MYSTERY LOVER

by Vicky Lewis Thompson

  And after all, she was building memories to last her a lifetime. She decided to sacrifice the outfit to her fantasy.

  She was leery of using the garden-watering excuse a second time with her father. Instead she told him that Sarah had offered her use of a DVD player and she'd just discovered that Sarah owned a bunch of good movies.

  The excuse could be expanded to include more hours in Sarah's house the following night, in case she decided to risk it. To continue these meetings would really be pushing her luck, but how she loved her intimate encounters with Jonas. She couldn't bear to have them end.

  By seven-thirty she was in Sarah's bedroom putting on her vest and chaps. She discovered that the vest rubbed erotically against her nipples when she moved, and the chaps stimulated her inner thighs. When she glanced in a full-length mirror, she could hardly believe she was the woman reflected in it. Her unbound hair rippled over her shoulders, her breasts peeked from under the red suede and the golden triangle between her legs was blatantly emphasized by the cut of the chaps. From the rear, with nothing covering her bottom, she looked even more provocative.

  Now for the bed. She stripped it down to the mattress and put a protective cover over it. Then she made it up with a fresh sheet. Tonight they would experiment with the flavored oil, and she didn't want to ruin Sarah's mattress. Fortunately she knew that none of this would shock Sarah. The older woman had a liberated sex life and hadn't been shy about sharing a few of her more colorful stories. Some of their conversations might have helped B.J. shed her inhibitions with Jonas, now that she thought about it.

  Heart beating with anticipation, she lit the candles. They'd only burned about a third of their length the previous night, so they were good for tonight and maybe one more session. After that … well, after the candles were gone she really should play it safe and stop before the situation got out of hand. She was crazy to imagine the charade could go on much longer. Jonas wouldn't agree to wear a blindfold forever.

  But he'd agreed to wear one tonight. She turned on the CD player just as a soft knock came at the front door. He was here. Her skin warmed and her body moistened.

  Tonight they would play as before, but when the playing was done, she would finally make that magical, elemental connection with him. He wouldn't understand the significance of that, because he would still be thinking of her as Sarah, his mystery woman. But she would know. And she would carry that memory with her always.

  Her suede chaps rustled as she walked to the door and opened it. There stood Jonas, the red scarf tied firmly over his eyes. A shiver of delight passed through her as she looked him over. Tonight he had on a wear-softened T-shirt and snug jeans with no belt. The faded denim molded to his body and revealed exactly how excited he was. His feet were bare.

  He lifted the boots he held in one hand. "Thought I'd save some time."

  "Excellent." She trembled as she reached for his hand and drew him inside. Then she started to lead him toward the hall.

  He paused, bringing her hand to his lips. "How have you been?" he murmured as he kissed her knuckles.

  "I … um … I've been fine."

  "Been working in your studio today?"

  "Uh … yes."

  He ran his tongue in the crevice between each knuckle. "Did you think about me while you worked on a nude statue?"

  "Of course I did." She wasn't sure all this talking was a good idea. She might stumble and say something that would give her away. "And it made me really, really want you." She tugged on his hand.

  He resisted. Gently, but still he wasn't moving. "Then you were working on a statue of a man?"

  "Yes."

  "I've thought about your work, and I wonder if you get … excited … when you're making the penis."

  She swallowed. "I … I like doing that."

  "I'll bet you do, Sarah." He caressed her fingers. "I get really hot imagining these soft hands squeezing the clay, shaping it, molding your very own—"

  "Well, it's all about art, of course."

  "Of course. But, Sarah, will this statue look anything like me?"

  "Yes. No. I mean … I wouldn't want anyone to recognize…"

  "My penis? I don't think that's likely. It's not that well-known."

  "I meant your face." She tugged harder. "Jonas, please. I need you so."

