Operation G-Spot

by Jodi Lynn Copeland

  Kristi: Well, don’t let it. Learn from my and Liz’s mistakes and go with the flow and enjoy yourself. And when you’re at it, don’t forget to party like it’s 19…69.

  Fiona: *groan* You and your 69 jokes. Just to be nice, I’ll listen this time. But it’s going to be a huge hardship sucking that lovely cock. And I do mean huge.

  Saturday at Seven. Il Giardino, Suite 803. Blow Job.

  Jonah fisted the note in his hand, struggling to ignore the sweet scent of lavender that clung to it. The message had been tucked in an envelope and taped to his door. It wasn’t signed, but the sender was obvious. He’d had a number of fans—both women and men who believed he practiced every one of the sordid acts he wrote about—offer him sex through the years, but never at his home, since he kept the address and his real name private. And never in a way that left their scent behind and had him thinking about the last time they’d been together in cock-hardening detail.

  If Fiona thought she could convince him to go another round by offering a blow job, she was mistaken.

  He’d finished the next issue of Hell Bent thanks to her unexpected offer and their ensuing fuck. He felt Sorrina read more alive and wickeder than ever. Hands-on research wasn’t worth the cost of selling his soul. Fiona might have incredibly sensitive toes charmingly decked out in every color of the rainbow and a full-bodied cry of surrender that haunted his sleep, but she was still the enemy.

  All the proof he needed of her ability to screw with his life was the call he’d gotten from his mother this morning. She’d reiterated that she knew he’d been stowing a girl in his bedroom last night and hoped he would bring her to Sunday dinner. He’d denied said girl’s existence, but it didn’t matter. His mom would already be planning the wedding.

  Jonah snorted. Girl hardly described Fiona. She was 100 percent woman. Passionate as hell and verbal to boot. He’d thwarted the moans and dirty talk that attempted to spill out of his mouth. Something told him if he’d expressed his pleasure aloud, she would have been that much louder herself. It had been consuming enough just feeling her pussy sucking him inside after months of daydreaming about it. Of feeling her heavy tits filling his hands. Her lips…

  Damn. He hadn’t gotten a kiss.

  The way Sorrina kissed was as important to bringing her to life as the knowledge that her hair felt like black silk gliding through a man’s fingertips.

  Fine. For the sake of pleasing his fans, he would make the meeting at the hotel. And, meanwhile, be damned glad it wasn’t the real Sorrina who left the note.

  The real Sorrina would use the blow-job front as a way to lure him to death’s door. Fiona wouldn’t kill him. She would just dredge up more memories of his late fiancée, whose death had never been avenged thanks to the serial killers who disguised themselves behind power suits and luxury cars and called themselves lawyers.

  Fiona pulled into Il Giardino’s unloading zone and swore. She was a half hour late for Simon’s seduction. If he’d showed to begin with, the odds that he was still here were slim.

  With a thank-you to the valet, Fiona tossed the man the keys to her rental sedan. She waved away the baggage handler and, hefting her overnight bag, hurried inside the hotel.

  Her heart pounded as she grabbed a key card from the front desk and rode the elevator to the eighth floor. She stepped out of the car and hustled to suite 803. LA SALA DI LAVANDA—the Lavender Lounge—was engraved on a gold nameplate next to the key-card apparatus. Each room in the Italian hotel was themed with a different European flower; this suite was her favorite and far too pricey to waste. But no other man seemed worthy of the extravagance. If Simon wasn’t here, there would be only one alternative. Drive back to her apartment, pick up his battery-operated fraternal twin, and bring the black beauty back here for a long, hard night of loving.

  Fiona sighed. Every other time she’d imagined the vibrator slamming into her, she’d felt damp and empty in a way only it could reconcile. She felt damp and empty this time, too, but not for King Simon. After the day she had, only one dick would do and it was attached to Simon King.

