False Match

by Lynne Silver

  And the stupid show was back on, and all Chase’s attention was locked on the on-screen action. The clueless man didn’t notice the need for some off-screen action. Now that she’d made her decision to allow him to touch her, he was being shockingly obtuse.

  A sigh escaped her and she slumped back against his wide chest, resigned to watching the rest of the show and going to bed aroused and needy. Again.

  Except when she leaned back into him, she became aware of the hard ridge of his arousal jutting up through his worn jeans into her pajama bottoms. A small smile crossed her lips. She was the fool if she’d thought for a second Chase hadn’t been fully aware of where his hands were. She’d been played by a master. If only he’d play her some more.

  In a move so daring she could scarcely believe it was her, Doctor Samara Jones, doing it, she leaned farther back and draped a thigh over the cushy arm of the chair. Chase’s heart pounded at her back.

  “Samara?” A question, whispered gruffly in her ear. She didn’t need the rest of the words to know what he was asking. She turned her head to the side to plant a kiss on his neck.

  “Touch me,” she whispered. His smile warmed her insides and caused even more floaty feelings between her legs. God, listen to her. Floaty feelings? Empirical evidence sex was bad for brain cells. At least she had plenty to spare.

  “I want to touch you so badly,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “So touch me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She didn’t answer, only spread her thighs more. The movement pushed the remote control off the armrest, crashing it to the floor with a thud and causing the channel to change to the hotel guide station. Neither of them cared.

  Chase’s fingers glided down her inner thigh to cup her intimately over the soft cloth of her pajamas.

  “Are you wet for me, Samara?” he asked in a low whisper in her ear.

  Closing her eyes, she whispered back, “Yes.”

  And then she gave herself up to simply feeling. All her thoughts, insecurities and doubts fled in the face of Chase’s questing fingers.

  “Show me.”

  Her eyes opened for a split second then closed again as she understood he was only going to move his fingers below the waistband of her bottoms and into her panties. He didn’t expect her to do anything daring like actually take off her own pants. As long as she ceded control to Chase she could pretend she wasn’t an active participant in her own sex life. There couldn’t be a flesh-and-blood woman who could say no to Chase when he put the full-court press on them, and she was no exception.

  She was embarrassingly wet. He had to know it had been years since she’d done this. Of course he could guess she hadn’t been touched sexually in more than a year since Paulson had her, but it had actually been way longer than that. And it had never felt like this.

  The jut of his erection pressed against the cleft of her rear. His deft fingers delved between her damp lips, trapping her between his penis and his fingers. Her breaths came in pants.

  “Slow down, Jonesie. We’ve got all night. Don’t rush this.”

  “I’m close already,” she said, and her skin heated at admitting how quickly he was able to get her close to orgasm.

  “I know, baby. I’ll let you come right now if you promise not to race out of here after the first orgasm. I plan on getting you off at least once more.”

  The first orgasm was tantalizingly out of reach. She’d do or say anything to get there. But Chase was in control right now. “Promise,” he ordered.

  “Yes. I—I’ll stay.” She gasped as he dipped a finger deep inside her, filling her tight passage. Another finger remained outside, toying with her clitoris. It was all she could do not to scream, but stifled it at the last second, remembering she had a sleeping son in the next room. When Chase’s free hand moved under her shirt to cover her white satin bra, she started moaning and practically writhing on his lap.

  His hands were like a vise holding her in place and forcing the pleasure on her. “Stay with me, Samara. Breathe through it, but don’t scream.”

  “No,” she said, sucking back air. “I won’t scream.” It took everything she had not to shriek with pleasure as he inserted another finger deep inside and mimicked intercourse with them. Hard, headboard-banging intercourse. She loved it.

  An upward tilt of her hips gave him more room to maneuver and slide his fingers into her with greater speed and force, until she broke apart around him. Waves upon waves of pleasure shimmered down her legs and up her spine.