  "That's good to hear." At last he followed her toward the hallway. "Because I've been thinking about you, about this, all day. I spent most of my time alone, riding the fence, checking for breaks in the wire. I just didn't feel like being with people when all I wanted to do was think about you."

  She'd wondered where the heck he'd gone today. But not having him around had made her life easier. At least she hadn't needed to put up a false front. But he was sounding way too interested in her sculpting career and also kind of lovesick. That wasn't good. A lovesick man might do something stupid, like drive over here sometime, hoping to find the object of his affections working on her nude statues.

  Okay, tonight would be the end. She couldn't chance another meeting, no matter how much she wanted it. Just this afternoon, she'd figured out how she'd make sure he never found out what had happened.

  She'd send him a letter explaining that she wasn't Sarah, but Sarah's younger cousin, who had spent these three days in Arizona while Sarah was gone. The "cousin" would then simply disappear, and B.J. could verify that Sarah's cousin, who was mentally unbalanced, had paid a surprise visit and stayed at the house. B.J. would fill Sarah in on the whole thing, too, so she'd back up the story.

  The plan wasn't perfect, but B.J. was counting on the fact that Jonas wouldn't want to spread the word that he'd indulged in erotic activities with a woman he didn't even know. When the woman vanished, he might be embarrassed that she hadn't wanted him enough to stick around.

  At the bedroom doorway he took a deep breath. "I'm glad you didn't change the candles. Or the music."

  "I was hoping they would trigger your response." The scent and the music certainly had an effect on her. The tops of her inner thighs were already damp.

  "Consider my response triggered." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "But you're not naked tonight."

  She whirled in a panic. "Are you peeking?"

  "No. I promised I wouldn't. But I heard something rustle. It sounds like … like something I've heard before."

  Then she realized that Jonas had seen the chaps and vest when she'd worn them on the television program. She didn't want him to make the connection. "I went shopping today and found this outfit."

  "It doesn't sound like silk and satin."

  "No, it's leather."

  He stopped dead in the middle of the hall. "Leather? Maybe we need to talk. The bondage thing last night was great, but I'm really not into whips and chains."

  She smiled and tugged on his hand. "Don't worry. This is about pleasure, not pain."

  "Good. You had me going for a minute."

  "Well, just relax and enjoy it." She led him over to the bed and gazed at the T-shirt. Taking it off could dislodge his blindfold. She wondered if he'd done that on purpose.

  "I want to touch you." He reached for her.

  "Soon." She stepped back, still thinking about his T-shirt. He might be planning to arouse her so thoroughly that she'd forget about everything but getting him naked. And if she pulled off his blindfold while yanking off his shirt, then he couldn't be blamed for that.

  "Take off your jeans," she murmured.

  "What about my shirt?"

  "I think that shirt is a trap, so I want to leave it on for now."

  His laugh was low and sexy. "It's not a trap, Sarah. I was hoping this time you'd undress me."

  "And when I pulled your shirt over your head, the blindfold would accidentally come with it?"

  "You're more clever than I am. I didn't think of that. No, I didn't want you to pull it over my head. It's an old shirt. I want you to rip it off me."

  The idea hit her with a jolt of excitement. "One of your fantasies?"

&n
bsp; "Yes."

  She approached him. "I can do that."

  "But first let me touch you," he begged. "I'm going crazy not being able to touch your body."

  "All right." She took his hands and placed them on her shoulders. "See if you can discover what I'm wearing."

  Breathing faster, he caressed the material with a light touch. "A suede vest."

  "That's right."

  "What color?"

  "Black." She eased his shirt from the waistband of his jeans.

  He slid both hands under the vest. "Oh, Lord. And nothing underneath." He cupped her breasts. "I wish I could see how you look."

  "Imagine."

  "I'm imagining. I can't believe how you fill my hands. I never thought – I never thought I'd find such a perfect fit, as if my hands were made to hold you this way."

  She moaned as he kneaded her breasts. His caress was the only one she'd ever want, and after tonight she'd never feel it again.

