He looked good in candlelight but then she was beginning to believe he couldn’t look bad. Candlelight danced off his muscles, shadowing the dark gold line of hair that arrowed down his stomach into the towel at his waist. She traced it and slipped her fingers beneath his terrycloth wrap, reached for him until he took both her wrists and crossed them above her head.
The scent of vanilla permeated the heated mist of the room. Ella submersed herself in the fragrance and the first touch of his fingers smoothing the oil around each breast drawing her into an arch with a slight tug of her nipples before starting over again. He lifted each to his lips, tasting the distended nubs, flicking them with his tongue until she purred, writhing beneath his hands, his lips. He smoothed up her chest, her neck, over her face, sculpting, molding, his lips following, punctuating each caress. She was floating on a cloud of pleasure.
He traced back down the same oily path he’d begun, over her ribs and her rounded stomach, dipping one finger into the well of her bellybutton before trailing it downward, following the path of her belly chain. He rolled the tiny links over her tummy. Half the pleasure was watching Jake’s face as he massaged and nibbled his way over her body. He worked the flesh of her thighs, spreading them to make room for his shoulders as he slid between them. He poured edible oil over the top of her pussy and she lifted to her elbows, watching him part her labia to expose her clit. He tilted his head back so she could see his slow descent. She felt the warm puff of his breath before he slid the tip of his tongue over her. She almost came off the mat but he was holding her still, nibbling, sucking, feasting on her and it was that image that sent her over the edge.
Jake slid up over her oil-slicked body, held her as she shook and cried out then took her mouth in a kiss that seared every quickening nerve and sent her careening once more. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, shuddering and moaning, mindless in that moment, unable to get close enough. She tried to wrap her legs around him.
“Not yet,” he whispered into her mouth, his vanilla-scented breath warm. He soothed her quivering legs and rolled her over quickly covering himself with a condom. “I’m every gladiator you ever dreamed of,” he said, pulling her hips into his groin, parting her, sliding into her pussy. She jerked, still too raw from her release and he slowed for a moment, waiting until she became accustomed to his girth before he began thrusting slowly, methodically, urging her toward another peak of pleasure.
Her breath shuddered out of her when she felt the warm oil he trickled into her ass. She closed her eyes, waiting an interminable few seconds before he began slicking it into her tight passage, lifting her hips even higher. She was so totally open, exposed by her own needs she moaned as he swiveled first one then two oily fingers into her ass. He poured more oil between them and massaged it deeper into her.
Ella lifted herself up on her hands and knees, rocked backward onto his fingers, felt the tip of the dildo enter her ass and slowed. She was so wet, so hot, so mindless with need. She watched their reflection in the cheval glass as he thrust inside her, his cock filling her pussy in time with the dildo’s thrust. And it hit her, hard and fast, ruthless in its truth. Her deepest, darkest fantasy. She was being taken by two men—Jake the fantasy and Jake the real man both wanted her.
Their eyes met. Jake strained behind her, sweat pouring down his angular face, the corded muscles of his neck and chest. The longing she’d glimpsed before stark and beautiful, every thrust controlled. She could tell him anything, ask for anything. Give anything. And at that moment she wanted to give him everything. She clenched her teeth against the desire he was building and gave in to it.
“I need you,” she rasped, biting her lip. He slowed and she nodded. “Only you,” she whispered, and he didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He eased his jelly rival out and his fingers were gentle as he funneled more oil into her ass. And then he was easing just the tip of his cock into her and then the crown, slowly until she braced herself and pushed backward with a whimper, felt the tight stricture he pushed past give way to the promised fullness she was desperate for. Shaking with desire she whispered his name like a prayer.
So many firsts, so much trust. She watched them in the mirror. He was careful and she didn’t want to be, she wanted to get lost in the mindless lust between them but even her body wouldn’t let that happen. She reached for her orgasm, closed her eyes, tried to focus and cried out in frustration when it eluded her.
Until she felt his fingers, circling her clit, working her as he slid into a faster rhythm, the sensation sending her over the edge into the abyss where he caught her as she tried to fall and dragged her back against him, shouting her name as he came.
“Open your eyes, Ella. Look at what’s staring you right in the face,” he whispered raggedly as he pulsed inside her. He held her around the waist, snug against his chest, nuzzling her ear.
“This isn’t a fantasy, Ella. This is what people wait a lifetime for and never understand that all they have to do is reach out and take it.”
“It’s not that easy,” she said because she desperately wanted it to be.
“It’s as easy as you want it to be, Ella. I already know you’re not married, not involved with anyone else and you know that I want more than a lifetime of stolen moments. I love you Ella. I want forever.”
In the back of her mind she knew that’s where she’d placed Jake—a stolen moment, totally out of character, a test. She had waited for the panic to set in, was still waiting for it. “You scare the hell out of me. You walk into a room and women want to touch you, it’s just the way you are,” she said, hating herself for her insecurities.
“Do you need me to tell you that yours is the only touch I want? You have to know that’s true.”
