the bowl of chocolate.

  She turned toward Michael. “Get on the bed,” she said, her voice an octave lower than normal.

  He smiled and arched his eyebrows. “What do you have in mind, Stace?”

  She winked at him. Winked! Stacy Oppenheimer winked at a man! Stopping the train of thought, she headed to the bathroom for a towel. No use soiling the sheets if the chocolate didn’t stay put.

  When she returned, Michael was lying on his back, his cock at attention, his grin saucy and wicked. “Got plans for me?”

  “Oh, yes.” She positioned the towel underneath him. “I just love chocolate, don’t you?”

  “I’d say I’ve already proved that.”

  She stared for a moment, fear threatening to paralyze her. Quickly, she channeled Starr again. She’d come this far, and she couldn’t stop now. The few times she’d given David head had been failures in her mind. He hadn’t said anything bad about it, though he hadn’t said he enjoyed it either. God knew Michael had experience. He’d know she was a novice as soon as she touched her mouth to him.

  Starr, I need you! Starr gave great head. All the men she slept with raved about her oral skills. Just pretend you’re licking an ice cream cone, Starr often advised other women. It was a line Stacy had heard in a movie once. It worked for Starr, but Stacy made it work for Starr.

  Would it actually work in reality?

  No time like the present to find out. She’d have the chocolate to make the illusion even more real.

  She knelt between Michael’s muscular legs. Another part of him that was perfectly formed. They could have been sculpted by a Renaissance artist. Dark hair dusted the sinewy flesh. His balls hung under his penis, beckoning to be touched, licked.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Wow what?”

  “Wow, you are one finely made man, Michael Moretti. But I’m sure you hear that all the time.”

  “It’s never sounded sweeter than right now.” He stroked his fingers through her damp hair. “And I mean that.”

  A line, of course. But a damned good one. She smiled and twirled the tip of a strawberry in the chocolate. “Such a finely made man should be painted, don’t you think?”

  “I’m game for whatever you have in mind, sweetheart.”

  “What I have in mind is to paint this beautiful shaft of yours and then lick every bit off you.”

  His thighs tensed around her head, and his balls bunched up slightly. Could her words be turning him on? A feeling of power surged into her. She actually had power over this stud of a man. How amazing!

  She started at the base of his cock and drew the chocolate-covered fruit upward. Tiny shudders racked through him.

  “Mmm. God, baby.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah it’s good. Fuck!”

  When she got to his cockhead, she swirled the strawberry around the tip and then gently poked it into the tiny opening.

  “Fuck, baby!”

  She smiled. Having a man at her mercy felt great! She reached forward and held the strawberry to his lips. He took a bite. She grabbed another one and began the torture again. When his penis was covered in delectable chocolate, she ate the last strawberry and prepared for the next phase in her plan.

  Operation ice cream cone.

  Chapter Five

  Stacy inhaled a deep breath. Courage. She’d come this far, now for the piece de resistance. She closed her eyes and launched herself into one of Starr’s infamous blow job scenes.

  Eye contact. That was the first thing to remember during oral sex. She grasped Michael’s cock and opened her eyes. His gaze was focused on her, his hazel eyes burning. He didn’t smile. His lips were pulled taut and tense, as though he were waiting for something, which, of course, he was. Stacy lowered her lids just a touch, hoping she returned his smoldering stare. Still locking her gaze with his, she touched the tip of her tongue to his cockhead.

  He visibly shuddered. How empowering! She touched his head again, with a bit more pressure this time. The warm chocolate slid over her tongue. Mmm, she did love chocolate, almost as much as she was growing to love her power over Michael Moretti’s cock. She lapped at the head as though it were a scoop of dark chocolate ice cream sitting on top of a sugar cone, a swirl here, a lick there…until every bit of chocolate had been removed.

  “God, Stace, that’s amazing.” Michael’s voice was raspy, even a little jittery.

  Power. She loved it.

  She eased her mouth over the head of his cock and slid it downward, sucking the rest of the chocolate off his thick shaft.

  His groan was her reward.

  “Baby, that’s so good, the way you suck me.”

  Up and down she moved, stifling her gag reflex as his tip hit the back of her throat. If she moved quickly, she found she could deep throat. A spike of pride jolted into her. Stacy Oppenheimer could deep throat Michael Moretti!

  When her jaw needed a break, she trailed her lips down his shaft to his sac and rained tiny kisses over his balls. They bunched up as his thighs tensed around her head. She sucked one and then the other into her mouth, relishing his soft moans. Words met her ears—sexy words, endearing words, words telling her how hot she was, how much he loved what she was doing to him—words that made her pussy pulse with renewed energy and nectar.

  This was turning her on.

  His cock was glistening with her saliva. She slid her fist up and down his shaft as she continued to explore the peaks and valleys of his sac. She inhaled his musky odor, nibbled the soft skin of his inner thighs.

  “Damn, you’re good at this,” Michael panted.

  Good at this? If one was good at what one enjoyed, she was definitely good at sucking Michael’s cock. She smiled against his balls and thrust her mouth onto his shaft once more, sucking more firmly.

  “I’m going to come, Stace,” he said. “God, I’m going to come.”

