LaClaire Night

by Dori Lavelle

  Could it be she’s trying to make up for her failed marriage through me? I’m having none of it. I can’t believe she blames herself for my father leaving her for another woman.

  “You don’t know what happened, Mom. You’d think differently if you did.”

  “I don’t think so, sweetheart.” The disappointment in her voice is palpable. “Nothing justifies you leaving your husband. I didn’t have a choice, you did. You still do.”

  My free hand curls into a fist. I’ve had enough. There’s no reasoning with her. For a second, I’m almost tempted to tell her exactly what drove Dustin and I apart. But talking to my mother about sex is nothing short of creepy. I shiver even thinking of what advice she’d give me.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, mother, but it’s over between me and Dustin. Nothing you say will change that. Now I have to go. Goodbye.” Before she can say anything more to upset me, I end the call and switch off my phone.

  I enter my bedroom with a smile and throw the damp towel on the bed. What my mom doesn’t know is that her call has made my decision concerning Bryant that much easier. Bryant told me to live my life, to try new things that both thrill and scare me. The idea of having sex with him, with no strings attached, does exactly that.

  I need to go for what I want more often. Right now I want Bryant. My desire for him blocks out any sort of rational thought. I need him right now, strings or no strings. I’m in the mood to let my hair down.

  With fresh determination coursing through my veins, I fling open the wardrobe and pull out one of the cocktail dresses Bryant bought for me.

  Once I put it on, I stand in front of the mirror, admiring my curves. The dress is low-cut and my hard nipples are slightly visible through the fabric, but I won’t wear a bra. If Bryant wants sexy, that’s what he’ll get.

  My face remains free of makeup, my hair damp as it hangs down my back. I don’t even bother to wear shoes as I storm out of my cabin and run down the hallway, the fabric of the dress gathered in my hands on both sides so I don’t trip on it. I take two steps at a time up the stairs.

  Out of breath, I reach the upper deck.

  When I get to his door, instead of knocking with my knuckles, I pound on it with my fist like a desperate person. The door swings open and he’s standing before me. My heart responds with a leap.

  For a moment he watches me, his eyebrows drawn together. He reaches out and wipes a tear from my cheek. I didn’t even know I was crying.

  “Come inside.” He takes my hand and pulls me into the only place I want to be tonight.

  When I had dinner with Bryant last time, my head swam after only a glass of wine. Now, as he hands me a tumbler of whisky, I hesitate. Something like that would definitely knock me out.

  “You look like you’re in need of something strong to calm your nerves.” His voice carries a compassionate tone. “And this is all I have in there.” He gestures toward the bar.

  “You promise you’re not trying to get me drunk?” I manage a watery smile.

  “Cross my heart.” He lays a hand on his chest. “But if you don’t trust me, I can have someone bring something else for you. How about a cocktail?”

  “No cocktail. Give me that.” I reach for the tumbler and wrap my hands around it. Maybe strong alcohol will give me the numbness I need tonight, dull the ache inside me.

  After a deep breath, I bring it to my lips and take a mouthful. The moment the liquid hits my throat, I sputter, grabbing my throat. “Holy cow. How can people drink this? It tastes like poison.” Laughter bursts out of me.

  “I take it you’ve tasted poison before.” Bryant chuckles alongside me. He takes the drink from my hand. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. I’m having cocktails brought up.”

  “Okay, thank you.” A thought crosses my mind. My body stiffens. What if the person who brings up the cocktails sees me with Bryant?

  I’ve come on this cruise running away from rumors. It would be a bad idea to spark new ones. No one can know about us, not even Lynn and Jillian.

  I rise from the couch. “I need the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  Bryant nods with a smile and brings his phone to his ear.

  With the bathroom door closed, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, while listening to Bryant call the bar downstairs. I look different somehow, my eyes a little wild but not in a bad way, just more alive. Usually I’m an ugly crier, but not this time. Today, the remnant tears only make my eyes sparkle. Or maybe I’m choosing to focus on the positive parts of me instead of the negative.