She hung limply in his arms, caught, unable to fall. “No. I need to believe that I won’t turn into one of those women who cling, afraid that someone prettier, smarter, younger will catch your eye. That you’ll want to paint them nude or play sex toy poker, that I’ll be tempted by the latest diet or surgery that I’m convinced will help me keep you—it’s pathetic and I hate being pathetic.” She watched herself, wide-eyed, and Jake, fierce and determined.
“You’re not pathetic, you’re in love. And so am I.” He stated it as if it were a fact she should have realized already and he was surprised that she hadn’t.
“I’m in so much trouble here,” she murmured to their reflection and he kissed her ear. “I absolutely believe every word you’ve said. I do love you and maybe I’m just too worn out to panic but I don’t have an overwhelming urge to run.”
She wanted to be relieved but like an addict waiting for her next fix she expected the panic. The fear that she loved him so much that one day she’d allow herself to succumb to being his “project”, too afraid he’d be attracted to someone younger, prettier, smarter, not to.
“Just keep believing,” he whispered as he slid from her, still holding her up.
They showered, washing each other between kissing and exploring as if they’d left a desire still covered and were desperate to find the elusive hiding place where it lay in wait like a treasure. He drained the bath because she joked they’d drown if they tried to finish the fantasy and instead ended up curled around each other in his big bed, waking once in the night to make long, slow love before drifting off to sleep with him still inside her.
Chapter Six
Ella woke up alone and stretched, rolled over and buried her face in his pillow. No one smelled as good as Jake Truhorn. The man was entirely delicious and probably making coffee at this moment.
The coffee was cold and he was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t eaten anything either because the kitchen was still clean. She made a fresh pot of coffee, poured two cups and went searching.
He was in his studio, standing in front of a very large canvas doing a preliminary sketch using several smaller sketches propped close enough for her to see when she came through the door. He smiled sheepishly when she walked in.
&
nbsp; “I couldn’t sleep. I got the idea for this last night and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this excited about a project.”
“You’ve been down here since last night?”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, cocking his head, concentrating on a line she hoped wasn’t her breast but was afraid it was. She swallowed hard and willed away the panic.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“That’d be great,” he turned and took the cup, kissing her quickly and taking a gulp before returning his attention to the sketch.
“Have you eaten anything this morning?”
“I’m not really hungry—but go ahead and eat. I’ll be up as soon as I get your torso right.”
“One word,” she mumbled to herself as she left, “airbrush.”
“I told you, that’s photography,” he called after she closed the door.
She ate some cereal because she didn’t have much of an appetite after seeing all those sketches of her naked self decorating his studio.
There was no getting around the fact that Jake was going to be handsome when he was eighty. She on the other hand had stopped trying to convince herself that next year she’d be beautiful. Next year she’d grow into her nose or her feet or she wouldn’t look so top-heavy. Well, she wasn’t top-heavy anymore—her hips had evened that out.
Oh God, she was glad he hadn’t gotten to her hips yet. She didn’t think she wanted to see that. Maybe he’d stop working on it but he’d already told her that when he was on a new project he was single-minded. A cold chill skittered up her spine and all the euphoria from last night sat in a congealed lump in the pit of her stomach. Single-minded. Obsessive. New project. She was putting her bowl in the dishwasher when the panic hit her.
She knew she was being stupid but unless they made love nonstop she was never going to forget that no matter what she did she had forty-one-year-old gravity-challenged breasts, a round belly no amount of exercise was going to change and the hips of a Sicilian peasant.
You’ve had a very good five days, she told herself. Hell, you’ve had better than a very good five days. You’ve had five days with a very single-minded beautiful younger man who is sexually inexhaustible. You should be happy he was obsessed with you. Don’t whine. Don’t be clingy. He thinks he loves you now because you’re his latest project and he is obsessive.
You, on the other hand are a forty-one-year-old woman with a great career and her own apartment. You don’t have to pick up anyone’s socks and you can have ice cream for dinner if that’s what you’re in the mood for.
Now, get your ass up those stairs, pack all your toys and your toothbrush and make up some excuse for leaving early. Yeah, you’re going to have to work at this one because usually you just leave and they don’t bother calling back. But remember the obsessive part. He’ll call.
She put her bags in the car and walked down the drive to his studio. He’d started on her hips. She stared at her rounded tummy, her thighs. Said a silent prayer that he didn’t paint the cellulite in. Oh hell, he could paint the cellulite she just didn’t want him to show it to anyone.
“Jake,” she had to say because he hadn’t turned around when she opened the door. “I just got a phone call. There’s an emergency and I need to get back.” He turned around, frowning with a paintbrush between his teeth. “Home,” she said, wondering if she needed to bother clarifying.
He took the paintbrush out of his mouth. “You’re going back to Chicago?”
She started to tell him she’d temporarily lost her mind but he was standing there, beautiful and obsessed with his newest project—her. He might not try to change her physically but thanks to his therapist parents he knew more about relationships than most of the men she’d known and emotionally he could tie her into knots. That was why her chest was constricting. It had to be.