  God, she hoped Liz was right and he wasn’t a stalker but knew about her through the newspaper feature. And that he didn’t run for cover when she stepped into the suite wearing a stiff black pantsuit that gave no hint of curves and, when combined with the tight hair twist and chunky black shoes, shouted “back off or die.” She’d wanted to send that message to Barrett Stanley, the prosecuting attorney who’d not only managed to get his slimy hands on evidence that suggested her client’s testimony was fabricated and that the woman was guilty of murder, but also had cornered Fiona after court yesterday and attempted to place those slimy hands on her ass.

  Frustration sizzled through her, tensing her shoulders. She wasn’t going to think about Stanley and how, just when it seemed she was making headway for the defense, he would magically have another new witness ready to come forward and put a client she was convinced was innocent behind bars. She was going to think about Simon King and the way he could make her come like no other.

  Drawing a calming breath, Fiona slid the key card through the lock apparatus and pushed the suite door in. Her gaze fell on Simon instantly. At least, she assumed it was Simon. A man with thick, curly brown hair sat at the dining area table with his back to her. She stepped into the suite, closed the door, and set her overnight bag down. The man at the table stood and rounded. She sucked in a breath. How she’d ever thought Simon average was a mystery.

  Her belly gave a delighted rumble as her gaze slid the length of him. No baggy sweatpants and wrinkled T-shirt today, but tan chinos and a pressed white dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows, giving him the appeal of a man hard at work. Crisp brown hair spilled from the partially unbuttoned neckline of his shirt. Her pussy throbbed as she remembered where that hair led. To a magical cock that could deliver her orgasm in short order; thinking about sucking it had gotten her through the day.

  Needing to wrap her arms around him and forget the last ten hours, she smiled and started for him. “Thank God. You’re still here.”

  “Not for long.”

  The edge to his voice had Fiona stopping in her tracks to meet his eyes. Cool gray stared back at her, killing her smile. “I wanted to be here.”

  He moved past her to grab a small black suitcase and continued to the door. He reached for the knob. “Then you would have been.”

  Typically, Fiona prided herself on her composure. Right about now she wasn’t feeling composed but desperate. She’d searched too damned long and hard to find Simon to lose him over something as inane as tardiness. She dragged in a breath and let out a scream.

  Simon’s hand slipped from the knob, and he looked back at her like she’d lost her mind. “Feel better?”

  “A little. But not as good as I’d feel if you put that bag down. I wanted to be here, Simon. Instead I was stuck in judge’s chambers, arguing with a prick of a prosecuting attorney who’s convinced that I want his hands on my ass.”

  The coolness of his eyes slowly warmed until a sympathetic smile curved his lips. He set the suitcase down and walked back to her, dragging out the dining room chair he’d previously occupied. “Sit.” She did as he asked, and he pulled out another chair. Slipping her chunky shoes off, he sat in the chair and rested her feet between his thighs. “Close your eyes and relax.”

  Another time, when she wasn’t worried he would leave with the slightest negative remark, she would let him know she wasn’t into being told what to do. The moment she closed her eyes and his hands began to knead her aching arches, Fiona was ecstatic to have kept her mouth shut. She was not, however, relaxed.

  Between his killer toe-sucking ability and now this, the man was going to give her a serious foot fetish.

  Each press of his thumbs into her arches had shards of heat dancing up her legs to come to rest between her thighs as a restless ache. He massaged from the balls of her feet to the pads of her toes. He peeled her socks off then. He
r pussy fluttered, and she shrieked with the feel of his warm fingers circling her big toes, pulling the length of them like it was his lips and tongue issuing a silent assault.

  “Not a good relaxing move?”

  Simon sounded amused, and she could easily imagine his smile, which was odd considering she’d never actually seen him smile. Maybe it was a sign of fate, that he truly was her Simon. Fiona opened her eyes to find her vision almost accurate. His mouth was curved in a teasing smile that showed a glimpse of even teeth, but it was far sexier than she ever would have guessed. Damn good thing she’d cast her pettiness aside and given him a try.

  Returning to digging the pads of his thumbs into her arches, he sent his gaze the length of her. He gave a wolf whistle. “Very sexy outfit.”

  She laughed, enjoying the humor after a long, tiring day almost as much as she would enjoy the sex they were about to have. “I wore it for Stanley’s sake.”

