Missed Connections Box Set

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Relentless speech lessons. Girls with bayou drawls do not become major stars.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  I lifted a shoulder and toyed with the end of my ponytail. Not that I was shy about my ambitions, but it always felt like bad luck to say them out loud. “Right now I live on bit parts, callbacks that don’t usually don’t pan out, cheap wine and hope.”

  That sounded a bit more plaintive, if dramatically noble—and unusually forthcoming for me—than I’d planned on. The waitress brought the burgers and I took time to doctor mine the way I liked it, and to cut it in half, to make it easier to bite into. When I finished, I found Daniel watching me with that steady interest.

  “Let’s put it this way,” I continued, since he seemed to be waiting for more, “I’m a few years younger than Taylor Swift and I don’t have her running scared.”

  “Only because she doesn’t know about you—yet.”

  It made me smile. “You’ve never seen me perform, so I’m going to take that as general flattery. Which works for me, but …”

  “But you think I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  Well… yeah. “Most people don’t. I don’t hold that against you.”

  He’d picked up his burger and set it down again. Wiped off his hands and set his elbows on the table. “I’d better fess up to something else.”

  Uh oh.

  ~ 8 ~

  I almost told him not to.

  Call me chicken. Tell me denial ain’t just a river in Egypt. Point out that I was thinking with my pussy—that last was Ice’s voice in my head, by the way—but I didn’t want to hear him say anything that would make me not like him.

  Because I did like him. Not only because he had me jonesing for him sexually or because he had a knack for hitting all the right notes in making me feel admired. I admit it—I’m horribly vain and he did pet me in all the right ways. I’m at peace with that. Beyond catering to my shallow faults, however, he interested me. I wanted more of his sly humor, his self-effacing remarks about his career and family. And I really wanted him to take me to bed already.

  I took a deep breath. Big girl panties and all. If this confession was a dealbreaker, I’d rather know it now. “Hit me.”

  “I wasn’t completely forthcoming before.”

  Shit. I knew it.

  “I saw your show tonight,” he said in a rush. “That’s how I knew you were finishing up and why I was so close by.” He covered his mouth with his hand and rubbed his chin. “So before you yell at me and tell me to get lost for being a creepy, star struck stalker, let me put it out there that I think you’re amazing. Gorgeous singing voice. You dance like you don’t have bones. You’re a hell of an actress. Also—you have that quality, that charisma, that’s absolutely riveting. Taylor Swift should be scared.”

  Yeah. Okay. I was done for.

  I tried to think about it logically, but my inner Sally Fields was too loud, jumping up and down screaming He likes me! He really likes me! Some girls tumble for money, for looks, for a solid five-pointer across all categories. Which, right, that was me, too. But compliment my talent and I cave faster than Lindsay Lohan coming out of rehab.

  “So,” I asked while he visibly braced himself, “do you want me to be your sex slave for life or just for tonight?”

  He let out a surprised laugh. Stopped himself and then laughed again, more softly, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. Does nothing rattle you?”

  “Oh yes. Director’s notes, struggling to get en pointe, the price of organic chicken. Math. Going to the dentist.” I shuddered dramatically. “Good thing you’re not a dentist. That would have been a dealbreaker.”

  “En pointe—you dance ballet, too?”

  “I did when I was young. It’s hard on the body, and I’m built wrong for ballet.” When his brow creased in puzzlement, I straightened my shoulders and thrust out my C-cups. “Top heavy. I would have had to get a breast reduction. My mother wouldn’t let me.”

  “I think I love your mother.”

  I laughed. My mother would probably love him, too. A disconcerting thought as she and I rarely agreed on much. “You haven’t even seen them. Maybe you should reserve judgment until you do.”

  He stilled, watching me carefully. “Does that mean I still have a shot?”

  I’d finished my burger as we talked, assuaging one hunger, and nodded at his barely touched meal. “You better eat up, because I’m fixing to cash in my favor, and I think you’re going need all your strength.”

  * * *

  He didn’t even try to finish. Just had the waitress box it up, paid the bill—without letting me see it—and hustled me out the door with gratifying impatience. As we walked, he put his hand on the small of my back, working his fingers under my shirt until he found his spot. The spot that was rapidly becoming my “on” switch.

  “Your place, since it’s so close?” I asked, part of me braced for him to have fudged that detail, even though I knew nothing would stop me from having him now. Hell, if it turned out he lived in Evanston, I’d just pull him into an alley.

  “Would you feel safe coming to my place?”

  “Yes,” I answered, very seriously and responsibly for a girl who’d been liking the alley concept better and better with each passing minute. “I’ll text my housemates with your name and address.”

  “In case they have to report you missing?” He sounded amused by the idea.

  “Or send the EMTs to resuscitate us, if this goes as I think it might.”

  His step hitched, his hand hot on my back. “Hold on a minute. I need something.”

  Condoms? I started to say I had some—a Girl Scout is always prepared—but he backed me against the wall of the building and took my mouth with his, fast, hard, and with such ferocity that he stole my breath in a flash. I moaned and he seemed to drink the sound in, hands vising on the bare skin of my waist. My whole body strained to get closer to his and if I thought for one second that he might be contemplating ditching out, I would have cheerfully murdered him on the spot. He tore his mouth away and leaned against me, breathing raggedly.

  “Is your place far?” I managed to get out.

  “Two blocks.”

  “There’s an alley right here.”

  He laughed, more a semi-hysterical gasp for air. “You’re killing me.”

  “Oh, not yet. I’ve barely started on you.”