  Stacy widened her eyes, pierced his greenish gaze with her own. Could she handle him coming in her mouth?

  Starr Shannon could.

  So could Stacy Oppenheimer.

  She sucked harder, cupping his balls, massaging them. With his groan came his seed. It gushed over her tongue and throat. She savored its slightly bitter flavor. This was a victory for Stacy the introvert, a victory to relish.

  She let his cock drop from her lips and swallowed his essence. Still locking her gaze with his, she glided up his glistening body, letting her breasts press into his chest, and gave him a light kiss on the lips.

  “Mmm, thank you,” he said.

  She let out a tiny laugh. “For what?”

  He grinned. “What do you think?”

  “That? Oh, that was my pleasure.”

  “And mine.” He snuggled her against his body and kissed the top of her head.

  Stacy was ripe for more, but fatigue had its own idea. As she cuddled into Michael and his breathing turned shallow, she drifted into peaceful slumber.

  * * *

  Stacy jerked upright. A strange sound buzzed in her ears. The covers next to her were rumpled. Where was Michael? Had he left?

  Well, so what if he had? He certainly didn’t owe her anything. This had been a fuck for him, nothing more. She had known that going in.

  Still, her heart danced a two-step when he sauntered out of the bathroom, naked and glorious. He hadn’t left her.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, smiling. “Ready for that shower you owe me?”

  The whoosh of the shower. That was the strange sound. Not so strange now. A shower with Michael Moretti. Had s
he died and gone to heaven?

  She stood, suddenly shy again, and draped the sheet around her body.

  “Oh, no.” He walked toward her. “No covering up that work of art.” He tugged at a corner of the sheet, and it fell into a rumpled puddle at her feet.

  Stacy grimaced. Her hair had to be a mass of red-brown tangles. She had fallen asleep while it was wet. Lord, and he was calling her a work of art?

  “Michael, I need to brush out my hair, and go to the bathroom. Can you…?”

  “Nope. Not leaving, Stace. I’m getting in that shower with you come hell or high water.”

  “Geez…”

  “What’s wrong? I’ve seen every inch of you, and I adore every inch of you.” He traced her jawline with long finger. “You’re gorgeous.”

  Her belly flip-flopped. He sure sounded sincere. Whether it was an act or not, why not live the fantasy a little longer? “Okay. Give me a minute. I’ll meet you in the shower.”

  She hightailed it into the bathroom, ran a brush through her hair—which was every bit the mess she’d thought it was—and took care of necessary business.

  “Ready, Michael,” she called, and she stepped into the steaming shower.

  The raining water soothed her skin. She closed her eyes and arched her back, letting her hair flow down her back in a silky mass.

  “Now that’s a lovely sight.”

  His voice was a growling sigh, and Stacy opened her eyes to Michael’s perfect physique. She smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself.” He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered it between his palms. “May I?”

  She nodded. His masculine hands smoothed the lather over her shoulders, over the hills of her breasts, over her taut belly. Her nipples hardened at his touch.

  “I need some soap too,” he said. “Come here.”

  He pulled her into his body, and she rubbed her breasts against his muscled torso. His black chest hair tickled her nipples, and she couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped her throat. So hard and masculine, he was, and so handsome and sexy. She pressed her cheek against his beefy shoulder and closed her eyes. Smooth strokes caressed her back, glided downward over the globes of her ass cheeks, slid between her legs. Her mound sprang to life.

  “Hmm. You wet from the shower?” Michael teased, “or for me?

  She grinned into his hard shoulder. “For you, of course.”

  “Then we need to do something about that. Luckily, I came prepared.” He picked up a condom from the soapdish. “Now, kiss me.”

  His lips crushed to hers.

  The kiss was anything but gentle. He forced her lips open and thrust his tongue inside. His groan vibrated against the inside of her mouth. It was a hungry kiss, a kiss of the passion that sizzled between them.

  Stacy opened to him, let her tongue duel with his. His hands coasted down her arms, and the faint ripple of a foil packet breached the haze of her thoughts.

  “Turn around, baby.”

  She obeyed, and he gripped her hips and slowly slid into her. Lord, what a sweet invasion! Ripe and juicy, her slick passage welcomed him.

  Slowly, gently, so unlike the kiss they had just shared, he made love to her.

  “You feel so good, Stace.” He pistoned his hips, caressed her ass. “So good.”

  “Yes, so good,” she echoed.

  One strong hand slid over her hip, fingers entwined in her nest of curls and found her hard nub. He rubbed it in smooth circles, in time with his rhythmic thrusts into her, and the crescendo built.

  Stacy closed her eyes, savored the warm rain on her face, her shoulders, her breasts.

  Talented hands played her clit, the pressure growing, ascending, until a curtain opened over the last vestiges of her control. Michael pumped and pumped, rocking her hips.

  “Yes, yes!” The dam burst, and her body shook. Her wet hands slipped from their grip on the shower wall, but Michael steadied her, continued to plunge into her as her whole torso seemed to spasm around him. Silver sparks shot through her arms and legs, yet still he held her stable, his strength her protective fort.