  A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. I sit on the covered toilet and wait for the other person to leave.

  “He’s gone now,” Bryant calls out finally. How does he know I’m in here hiding?

  “Okay.” I stand, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

  “Stop it,” I whisper to my reflection. “You’re a strong, confident woman. This is your night. Don’t mess it up.”

  I find Bryant taking a sip of my drink. “I hope you like piña coladas.” He hands me the glass, which is cool against my palm. “It’s fruity, and not too strong.”

  “Thank you.” Taking a seat, I bring the glass to my lips, wondering which part had touched his lips, wanting to drink from it, to taste him again.

  The cocktail is so delicious that I drink it in a hurry and reach for the second one on the silver tray.

  “I think you should take a small break between the two.” He stands in front of me, head tilted. “There’s still alcohol in there, you know.” He sits in Mary Jane.

  When he told me last time he’d named his armchair Mary Jane, I’d laughed so hard tears came to my eyes. What kind of person names his chair? But I do like that Bryant has a sense of humor.

  “I’m well aware.” We don’t speak anymore as I finish my cocktail, more slowly this time, while he observes me from underneath his lashes.

  Once I lower the glass onto the crystal-topped coffee table, he leans back in his seat. “May I ask what upset you so much it sent you running to me?” He grins. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

  I draw my legs up on the couch and hug them to me, resting my chin on my knees. A part of me doesn’t want to open up that much to him, to bond us even more, when I know we won’t last. The other part needs someone to talk to. “My mom called, and she . . . Let’s just say she has a way of rubbing me the wrong way. To be honest, she drives me nuts. She refuses to understand why I’m divorced. Why can’t she accept that—”

  “Hang on a second.” Bryant sits up ramrod straight, eyes narrowed. “You’re divorced?”

  “I . . .” I sigh. “Yes, I am.” I hate that I have to tell him this part of my story, but why does it even matter if we won’t be more than friends with benefits? “It was a mistake. Getting married to Dustin, my ex-husband.”

  “I get that. Go on.”

  “We were married for less than twenty-four hours when we decided it’s over.”

  “Sorry, what? I don’t understand. Why did you?” He runs a hand over his head.

  “Want a divorce?” I chew my lip. Now that I’ve opened the can of worms, I might as well finish what I started. It might be best for him to know more about me so he can decide whether he still wants me in his bed.

  I close my eyes and dive head first into my humiliation. “I was a virgin before we got married. I was brought up to believe that I should only give myself to the man I marry. I guess it was made easier by the fact that I never came across someone I wanted to—” I shake my head. “Well, Dustin was not a virgin.” A tear beads a corner of my eye. “He and I were friends before we became more.

  “Thinking back now, I realize he was more interested in sleeping with a virgin. As if having sex with one would be some kind of sexual awakening. He was disappointed when it wasn’t.” My eyes open and tears trickle down my cheeks. I don’t meet Bryant’s eyes. My focus is on the miniature, metal dog statue on the coffee table. “It was disappointing for me too. It was . . . It was a l
ittle painful, but I knew to expect it. I never thought it would end so fast, that it wouldn’t feel good.” A bitter laugh explodes from my lips. “Once it was over, he left me alone in our hotel room, on our wedding night. He came back two hours later to pretty much tell me that since I wasn’t the porn star he thought I’d be, he can’t see us having a marriage.” I place a palm on my swimming head. “Why am I even telling you all this?”

  “Don’t stop talking.” The intensity in his lowered voice warms my chest.

  “There’s nothing more to say.” I keep my gaze on the statue. If he’s going to run, it will be now, and I’ll have to accept it. It’s good for him to know what he was about to get himself into.

  Bryant releases a breath and comes to sit next to me on the couch, taking hold of both my legs and twisting me around to face him.