She knew it was habit. She tried to feel good about it but the euphoria of knowing she was doing the right thing slipped around the edges of her panic. It would come. It always came. She took a deep breath but the pressure was starting building in her chest. She was going to hyperventilate any minute now.
“I need to leave right away.”
“What’s the matter? Do you want me to go with you?” He put his paintbrush down and looked so worried she felt guilty and then she felt stupid again and then she was just damn confused.
“No, I can take care of this myself. I’ll call you,” she said, edging back but he followed her until he looked down and grimaced at the fresh smears of flesh-colored paint on his shirt. He peeled it off, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, hard and sharp. A claim.
“I doubt there’s much you can’t take care of, Ella, I was just giving you the option. Now, do you want me to go with you or not?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” she said because any minute now she was going to need to start blowing into a paper bag and she didn’t know if it was because leaving felt wrong or because she needed to leave so her chest didn’t feel like it was going to explode.
“Call me when you get home so I know you’re okay,” he said when she slid into the driver‘s seat, but he was frowning. There was a last desperate kiss through the open window before he let her go and she almost did stop breathing.
He was still frowning as she drove away. Ella knew because she glanced in the rearview mirror. She pulled over twice to cry before driving all night. She hadn’t wanted to get on a plane all teary-eyed. With her luck they’d want her to explain why she was upset and she was in no mood for questions she didn’t know the answers to herself.
She just wanted to be alone. She needed to think.
Halfway home she realized she’d left her phone on his charger. She’d probably done it on purpose because she knew she would have called him by now and she wanted to be a little more rational when she did. Not as panicked.
* * * * *
She’d taken longer to panic than he’d thought but she’d also left her phone, a good sign. The part of Ella that wasn’t terrified of loving him so much that she’d lose herself had left that small significant connection. Jake painted in the line of Ella’s curvy hip and growled when he smudged it.
He’d always called her landline before and when he started leaving messages that’s where she would find them. Because when Ella got scared old patterns comforted and he knew now running was a familiar solution when she was afraid. He’d figured it out and he’d bet a bottle of her favorite massage oil Ella was on the verge of figuring it out too.
He wiped away the smudge and concentrated on Ella’s anniversary-of-her-fortieth-birthday present.
He called her later that evening to wish her happy birthday and tell her she’d left her cell phone. When she didn’t call back the next day he wasn’t too worried but by the second day his patience was shot.
The airline wouldn’t tell him anything and neither would any of the car rental agencies she could have used. He picked up the phone and punched in her number. “Goddammittohell Ella, just call me and let me know that you got home safely!”
* * * * *
She dropped the rental car at the agency and took a cab home only to find her beautiful blonde sister Francesca seated cross-legged on her white couch, eating Rocky Road out of the carton with a soup spoon. Her teary blue eyes were red-rimmed and she was halfway through the pint.
“What are you doing home?” she sniffed.
“I live here.” And I had designs on that ice cream.
“I brought Green Tea but I traded you when I found the Rocky Road.”
“Thank you, my thighs thank you. Now what are you doing sitting on my couch eating ice cream at midnight?”
“Because I’d rather go to the gym every day this week instead of having a hangover. Besides, I figure calcium is good for my bones and I’m not getting any younger.”
Panic attacks ran in the family. “Okay, who’s this about,” Ella asked because asking what was getting her nowhere fast and as much as she loved her sister she just wanted to collap
se.
“That’s just it, there is no who. I’m thirty-seven years old and there’s no one. I thought by now they’d stop looking at my chest when they told me I was beautiful, I thought by now I’d stop being a trophy for their arm.” She scooped another spoonful and plopped it into her mouth.
“I’m going to become celibate,” she burbled.
Ella raised a tired brow. “And this will help?”
Francesca raised her dripping spoon but at least had the grace to keep it over the carton and said, “The next man I sleep with will be the one who tells me I’m beautiful while he’s looking me in the eye. He’ll call me at one o’clock in the morning to tell me he loves me…” She stopped her rant and blinked.
“Oh hell, you’ve got messages. Some guy sounds pretty worried because he can’t get hold of you. He says you left your cell phone on his charger and you owe him two more days,” she said, glancing from Ella’s knapsack to her face before her eyes narrowed. “You ran again, didn’t you?”
“Leave it alone, Frannie,” she warned. “You want to cry about the shits you’ve been dating fine, we’ll have a round of ‘Let’s Eviscerate the Assholes’ and eat all the ice cream in the freezer but I’m not talking about this.”
“Too late,” she said smugly, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve listened to the messages. What happened, Ella? Didn’t he pass the hair dye litmus test? He sounded like he cared if you got home in one piece. You scared this one, Ella.”
This time when the panic hit she knew why. Jake had been proving he loved her for a year and she’d let one moment of panic throw her back into the same old familiar pattern of hit and run.
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