by Roz Lee
“What about Crystal?”
She had to give him credit, he didn’t miss a beat. “What about her? She’s crazy, insane.” He ground his erection against her ass.
“I love you. You. Are. Mine.” He punctuated each word with a kiss to her neck that robbed her of all good sense. She wanted to believe him. His words, spoken so softly against her ear no one else would have heard them had they not been alone. His lips closed over the pulse point below her ear. His day-old beard razed her neck. Her eyes flew open. Pressed against the mirrored wall she could see the top of his head, his arms paralleling hers, his hands pressed against the back of hers flattened on the mirror. His right hand moved, slid along her arm, down the side of her breast and to the waistband of her shorts.
A feeble protest came to her lips, but evaporated in a breath of steam when his fingers slid beneath the band and found her liquid core.
“No.”
His fingers continued their evil exploration. “Let me convince you. One last time, Fallon. If I can’t change your mind, I’ll let you go.”
Her heart ached, but it was as if his fingers touched her there, massaging the ache away. She couldn’t give in. Her mind protested, even as the words left her lips. “One more time Richard, but you won’t change my mind.”
“Mine, Fallon. This is mine. You are mine.”
Not even a feeble protest formed. It was true. She might leave him, she would leave him, but it wouldn’t change the facts. She loved him and her body knew and understood his claim on her. Her shorts slid over her hips and thighs and pooled around her ankles.
Richard’s tanned hand splayed over her stomach, a dark contrast to her ivory skin and pale blue panties.
“Please, Richard.” She needed his touch, needed to feel him inside her. She needed this memory to take with her.
“Please what? Tell me what you want.” His voice vibrated along every raw nerve ending and sent a shiver down hers spine.
“I want. . . I need you.”
“Tell me, Fallon. I want to hear you say it.”
“I need you to fuck me.” She despised the way her body betrayed her, but knew she would beg him if asked.
Her soaked panties joined her shorts. The rasp of his zipper ripped the deafening silence inside the elevator. Her blood pressure soared with each inch it descended. Fallon cut her eyes to the side. The mirrored side wall reflected their image. They were fully clothed except she was naked from her waist down. Her fair skin against his black jeans was the most erotic thing she thought she’d ever seen. Richard reached inside his jeans. Her breath caught at the sight of his cock and the scene stamped in her brain, a permanent erotic tableau, one she would cherish forever.
“Open for me.”
Fallon spread her legs as far as her restricting shorts would allow and tilted her hips back, welcoming his entry. He guided his cock between her legs, to the outer gates of her being.
He entered her on one hard, swift stroke. “Mine.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off their reflection. Richard’s left hand still covered hers on the mirror. His right hand came up, peeled hers from the glass, and guided it to her stomach. Together, their hands controlled the rhythm of their coupling. In the mirror she could see patches of her flesh surrounded by Richard’s fully clothed body rocking against her in a secret communion of spirit. He moved deep inside her, stroking his life against hers in an ages old mating dance. The stiff denim of his jeans rasped against her soft skin. The contrast heightened her arousal.
His hand on hers anchored them together and cushioned her from the handrail, protecting her. Richard would always cushion her. She knew it as certainly as she knew she loved him.
I don't remember telling him to massage her g-spot. Maybe I did, maybe he did it by instinct. She screamed, her legs clamped around his head and her hips bucked. Did I murmur soothing words to her? I don't remember doing so. I just let her ride through her orgasm alone. He certainly wasn't with her. He was with me, as I rode my own orgasm to completion.
From the file labeled, 'Subject M5, Richard Wolfe'
Chapter Fourteen
“I love you. Come for me, Fallon.”
She hovered on the edge. He felt the tension building in her body, the way the muscles of her stomach tightened, the way she closed her eyes as the sensations overwhelmed her. Their bodies met in only three places, his left hand on hers pressed against the mirror, his right one held hers flush against her stomach, measuring every move, every nuance of her arousal, and his cock buried deep inside her, measuring every heartbeat and robbing him of what little sanity he had left.
He’d taken a chance on finding her this morning, certain she was avoiding him, and equally certain she planned to make a run for it as soon as the ship docked. He gambled she wouldn’t leave her research behind and the gamble paid off. When he found her shoving boxes into the elevator, his heart had shattered. A wide range of emotions washed over and through him in an instant. Hurt and disappointment came first. She was leaving and hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. Sorrow followed. Not for himself. For her. He’d driven her to this, somehow, and she was hurt enough to want to leave. He loved her too much to want to hurt her. If she wanted to go, he needed to let her.
Finally, rage took over. She loved him, and damnit, he loved her. She was his and she wasn’t going to leave without talking to him first. When she lowered the box to the floor and the doorway framed her cute ass. Pure animal lust took over.
He rocked his hips back and pushed forward again, slowly filling her. With his head draped over her shoulder, he could see the reflection of their hands against her stomach. He wondered if she felt it too, the magic created by the slide of his flesh inside her. His lips roamed the little patch of skin on her shoulder he could reach under the collar of her shirt. She tasted like vanilla cream, and the sweet scent of her skin was the most powerful aphrodisiac he’d ever known. He drew in her unique scent, created surely, just for him.