  Saying nothing, he places a finger under my chin, raising it. He gives me a look that makes my pulse race. I try to look away again, but he won’t let me. His hand is around my chin now and his lips are moving toward me in what seems to be slow motion. It could also be the alcohol.

  Suddenly, his lips are on mine, moving against them like warm, soft velvet. His tongue pushes my lips apart and my world blurs.

  10

  Grace

  Dustin Cardwell is a liar. He claimed I was the one who failed between the sheets. Turns out he’s the one who didn’t know what he was doing. If he’s such an expert at sex, why then did he fail to bring my body to boiling point? Why didn’t he light every nerve ending under my skin?

  It’s clear to me now that he was the failure that night. And my realization has nothing to do with the alcohol swimming in my system tonight.

  Bryant, he’s everything. Swept up by desire, we’re no longer on the couch, but against the wall, where his body presses against mine. We’ve barely even started and I already know this was a risk worth taking.

  With every sweep of his hand against my skin, I know he’s the one.

  He might not be staying forever, but tonight—in this moment—Bryant LaClaire is the one for me. In this fragile moment in time, the things he does and says to me affect my world in the most profound ways.

  Forgetting the broken, insecure person I used to be, I tug at his clothes, unable to tolerate anything that stands between us. I want him to know I’m ready and willing to take charge of my own destiny, my own sexuality.

  He moves his mouth to my ear, nibbles at my earlobe then whispers, “Is this what you really want?” His breath is hot, the feel of his stubble sending shivers scattering across my skin. “If you want me to stop, say the word.”

  “I don’t want you to stop.” I crush his lips with mine so he doesn’t say another word, doesn’t try to talk me out of it.

  He slides his lips from mine and trails a hot path to my neck. I tilt my head to one side, to allow him full access. I moan as he licks, and kisses, and nibbles, while his fingers travel to other parts of my body, kneading my thighs and butt like a well-trained masseuse would.

  I was lucky, it seems. I was lucky to escape a marriage that would have eventually killed me inside. A marriage that would not have challenged my heart the way this moment alone is doing.

  I don’t stop Bryant as he moves us to the bedroom, not once taking his lips off my skin. We move backward and I hold on to him, trusting him with all of me. He doesn’t stop until the backs of my legs meet the bed.

  With a hand on the small of my back and one behind my neck, he lowers me onto the bed. I stretch out like a feline as he watches me with a hunger that turns my insides to liquid.

  I moan as my palms sweep across the Egyptian silk. “This is amazing,” I breathe. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so soft.”

  “Want the same sheets for your cabin?” He chuckles with a wink. “You know it can be arranged, right?”

  “Are you giving me preferential treatment, sir?” I bite my lower lip.

  “I like to think I am.” He covers my body with his. His mouth exploring its way toward my breasts. My stomach clenches for a second, when my mind reminds me this man has been with some beautiful women. What if he doesn’t like what he sees on me? But he must like something if he brought me this far.

  My anxiety does not stop my body from reacting to him. My back is arching, my breath whooshing out of me in quick gasps. When he sweeps the fabric of my dress aside and envelopes one nipple with his mouth, a rumble erupts from deep within my throat. Sensations spiral through me when something hard nudges me at the place where his lower body meets my crotch, confirmation I must be doing something right.

  “You’re incredibly sexy.” He massages places my own hands can’t reach.

  I don’t say anything, preferring to communicate without words. I’ve never felt more powerful, more in tune with my sexuality. It feels damn good.

  “Bryant.” His name slips out as he tugs at my nipple, sending waves of pleasure shooting to my core. “Oh, Bryant.” My hands curl around the perfect sheets and my eyes drift closed.

  I’ve known Bryant for only a few days yet I’m able to relax and let go of my inhibitions, to give in to him so completely. But when he moves even lower, my eyes open and I pull myself up on both elbows.

  “What—what . . .?” The words catch in my throat.