  “The prick of a prosecuting attorney with grab-ass issues?”

  “That would be the one.” She looked up at him from under her lashes, concentrated on keeping her voice low, throaty. Making his cock harden with words if not her appearance. “I had other plans for you.”

  His eyes lit with interest. “Share.”

  Fiona closed her eyes again, falling into the hypnotic press of his thumbs. “I was going to meet you at the door wearing a red, crotchless, peekaboo teddy and before you could get a word out push you up against the wall and give you the best blow job of your life. Then, just when you thought I was done, I’d turn my hands on myself, fingering my nipples and petting my pussy until you were hard again, and then I’d take you with my body, ride you fast and hard, slick and deep, until we were both shaking with the urgent need to come.”

  The rhythm of Simon’s hands changed, concentrating on an area of her feet he clearly hadn’t touched yet. An area that was directly connected to her sex, judging by the sudden furious lick of heat and resulting wetness.

  “You have this teddy along?” She nodded, and he let go of her feet. “Put it on.”

  The gruff command pushed through her, enlivening a need to be possessed she never realized existed. Opening her eyes, Fiona stood and went to her overnight bag; she pulled out the scrap of cotton and lace that fit into her fist when balled up yet had cost her almost as much as her first car and started for the bathroom.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked when she passed by.

  She frowned. “To the bathroom to put it on.”

  “No, you aren’t. You’re changing right there, where I can see every inch of you.”

  4

  Fiona gave Jonah a look that said he was nuts to suggest she change into her racy teddy while standing in front of him. “Won’t that kill the effect?”

  He angled his chair to get the best view possible. Despite the hesitant question, her face was flushed. He could easily envision her nipples beneath her funeral garb, puckered and long, ready for his mouth.

  Mouths were the reason they were here. Learning how she kissed so he could write Sorrina true to life. He should get that kiss and get the hell out of here. Fiona’s scream had stopped him from leaving earlier—she’d sounded so human, so in need of a shoulder after an exhausting day. It was a combination of that and her multicolored toenails stopping him now.

  Christ, he was such a liar. It wasn’t just her humanizing scream and her zany toenails that kept him from walking out the door. And it sure as hell wasn’t research. It was the ache of his groin and the desperate way his dick jumped at the thought of seeing her naked again. It was the mad need to fuck her senseless.

  Jonah reclined back in his chair and grabbed the glass of brandy he’d poured earlier but hadn’t taken the time to drink. He brought it to his lips, enjoying the warm slide of liquor down his throat. If he had a brain, he would down the entire bottle and pass out before he could make another move. He lifted the glass from his lips and confirmed he was, in fact, brainless. “Only one way to find out. Undress, Fiona. Show me those luscious tits.”

  She blinked at him, but then did his bidding, peeling the dowdy black jacket off, followed by a puritan-white blouse. One flick of the clasp of her plain white cotton bra and she no longer looked like a hard-ass lawyer but a fully aroused woman his hands itched to touch.

  He lingered his gaze over her nipples, flicking his tongue out as if he could reach the hard brown points from where he sat. On a breathy cry, she arched back, her eyes falling to half-masts. “Simon,” she mouthed. “Please.”

  His shaft pulsed with her pleading. She wasn’t nearly stimulated enough for him to give in, but he wanted to do so damned bad. “Not yet. First, you finish undressing.”

  Catching her lip between her teeth, she gave a small nod of her head. She unbuttoned her pants and started them down her legs, not using the brazenly slow technique meant to drive a guy crazy with lust he’d seen her use on men through his telescope; rather, she used a quick, jerking move that made it seem she was too eager to go slow. Panties that matched her spartan bra came off with the same haste, and she stood before him, naked as she’d been two nights ago.

  Then he hadn’t taken the time to peruse. Now he drank in every inch of her, from the tips of her vividly colored toes to the dimples in her knees to the cream that rolled from her sex….

  Jonah kept going, his body hardening a little more with each passing second. He reached her hair, still up in lawyer fashion, and shook his head. “Let it down. I want something to run my hands through when I’m fucking you.”