They wore too many clothes. He wanted to feel every inch of her against an equal amount of him, but this would have to do. The three points of contact were like the points of an electrical plug. They completed a circuit through which his life force circulated. Without Fallon, he was only half-alive.
She made a little sound, half gasp, half groan. He laced his fingers between hers and drew her hand down to cover her mound. It was easy enough to manipulate her fingers with his. Together they worked her swollen clit until the little sound grew louder and longer.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Feel me inside you. You’re so hot and wet.” He withdrew until just the head of his cock was inside her. When she whimpered, he thrust back in with enough force to lift her to her toes.
“Feel that? I’m a part of you.” He repeated the process, never letting up on her clit or her senses. When she came, she would know it was because he brought her there. “I’m,” he pulled almost all the way out again. “Going,” he held still, making her wait for him to finish it. “To make you come.” He cocked his hips and shoved balls-deep inside her. He pinched her clit between their middle fingers.
Her voice ricocheted off the elevator walls like a bullet in a steel vault. Richard watched her in the mirror as she lost all control. She quaked in his arms. Her left hand, flattened against the mirror, clenched into a balled fist. He wrapped his fingers around the tiny fist and squeezed. Her vaginal wall clutched eagerly at his cock.
“You want my seed? Your pussy is begging for it.” She made an incoherent sound and he took it for an affirmation. “Hang on, sweetheart.”
If he had any self-control left, he lost it. Her body went limp in his arms. He closed his eyes and gave in to the primal need his body cried out for. He pounded into her, every stroke a statement she couldn’t mistake. Fallon Enright belonged to him, belonged with him.
Every muscle in her body tensed. Poised on the brink of ecstasy, Fallon gave herself over to Richard’s control. He murmured in her ear. Threats. Promises.
; * * * * *
Yes, make me come. Yes, Richard. Oh God, yes! Sheltered by his body, she felt safe as if he’d bound her with the ropes she’d come to love. She could let it all go and he would be there to keep her grounded. He filled her, literally and figuratively. He was the literal incarnation of the figurative ropes he’d given her.
Safe in Richard’s arms, she let go and sailed into the eye of the hurricane. Her body clenched around the solid anchor buried inside her. She cried out. Richard murmured against her ear. Yes, she answered, or she thought she did. Yes, I want it. Yes. Please. There wasn’t anything in the world that felt better than Richard spilling himself inside her. She craved it as a junkie craves the next fix. She always would.
His body tensed and he pushed up harder than before. Fallon rose to her toes. He groaned something unintelligible against her shoulder and erupted inside her, a virile volcano against her womb. Boneless after her orgasm, he supported her with his right hand against her stomach.
Slowly he relaxed and she slid back to her feet, still safe in his arms, connected in the most intimate way possible. Sanity crept in like a guilty teenager sneaking back into the house.
“I have to go.”
* * * * *
Richard’s heart sank, his arousal shriveled. He slid from her and stepped back, adjusting his jeans, the only article of clothing out of place. Fallon bent and pulled her panties and shorts up. The movement stirred the air, bringing the mingled scent of their arousals to his nostrils. The sweet fragrance would forever be imprinted on his brain. He just hoped it was enough to sustain him for the rest of his life.
“You still want to go?”
“I have to.”
She tucked her shirt into her waistband with practiced efficiency. She was leaving. The realization sucked the air from the cubicle. Richard held his breath, certain it was the last lungful he’d ever have. His head swam, and then in a desperate last gasp, he sucked in a breath. “Where will you go?”
“Home I guess. I have an offer on the book, then. . . who knows?”
“I’m happy for you. Let me know when you have a place for the rest of the ensemble. I’ll see that the jewels are safely delivered.”
“You don’t. . . . ”
“I do. They were always meant for you. I want you to have them.”
She nodded and glanced at the boxes near her feet. “Well, okay. I can’t tell you how much they mean to me.”
“Then stay.”
“You know I can’t.” The whispered words fell feather soft in the silent cubicle.
“No, I don’t. Tell me why.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the whoosh of the other elevators no doubt transporting passengers to the Odyssey deck where they would disembark.
“I won’t be just another bimbo you play your games with.”
Something dark and dangerous brewed in his gut. “This isn’t a game, Fallon. You’re talking in riddles. What bimbos? What games? I love you, and I think I deserve an explanation.”
“I love you too, but this isn’t going to work.” She kicked one of the boxes to the door.
“Wait! You mentioned Crystal last night. Is this about her?”
“Not entirely.”
“She’s nuts, Fallon.”
“Is she?” He studied her, committing the lines of her face, the soft curves of her body, the resolute gleam in her eye, to memory. He’d lost her and he didn’t know why. A heavy weight threatened to crush his chest, making it hard to breathe and hot lead pulsed through his veins. “I’ve got to go.”
Fallon drew her shoulders back in a move he recognized as bravado to cover the depth of her hurt. He couldn’t hurt her any longer. He couldn’t be responsible for that look in her eyes. He had to let her go.
“Let me help you with these boxes.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned the key and selected the correct deck number on the control panel. The elevator came to life, quickly depositing them at their destination.