  "Does it make you wet when I do this?" He stroked her nipples with his thumbs.

  Being bold came so easily when she was in disguise. She tipped her pelvis forward. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

  His breath caught. Sliding one hand down to her belly, he touched the fringed belt that held up the chaps. Then he explored lower. "Chaps," he whispered. "Perfect access. Damn, but I want you. Heaven help me, I want you more than I've ever wanted a woman before." He slipped his fingers into her heat. "I want those suede-covered thighs to spread for me."

  It took all her willpower to ease away from him. His talented fingers worked far too well and far too fast. This time she wanted her orgasm to blend with his. "That will happen," she said in a husky voice. "But not quite yet. Stand still as a statue now. No touching."

  "You're torturing me."

  "And you love it."

  "Yeah. I do."

  "Hold still." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, using her tongue to lick and probe his mouth until he was panting. All the while she searched out a small rip in his shirt.

  "I want you naked," she murmured against his mouth. "I want you stripped the way you were last night, writhing on the bed, begging, pleading."

  He groaned.

  She bit his lip softly. "I'm so hot for you that I could come just thinking of you naked. I'm going to rip the clothes from your body and then I'm going to lick every inch of you." She pulled hard on the T-shirt. The sound of tearing material fired her up even more, and soon she'd shredded the shirt and tossed it to the floor.

  Then she pressed her mouth to his heaving chest while she nipped and licked her way over his salty skin.

  "Let me … hold you," he said, gasping.

  "Not yet." She fumbled with the button and the zipper of his jeans while she licked her way down to his waistband. By the time she set him free, she was right there, ready to take his penis into her mouth. He tasted sinful and so very, very delicious.

  "Don't…" he moaned. "Don't or I'll—"

  Reluctantly she lifted her mouth. "I know. And I have more … more planned."

  "Oh, Lord, Sarah."

  "The longer you can hold out—"

  "I know. I'm trying."

  "Good." She finished taking off his jeans and briefs before guiding him to the bed. If this was to be her last time with Jonas, she planned to make it count.

  Before he'd arrived, she'd placed the bottle of oil on the nightstand. The cap was already off. Right next to that was the condom she planned to use when the time was right. She poured a quarter-size puddle of oil into the palm of her hand.

  "The thing is, I don't know … how much more I can…"

  She stroked his penis with her oil-lubricated hand.

  "Oh, dear God. You have oil."

  "Yes." She massaged some over his chest and down his flat stomach. He was breathing harder than a charging bull by the time she finished massaging his thighs, calves and feet. "It's flavored oil. Guess what that means?"

  "It means you'll drive me insane."

  "I hope so." She moved back up to his chest and began to lick the cherry-laced oil from his nipples.

  He quivered with every flick of her tongue. "Be … careful," he warned. "I'm so close. Ahh … Sarah … that's good."

  Like a mother cat grooming a kitten, she lapped at every bit of him except his groin. And finally that was all that was left. She started on her final project.

  "No," he said. "No."

  "But I want—"

  "Get the condom out of my jeans pocket." His voice was tight with desperation. "Or hand them to me and let me do it. If you put your tongue there again, I'll never make it. Please."

  Now that the moment had come, a whisper of fear held her back. Until now she'd been able to treat this as a game. It was the most erotic, exciting, passionate game she'd ever played, but still a game. Instinct told her that once she joined her body with his, the game would change.

  "Please, Sarah. I want to be inside you."

  She wanted that, too. But she was afraid of the price she'd pay. Yet without that, her memory of these days would be incomplete. She reached for the condom packet on the nightstand and ripped it open.

  "Ah, you found it."

  "No, I had my own."

  "Do it quick. Don't tease me with this, or we'll both lose."

  Taking a deep breath, she unrolled the condom over his penis. "There. It's—" She gasped as his fingers tightened over her wrist. "Jonas?"

  He sat up. "I don't have to see for this part."