  “Yes.” Fiona’s hand trembled as she pulled the clip from her hair. It fell in silky black layers almost to her chin. He wanted to take those layers between his fingers and tug her to him, savor the kiss that had brought them to this moment.

  To raise both of their needs a little higher, he continued to look at her, edging his gaze back down her body, pausing at the small scar near her belly button. It was the only flaw on her golden skin and somehow managed to make her that much more appealing.

  She was beautiful in a way he could never bring to life with Sorrina, and if she wasn’t a lawyer, he could well fall in love with her. If. And even then he could never feel for her what he had for Lisa.

  The regret that had always come when he thought of his late fiancée while wanting Fiona failed to surface. But that didn’t change anything. Lisa was still with him, always would be. Reminding him why he and Fiona could never work out.

  Without his needing to ask, she picked up the teddy and pulled it on. This time she moved with grace, easing the lace up her body slowly, skimming it along her thighs until her pussy plumped out through the hole in the crotch. She slid the straps along her shoulders, and her nipples stabbed through the holes cut out over her breasts.

  Her eyes met his then, filled with a soul-deep trust as she moved her hand down her body and between her legs. She stroked her slit where her lips puffed out, whimpering with each pet. The urge to slide to his knees and bury his tongue in her body clamored through Jonah. He was ready to push off the chair when a knock sounded on the suite door.

  “Room service.”

  Regret filled Fiona’s eyes. “I ordered it when I got the room, before I knew how late I’d be. Or how badly I’d be aching to fuck you.”

  His cock throbbed with the admission. He stood and went to the door anyway. “Have you eaten dinner?”

  “I only had time for breakfast today.”

  “You’re going to need more than breakfast to get through this night. Have a seat.”

  When she was situated on a chair, he opened the door. A kid in his late teens waited with a cartful of steaming food. Jonah had planned to take the cart from him at the door. His own teenage years came to him then—what he would have done to get an eyeful of a woman as stacked as Fiona—and he waved his hand to usher the kid inside.

  The teen didn’t look around the suite but lifted one of several lids to reveal the rich aromas of parmesan and garlic. He started his spiel, and Jonah waved a hand
to stop him.

  At the kid’s questioning look, he smiled and glanced at Fiona. “She’s too hungry to care about the details.”

  The teen followed his gaze, his eyes widening. He gulped loudly. “Uh, yeah, man. I’d say so.” He seemed frozen in place, so Jonah slapped a tip in his hand and guided him to the door. “Thanks.”

  “Nah, man. Thank you.”

  Fiona laughed huskily the moment the door was closed. “Why do I have the feeling I’m going to be his masturbation material tonight?”

  “Be the best sex of his life.” He should know. Masturbating to Fiona’s naked body from afar had been the best sex of his life until he’d gotten to sleep with her for real. As much as he’d loved Lisa, she hadn’t been big into the physical. It was one of the only things they’d differed on.

  “Maybe he’s a virgin.”

  He pushed aside thoughts of Lisa to laugh. “He’s at least seventeen.”

  “And you lost your virginity long before that.”

  He narrowed his eyes, surprised at the words. “You didn’t?”

  Fiona shook her head. “I was twenty, and I’d been dating the guy for almost two years.”

  “One good fuck and you never looked back.” Or what the hell had happened to turn her into a woman who lured a different guy into her bed at least three nights a week?

  She shrugged. “Something like that.”

  Her eyes said differently. Was her string of lovers a new thing, started shortly before he’d discovered the sensual treat of her open curtains? And if so, what had brought it about?

  As much as he was curious for an answer, Jonah didn’t ask the question. If she chose to share on her own, that was fine. Otherwise he was here for the sex and research.

  Pulling the cart to the side of the table, he sat down and lifted the lids off the dishes. Fiona’s desperate-for-release look was gone, and while he was anxious to have her again, the kid’s interruption had calmed his own need enough to eat first. “I’d guess you’re the expert when it comes to Italian food. Tell me what’s best.”