  He wouldn’t let her pull back and his only accession to her orgasm was slowing his finger and pulling back to one digit inside her. She pushed at his forearm, but it was immoveable.

  “Uh-uh. You promised you’d stay.” His arm held her in place, holding them fast to the overstuffed hotel armchair.

  “I will, but I need a break. It’s too much.” She was startled to hear the hitch in her voice. She did a quick rundown of her body. Her heart was pounding at full aerobic levels and her legs would probably buckle if she tried to stand. Yep, mind-blowing orgasm all right. So that was what it felt like. She’d never known before. Her previous orgasms were the common cold compared to this one, which was a level-four, death-inducing virus.

  Ever so gently he put a finger inside her and circled it slowly. Before it had been a Formula One lap. This was a lazy bicycle ride through the park. No helmets needed.

  Her breathing slowed and the sensuality of the moment lulled her into a floating state of relaxation. Chase placed tiny kisses down the side of her neck.

  “Again,” he whispered between kisses.

  “Mmm hmm.” Her eyes were closed and her head leaned to the side, with her nearly asleep.

  Chase held the delicious bundle of woman on his lap and dithered about what to do next. She was practically snoring in his arms. The nice thing to do would be to pull his hand out of her pants, scoop her up and tuck her into her own bed. Alone.

  But with his finger deep inside her slick, hot pussy it was all he could do not to yank off his own worn jeans and take her on the chair. Her legs were spread apart enough. He could do it. She wouldn’t even protest, might even welcome it.

  But she hadn’t given explicit permission to have sex with her, and until Doctor Samara Jones begged him to fuck her, his dick was staying in his pants. Hard as it may be. Hah. Hard. Maybe later it would be funny. Right now it bordered on pain.

  He wanted to give her one more orgasm before he let her succumb to sleep. He needed to stand out in her scientific mind as the man who gave her two orgasms in one sitting. The memory of the pleasure would fade in time, but the calculation that she’d achieved two orgasms with him where other men had produced only one would stick with her.

  He wasn’t sure why he wanted to stand out in her mind so badly. He only knew that holding hands with her son and helping her care for her mother had felt good today. No, it had felt damn great. He’d been without family for more than a decade. Now he had a sister in his life, and he liked having Samara there too.

  He knew she’d bolt if he made any overtures at this being more than a fling, so he had to be stealthy. Sneaky. He had to give her statistics that would prove overwhelmingly in his favor so she couldn’t say no without looking dumb.

  His uptight doctor was a relaxed ball of dead weight right now, but he only had minutes before the bliss wore off and she left the lazy agreeable state. He had to make his move now.

  “Chase, no.” She wriggled her hips a little but didn’t push his hand away or make any move off his lap.

  “Chase, yes. Is that what you meant to say?” She half snorted, half laughed. “One more time, Samara. I love feeling you all slick, slippery and relaxed on my fingers.” She softened a bit more so he kept the coaxing words coming. He whispered naughty things in her ear about how hot he thought her, how sexy she was and how much he loved touching her intimately. His words opened doors that his fingers alone couldn’t budge. In minutes he had her panting and writhing agai
n on his lap and he was subtly thrusting his aching cock against the crease in her rear.

  This was about her, he reminded himself. He had to make her understand how sexy he found her. He didn’t understand why she was so reluctant to believe it. Her previous lovers must have been idiots to let her run things in the bedroom.

  “Chase,” she moaned and he hid a wide smile in her chin-length dark hair. She was close. He was tempted to keep her on edge, but it was getting late and she’d had an emotionally rough day. He should let her come now.

  He inserted another digit into heaven and swirled his thumb around her swollen clitoris. His hand was positively coated in her wetness. Thank God. He’d use it to bring himself to completion when she was finished. It would take four strokes, five strokes, max. He was that turned-on. Seeing his uptight, always-in-control doctor beg and orgasm was easily the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

  He paid close attention to her gasps, which were becoming moans, and the ripples pulsating around his fingers. She was at the precipice and he wanted her tumbling over. He sped up his fingers and increased the pressure until she shattered around him with a hoarse cry.