  Before she could react, he pushed her down and slid on top of her.

  "Jonas, wait." He was taking over, and that could mean he'd force the issue of her identity. He'd been so docile that she'd never expected this.

  "It's my turn." He grasped her other wrist and held both hands flat against the mattress. "Finally." He nuzzled her breasts, her throat, the tender place behind her ear.

  And she was losing the fight to resist. Her protest sounded feeble. "You were supposed to stay on your back."

  He nibbled her earlobe. "If you wanted to guarantee that, you should have tied me up again. Now kiss me, you wild, crazy woman." And with that he plundered her mouth.

  She surrendered. She couldn't do anything else, wanting him the way she did. Oh, how she ached.

  He lifted his mouth a fraction from hers and edged a knee between her thighs. "Open up for me."

  As if she could help it. He was running the show now.

  He moved between her thighs. "Now arch your hips and invite me in."

  Gripping his firm bottom in both hands, she lifted toward him.

  "Ah, that's good." He probed her slick entrance with the tip of his penis. "Do you want me?"

  "Yes." She would die if he didn't plunge deep within her.

  "Then tell me. Say it. I want to hear you."

  She struggled for breath. "I want you."

  "Say I want you, Jonas."

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. "I want you, Jonas."

  "Have you always wanted me?"

  She was delirious with need, barely making sense of what he was saying, only knowing that she would agree to anything if only he'd fill her. "Yes," she said, panting.

  "That's all I needed to know." He slid forward, slowly and deliberately, until they were locked tight.

  Tears filled her eyes. This was so perfect, so completely and utterly perfect. She'd known it would be.

  "It's good," he said.

  She nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see.

  "And it's going to get better." There was a tenderness in his voice, a gentleness in his rhythm.

  She'd never imagined, after all the wildness they'd shared, that he would take this final step so slow and easy. The tears poured down her cheeks as Jonas made love to her, really made love to her. This didn't feel like a game anymore.

  With each sure stroke Jonas took her closer to the brink. And all the while he murmured words of endearment, making her feel cherished. Making her feel loved.

  "Now," he said, increasi
ng the rhythm. "Come for me."

  She rode on the crest, propelled by his movements, his whispered words of encouragement. And then, she was there, coming apart in his arms, quaking and sobbing at the beauty of it.

  While she continued to tremble in the aftermath, he surged forward with his own release. Poised on his braced forearms, he clenched his jaw and groaned. Then he slowly collapsed against her. His voice was husky, his breath warm against her ear. "Ah, B.J. That was so great."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  «^

  Her name slipped right out while Jonas was basking in the glow of their togetherness. Making love to B.J. had been so wonderful, so right, that he'd totally forgotten to play the game. Hell and damnation, he hadn't meant to let her know at this delicate moment that he knew who she was. But it was done now.

  She went rigid beneath him. Then she began to struggle to get away.

  "Wait a minute, B.J." He pulled off the blindfold with one hand while he tried to grab her with the other. His movements were slow, weighed down with that lazy pleasure following great lovemaking. "Don't go getting all upset."

  "You knew! You knew all along! Let me go!"

  "I didn't know at first." Some of the slippery oil from his body had transferred itself to her and that made holding onto her more difficult. "I found out this morning."

  "And you came here anyway!" She managed to push him away long enough to scramble out of the bed.

  "Yeah, I sure did." At last he had a good look at her in the red suede outfit, with her hair down, her skin flushed, her breasts heaving. He swallowed. She was something, all right. He'd seriously misjudged B.J. Branscom. "And not a man alive would blame me for it. You started this whole thing, and I would have been a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity!"

  She snatched up his jeans and held them over her crotch. "Why, so you could laugh at me for the rest of your life?"

  "Laugh at you? Are you crazy? In case you haven't noticed, I've been your slave for three solid days. If anyone planned to have a good laugh over this, it would be you, sweetheart!"