  “That’s it, baby.” He rocked in time with the euphoric convulsions inside her. “Make it last. Come for me.”

  Again and again her body imploded upon itself, her skin alternately heated and cooled. The warm rain from the shower intensified the sensations, and the heady splashes of water accompanied each thrust of Michael’s cock.

  “Yeah, baby, that’s it,” he said again. “God, baby, I’m going to come!”

  His thrusts quickened, and he let out a groan as he plunged even farther into her. His contractions pounded against her sensitive walls, and her heart sped with the knowledge that he was feeling what she was feeling—wild, free, and sexual.

  His chin poked into her shoulder, and his breath blew the droplets from her neck. Still the water pelted them, and still their bodies were joined. They stood for a few timeless moments, and peace—pure peace—blanketed Stacy’s body and mind.

  “That was wonderful.” Michael’s voice brought reality.

  “Yes, it was,” she agreed.

  Michael withdrew and turned Stacy to face him. He threaded his fingers through her sopping hair. “I love your hair,” he said. “Could I wash it?”

  Wash her hair? What a turn on. She wasn’t sure why, but the thought of those strong hands on her scalp enthralled her. “Sure. If I can wash yours.”

  “Deal.” He smiled and picked up the small bottle of hotel shampoo in the corner of the shower. He lathered some in his palm and spread it over Stacy’s head.

  Since when had shampooing become such an erotic art? Michael’s fingers worked magic on her head. She closed her eyes and enjoyed. When he thought he got soap in her eye, he apologized profusely. She laughed and told him not to worry, that she was fine. He continued his massage, and when he finished, he tilted her head back and rinsed her, threading the soap through the ends of her hair until it all disappeared down the drain.

  She traded places with him and squirted a quarter-size puddle of shampoo into her palm. His hair hung in dark waves and clung to his cheeks and neck. Gorgeous thick Italian hair, and she couldn’t wait to work her fingers into it. It was as soft and silky as she’d imagined, and she gently scrubbed his tresses and worked the soap through the ends.

  Like her, he shut his eyes and leaned back. He was so tall she had to reach to get the top of his scalp, but she stretched gladly, wanting to give him the same attention he’d given her.

  “Okay, you can rinse now,” she said.

  He turned into the water, and she helped him work the lather out of his hair. When they were both soap free, he took her into his arms and stared into her eyes, his own smoldering.

  She caressed the corded muscle of his neck, the sinew of his bulging biceps, and the strong lines of his back. His mouth lowered, as if in slow motion, until his lips touched hers.

  Though it lacked the fervency and possessiveness of their earlier kisses, it was beautiful. It was timeless.

  Emotion as thick as the steam surrounded her.

  God!

  She pulled away.

  What had she done? Emotion had no place here. This was an affair. No, not even an affair. A fuck. A one night stand.

  “What’s wrong?” Michael’s hazel eyes widened.

  Good lord, he was gorgeous, his now-clean hair slicked back on his head, his perfect face dripping with water.

  Stacy turned off the faucet. “Time to get out. I’m wrinkled as a prune.”

  “A beautiful prune.”

  Without responding, she stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and threw one to him.

  “Thanks.” He wrapped the towel around his waist.

  Why did he have to look like a Greek god? Or an Italian god? The stark white of the towel contrasted with his olive skin. So beautiful.

  He grabbed another towel and started rubbing his hair. “Why so quick to get out?”

  Stacy cleared her throat. “No reason. Other than
I have a conference to attend today. I’m sure I’ve already missed the first few workshops. I have no idea what time it is.”

  “I don’t either.” He grinned. “And I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do. This is my business.”

  “It’s my business too, remember?” He launched the towel he’d used on his hair onto the shower rim. “Is there anywhere you absolutely have to be today?”

  “Well, I have a book signing tomorrow, but today, no. I’m not required to be anywhere. But I should—”

  He touched his fingers to her lips. “I have two photo shoots tomorrow, but I’m free as a bird today. So I have a suggestion.”

  Her lips tingled from his soft touch. With a shiver, she said, “What?”

  “Take the day off. Play hooky with me.”

  “Hooky?” What was he? Fifteen?

  He laughed. “Yeah. Hooky. Let’s be immature for the day. There’s something I’d love to share with you. One of my favorite things in the world.”

  “Oh?” Her curiosity was piqued. “What’s that?”

  “Sky diving.”

  Chapter Six

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Sky diving? Stacy Oppenheimer, classic introvert, might have given a male model some killer head, but jumping out of an airplane was out of the question.

  “It’s a hobby of mine. I’d like to take you.”

  Stacy shook her head. “So not happening, Michael.”

  “I’m a qualified instructor.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “All I need to do is call my friend Oliver who owns the plane and equipment. He’ll take us up today.”

  “What if he’s already booked?”

  “He’s not.”

  “Right. How do you know?”

  He winked. “I already booked him for today.”

  “God.” Stacy rolled her eyes. “So you were planning to skip out of the conference today anyway.”

  “Yes, I was. Still am. Having you accompany me will make it all the better.”

  “Well, you have a jolly time. I’ll just be here, attending workshops. On the ground.”

  “Oh, come on, Stace. Live a little.”