  This time, instead of falling into a boneless state on his lap, she leapt up and spun to face him. The room was practically fully dark other than the ambient glow from the television, and he couldn’t see if her cheeks held a blush.

  They stared at each other in silence for a long minute. There was so much to say and yet neither of them could find any words.

  “Um, thank you? Good night.” She turned and padded back to her bed in the attached room and he watched her go in silence.

  She’d thanked him. As if he’d handed her a book or passed her the salt. He groaned and sank farther back into the cushy chair. He had a long way to go before Samara Jones saw him as anything more than a dumb soldier. The only good part about her exit was he could take care of the steel rod that was begging to be released from his jeans. Two nights in a row he was going to self-pleasure. It was like his teen years all over again.

  Only this time he felt like a dirty bastard who knew exactly what he was missing, instead of a dumb kid thrilled to have discovered masturbation. He eyed his hard-on suspiciously. Then sighed and undid his jeans enough to reach his hand, wet from Samara, in to fist himself.

  He closed his eyes to pretend he was not alone jerking off in front of the hotel information channel. Every brain cell throbbed with the effort of recalling the smell and feel of holding a climaxing Samara in his arms. His balls squeezed and he knew this would be fast.

  “Chase?”

  He opened his eyes to see Samara back in the doorway, staring at him, with her arms crossed over her ample breasts.

  “What?” he asked, squeezing his cock in a firm grip. Please don’t let me come all over my jeans. So embarrassing. Yeah, like getting caught with his pants down, literally, wasn’t embarrassing enough. Why was she back, and what did she want? He wanted her to either leave so he could finish, or hop up on the bed, legs spread so he could finish. And since only fantasy Samara was ready for that, she needed to leave. Now.

  “I—um—wanted to ask about our schedule for tomorrow. But I can come back,” she said quickly.

  He released his softening cock and mentally bid an orgasm farewell for the evening. He struggled to remember what his plan was for the morning. “How about we visit your mother in the morning then take the plane back after lunch? Sound good?”

  She nodded but wasn’t focused on his words. “Do you need a hand?”

  “What?”

  She waved a hand toward his waist. “With that. Do you need a hand?” Her question was fired in a low, rapid voice.

  His brain sent signals straight to his cock, which heard her words loud and clear and rose to the occasion. “For real? You want to—”

  “Not sex,” she interjected. “Just, you know, a hand.” And she quickly strode toward him, obviously trying not to lose her courage. She sank on her knees between his calves in front of the armchair and reached for his penis.

  He was at a complete loss for words. If he were a gambling man and had bet the odds Samara would return to touch him, he’d be broke now. But hell yes, he was going to enjoy every second of this.

  Her soft hand with the short, polish-free fingernails wrapped around the base of his penis and gave an experimental tug. His tongue practically lolled out of his mouth and his eyes rolled back. He’d thought touching her had been amazing, but her touching him was something beyond description. There was not a chance of him lasting.

  “God, Jonesie,” he choked out, “you’re amazing.”

  A small smile curled on her lips. It was at once innocent and seductive. “You’re kind of sexy yourself.”

  It was not even close to an affirmation of undying love, but he’d take it for now. Her hand slid slowly up and down his hard shaft, taking some of his dripping pre-come with her on every up slide. The silky wetness coated him, making for one heck of a hand job. He held his breath against the onslaught of pleasure and the desire to come. He wanted to make it last, and make every second count.

  But all too soon, the need built to boiling point and he couldn’t stave off the overwhelming pleasure of having Samara’s hands on him. “I’m going to come,” he growled, giving her the chance to back off in case she didn’t want her hand to be coated in his come. She ignored his warning and tightened her grip and sped up her movements, drawing out his orgasm in waves of unadulterated pleasure. He released in spurts, unable to control anything but the necessity of continuing to breathe.