Richard hefted one of the boxes and held the door for Fallon to exit the car. A few minutes later he stood on the dock and watched the taillights of her cab disappear into the stream of traffic along the waterfront.
* * * * *
Fallon straightened her spine and dug deep for the steel she’d need to get off the ship without her knees buckling. Richard’s eyes raked over her, seeing more, she was certain, than she wanted him to see. Could he tell how desperately she wanted to throw herself at him? She clung to the small scrap of pride she still possessed and prayed it would be enough to see her through.
She drank in the sight of him. Her body still wept for him, even though he’d been inside her just moments ago. Her muscles still remembered the size and shape of him. Her thighs were sticky with their mingled fluids. She’d tried to take the cowardly way, sneaking off the ship as early as possible to avoid him, but he’d found her. He’d taken what he wanted from her, but it hadn’t been anything she wasn’t willing to give. She’d wanted it as much as he had, and he’d known it.
He always knew.
The cab pulled into traffic and she fought the urge to look over her shoulder. She didn’t have to look to know he was still there. The ache in her heart told her. For the millionth time she questioned her decision. A solitary life loomed on her horizon, a life she wasn’t sure she wanted. What choice did she have anyway?
The image of Richard lip-locked with the curvy brunette flashed through her brain, Crystal, handcuffed and waiting for her lover, reminded Fallon why she needed to leave. Just because her rational brain understood, didn’t mean her heart followed suit. The damaged organ continued to pump, but something was missing in the life giving fluid now, something she feared was vital to her survival.
Fallon cranked down a window, letting in the heavy Florida air. The air changed little as the cab ventured away from the docks. Humidity was a given in Miami, but the smell of salt and fish soon gave way to exhaust and the stench of overheated concrete. She let her head fall back on the seat and closed her eyes to the morning sunlight. A solitary tear leaked out. She brushed it away with a shaky hand. She’d been off the Lothario for less than an hour and she missed it already. How was she supposed to get used to living on land again?
A bellhop helped her with her boxes and she explained her luggage would be delivered later. The downtown hotel would serve as a home base until she could find an apartment and get her furniture out of storage, and if she was going to stay on dry land, she was going to have to go shopping. On the Lothario, she’d needed very little in the way of personal wardrobe. She had plenty in storage, but after two years she had no idea what kind of shape it would be in, or if it would suit her life now.
The next few weeks went by in an alternating pattern. For days, she went from sunup to sundown without a break, and then she’d find herself with nothing to do for several days. It was the latter that she hated. If she didn’t stay busy, she thought of Richard. So, she shopped, she looked for an apartment, she contacted the publisher interested in her book, and then she waited. And waited. And waited. Now she fully understood the fish out of water analogy. She didn’t belong on land, or in this case, concrete. The city was slowly killing her, and she missed Richard. Her body was on land, but one small piece of it, the piece that she most needed, her heart, was still on the Lothario.
She couldn’t make a decision anymore than she could forget Richard. None of the apartments were the right one, the clothes she tried on didn’t fit, or she couldn’t see herself ever wearing them. She bought shorts, blouses, and touristy T-shirts, reasoning that in South Florida that constituted a year-round wardrobe suitable for just about any social occasion. Not that she had any social occasions.
Two weeks into her self-imposed exile, a tabloid headline caught her attention. She plunked down the change for the rag and read the article while sitting on a bench on the oceanfront walk. Richard had filed a criminal complaint against Crystal for stalking and harassment. In addition, the woman had been cha
rged with multiple counts of arson for fires set onboard the Lothario over the last year. Richard had said she was crazy. Had she misjudged the situation? Had Crystal created a fantasy relationship with Richard and then taunted Fallon with it that night in the security office? For the first time, Fallon began to doubt her reasons for leaving the ship, and Richard.
Every day she forced herself to leave the hotel room for a few hours. On the ship, no two days were alike. Passengers came and went. She met new and interesting couples daily. She’d always made friends easily, but it seemed too much of an effort now. Who could you meet living in a hotel? No one if you never came out of your room, so she thought up excuses to leave the small suite.
Sunday morning she put on her running gear and headed out. The downtown area was all but deserted. The lead-gray sky gradually lightened as she ran along the empty sidewalks past coffee shops not yet open, and blinking traffic signals. She ran without a conscious route in mind, turning corners on a whim until she found herself running south on Cruise Boulevard, the main thoroughfare through the Port of Miami. Several cruise ships had docked already and crew members worked to secure one more.
Fallon stopped in her tracks. She bent at the waist and braced her hands on her sweaty thighs. Why had she come here? She needed to breathe. She needed her head examined.
A few passengers stood along the railing, or on their private balconies, watching the crew secure the Lothario. If she squinted against the morning sun washing the lead out of the sky, she could see shadowed figures on the bridge. Was Richard one of them? More likely he was still in bed with the floozy of the week. But did she really believe that? She straightened and limped over to one of the metal benches in the median meant for returning passengers awaiting their rides. It would be nearly an hour before passengers began to file off the ship. Fallon sank onto the plastic coated expanded-diamond mesh and stared at the ship.