  “Hmmm.” He gives me a dimpled grin, the one that makes me forget how to breathe. “I take it you’ve never had a man do this to you? Well, babe, allow me to show you. Consider it your own sexual awakening.”

  I give a shy smile and flop back onto the pillows, giving him permission to continue, giving myself permission to trust him.

  Fire ignites under my skin as he brushes the dress from my lower body upward. I close my eyes again, forcing myself not to think about what he’s about to see. Thank God I’m wearing one of the panties he bought me in Cartagena and not my old underwear.

  “If only you could see yourself through my eyes.” He kisses my belly button. “You’re gorgeous. Whoever doesn’t appreciate your body the way I do, is a complete fool.” He flicks his tongue into my belly button and I bite my lip hard. “I’m one lucky bastard right now.”

  Are those words meant only for me or has he said them to another woman before me? I’m pretty sure he’s slept with women with much sexier bodies.

  Stop it. This is your moment.

  I draw in a breath and relax.

  “I just knew these panties would make you look like a sex goddess.” He pushes a finger into the lace thin waistband of the panties.

  I smirk in silence.

  He pulls the panties down my thighs and raises my legs to remove them. His finger start to move up and down my clit. I jolt with the kind of pleasure that takes me by surprise and makes me shrink backward on the bed and away from his touch.

  “Sorry.” I swallow hard and scoot back toward him. “I . . . I didn’t expect that.”

  “That was nothing.” He plants both hands on my thighs and draws me closer to the edge of the bed.

  “Oh God,” I gasp when his finger enters me, massaging, exploring, paving the way for him. I want it to stay in there forever. In spite of the invasion, my body finds a way to relax, as though his finger was the key to everything.

  “Ready for more?” Without waiting for a response, he pushes another finger inside my body and finds a rhythm that drugs my senses.

  As if that isn’t enough to drive me crazy, he removes the fingers and lowers his mouth to the private part of me, to continue the work his fingers had started. His tongue dips into me.

  “Oh fuck,” I scream. That word has never left my lips before. Bryant is so good and so bad for me. He’s turning me into such a bad girl and I like it. I love that he’s peeling back the layers to uncover a different version of me. “Oh . . .wow . . .” I reach out to put my hands on his head, massaging his scalp, holding him in place. I wish his mouth and tongue could stay forever between my legs with nothing more important to do than bringing me pleasure.

  I groan with frustration when his
tongue exits and he lifts his head. “No. What are you doing? Don’t?” His mouth swallows my words. Instead of recoiling from the taste of where he had been, I feel even sexier, more connected to him.

  He pulls away for a heartbeat and opens a drawer on the nightstand, producing a condom.

  My breath stills inside my throat as he rolls it down his long, thick length. The shyness I’d felt earlier long gone, my fingers itch with the need to touch him, to feel the velvet skin, the glistening tip.

  I purse my lips as I glance up at him.

  “You want to touch it, don’t you?” he asks, reading my mind.

  Since actions are better than words, I run my tongue across my bottom lip and reach out. My heart is like a drum inside my chest and the rush of blood in my ears is deafening, but my hand doesn’t stop moving until my fingers are curled around his warm shaft.

  “Bloody hell.” His head falls to his chest as he drinks in the pleasure I’m giving him. “Those hands of yours are something else. You’re one incredible woman, Grace.”

  My hand moves up and down, learning by doing. His drowsy eyes assure me I’m doing fine, better than fine. Like the true masseuse I am, I continue massaging away the tension, my eyes never leaving his. Where the hell did I get this sudden burst of confidence from? How can I be holding a man’s penis in my hand and not feel the need to hide? When did sex become so normal and enjoyable, and not the sin I should be ashamed of?

  He bites his lip and his breaths become quicker and ragged. My chest aches with joy at his reaction. I may not be a porn star, but I’m damn good at this.

  Bryant gently removes my hands from himself and kisses me hard on the lips. His body covers mine again. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

  “Yeah.” I’ve been ready for this moment for a long time, years in fact.