  Samara waited until his ejaculation ceased and held her warm hand in place around his softening erection. He closed his eyes, unable to speak.

  She rose. “Good night, Chase.”

  When he finally opened his eyes, she was gone, but he heard the sink in the bathroom running. He knew she’d head to her own room when she was clean and that he should let her. Still, it was nice to imagine a time when she’d finish in the bathroom and climb into bed with him. They’d talk about their day and tell silly stories about Luca before they let sleep take them, succumbing, of course, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Listen to him. One hand job and he was practically inventing grandchildren for them. Get over it, Chase. They were not a couple. Only in his fantasy. He was her sexual release, the equivalent of a pool boy for a society matron. It didn’t take a genius of Samara’s status to know she didn’t see him as anything more than a diversion.

  Samara rinsed the soap off her hands, unsurprised that they were shaking under the stream of warm water. She’d just jerked Chase Stanton off. She’d touched Chase Stanton’s penis. Well, holy smoking angels, as her mother used to say.

  The wide mirror above the long ivory marble countertop revealed her cheeks were as pink as her lips. It had been an interesting day, going from emotional lows to extreme highs. She stared intently at the familiar yet complete stranger in the mirror. Logically she knew it was her own reflection staring back, but the old Samara Jones didn’t have that sated sparkle in her eyes. Or a knowing smile on her lips that she’d done something dirty. And loved every sexy second of it.

  She’d let Chase touch her intimately, pretending they were a real couple and it was their child in the bed next door. “Stupid, Jones, stupid.” That way led to heartbreak. Chase was a virile man. A soldier who probably had any woman he wanted. She was the current available woman. She knew if he had a choice, it wouldn’t have been her on his lap. But she appreciated that he made her feel like first choice while she was there. His whispered dirty words and delving, knowing fingers had made her night.

  Oh my. She pressed her wet, cold hands to her cheeks and tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t easy, especially when she knew her night wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

  Chapter Five

  Samara waited in her bed until she was sure Chase was sleeping. Then she tiptoed back into his room. If he was still awake, no biggie, she’d claim she was back for more. It wouldn’t be
a hardship.

  But when she entered the room, Chase was passed out cold on the bed. The covers were pushed down, providing an intriguing glimpse of his chest and pelvis. But no time for ogling. She had places to go.

  Where were the…there! She swiped a hand across the dresser and grabbed the keys. The jangle in the silent room sounded like wind chimes in a hurricane and she froze in place, hardly daring to breathe while she waited to see if she woke Chase up.

  He tossed and muttered a little, but kept sleeping. She tiptoed back to her room, kissed Luca on the forehead and placed the note on her pillow. Her stomach lurched at the thought of Luca waking up and seeing her gone, but Chase was here and would tell him she’d gone to get doughnuts for breakfast as she’d asked him to do in the note. She was only going for an hour, max, she reminded herself. And it was two a.m. No one would know she was gone and wouldn’t be any wiser when she returned.

  She rang for the elevator in the hall and took it down the four floors. Luckily Chase had parked at the back of the hotel near the exit door, no more than twelve feet away. She sprinted to the car and locked the doors behind her. Once inside, she took a breath, gripped the steering wheel and realized it had been more than a year since she’d driven a car. It was like riding a bike, right?

  She’d waited for what seemed like forever for Chase to fall asleep so she could sneak out against her better judgment and drive by her old apartment. She hadn’t forgotten Chase’s news about Paulson’s goons looking for her in Colorado, but her apartment was in a gated community, and she didn’t plan on stopping or getting out unless she was one hundred and ten percent sure she hadn’t been followed.

  The sad truth was she wanted her stuff back. Not her clothes or shoes, but her important stuff. When Paulson had kidnapped her, she’d lost possession of all her personal belongings such as Luca’s baby photos, and more importantly, her research notes on Alzheimer’s. She’d essentially have to start over in her work if she didn’t get her notebooks back.