  “I’ll die a happy man,” he muttered and kissed me again, drawing it out, much as I downed water after dancing. “But no. I want you naked. In bright light.”

  “I thought this was about my favor.” I hustled to keep up with his impatient stride, propelled by his hand at my back.

  He glanced down at me, then grimaced, reining his pace and softening his demanding hand. “Dammit, you’re right. Any way I can talk you into indulging me and saving it for another time?”

  Admirable, the way he pulled himself back like that. Sad thing was, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted from him more at that moment than exactly what he’d been giving me. His hunger, his driving desire. We reached his building and entered the elevator.

  “Okay,” I said, and he waited politely, hands tucked in pockets, ready to abide by my terms. Delicious. Too much to squander. “I’m saving my favor. Tonight I’m interested to see what you’ll do with a free pass.”

  “A free pass?” The elevator dinged, the doors opening directly into his place, but he didn’t move. Simmering on the leash. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Probably.” I sidled closer and put my hand over his crotch, happy to find a straining—and hallelujah! Very impressive—erection. Ecstatic agony creased his face most enticingly as I squeezed. Oh yeah, I’d be letting him off that leash. “It means you get to do whatever you want. Surprise me.”

  He moved me out of the elevator and let the doors close, then unzipped my hoodie very slowly, watching what it revealed. Then he studied my face. “Are you sure?”

  “I
know how to say no. Try me.”

  He eased the sweatshirt off my shoulders, leaving me in my tank and bra. Not a sexy one as I wore it for support, but my nipples had gone hard and that seemed to occupy his riveted gaze. Slowly he slid his hands down my back, arching me and nuzzled the spot where my neck meets the shoulder. My blood cruised up to a coursing tempo, fuzzing my brain. “Tonight you smell different,” he murmured.

  “Grease paint and dance sweat. I warned you.”

  “I like it.” He dragged his teeth along my skin. “A different side of you.”

  “A pungent one. Let me take a shower.”

  “Only if I can watch.”

  I shivered a little at the thought and his hands flexed on me. He bit me lightly, in that same juncture, the one that wires straight to the atavistic female brain, making me want to purr and spread my legs.

  “I didn’t hear a no.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, more like a challenge. There was the lawyer in him.

  “Nothing wrong with your hearing.”

  The next thing I knew, he’d picked me up and carried me down the hall. Mostly only dance partners ever carried me like this and at least I know how to make myself easy to lift. Still, I’m not tiny. His strength impressed me. And made me more than a little swoony. The moment also afforded me the opportunity to indulge in nibbling on his neck, loving the way his step hitched when I scraped him with my teeth and the moan that followed the stroke of my tongue.

  He set me on my feet in a bathroom straight out of HGTV and turned on the water in an open-fronted shower with multiple heads on all three sides. I started untying my sweats.

  “No,” he stopped my hands. “Let me.” He held my gaze until I acceded to the…not quite a request. Not exactly a demand, either. But that way of his took me over, sapping my will and leaving me curiously pliant.

  I let go.

  Taking up the hem of my tank, he fingered it, gathering it up slowly as he watched my face. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he said, in a soft tone that nevertheless thundered through my skull. Dropping his gaze, he watched as he revealed my skin, inch by inch, drawing the cloth over my head and tossing it aside. For an endless moment, his gaze glided over my cleavage. Unable to stand the tension and feeling surprisingly exposed even though the bra covered quite a bit, I moved to kiss him, but he put his hands on my shoulders and firmly turned me around.

  His hands caressed my back, from the nape of my neck exposed by the pony tail to the flare of my hips. His eyes snagged mine in the mirror. The catch on my bra gave, making me start, and he drew the straps down my arms, watching my reflection. I saw myself tremble as my naked breasts came into view, full from desire and my nipples drawn into tight points.

  He stared hard, but made no move to touch anything else. Instead, his seductive caresses continued down my bare back, both gentling and arousing me further. With a wicked smile, he pressed a kiss to my shoulder, hands trailing down my arms, then wrapping around my wrists. The faint trembling turned into a throbbing and I squirmed a little against his grip. He smiled, not amused, not the polite gentleman now, but almost a hungry baring of teeth. Leaning me forward, he lifted my hands and placed my palms flat against the mirror. I whimpered and he held me there, covering my hands with his and placing a kiss just under my ear. “Let me,” he whispered and the mantra somehow calmed me.

  He stroked back up my arms, tracing every line of my forearms, triceps, and biceps, over my shoulders and tracing down my ribcage. Starkly untouched, my naked breasts rose and fell, my brain rattled by it all. He sank out of sight behind me, hot mouth following the path of his hands, disappearing from view to leave me gazing at my own wide eyes and flushed skin as he found that same spot at the small of my back. Unreal how he savored these non-key points and made them somehow more erotic than the rest.

  “Daniel.” I groaned his name and he murmured some response. With his hands gripping my hips, I couldn’t move much, but I began to feel frantic to do so. “Oh please.”

  “No,” he answered. “Not yet. Let me.”

  The bright-eyed panting woman in the mirror would do anything at this point. He left off kissing me and picked up my foot, unlacing my sneaker and tugging off my sock, then the leg warmer. With smooth, firm caresses, he learned my foot, ankle and calf muscles. Dancers don’t have pretty feet. The one thing I’d given up being vain about. Yet he touched me there as he had everywhere, with a dizzying reverence that worked its way under my skin and into places I thought I’d walled off.

  A sound came out of me, almost like a sob, and he shushed me, moving to the other foot and stripping that one, too. With him kneeling behind me, I couldn’t see anything but my own desperate face in the mirror, now fogging, my hands sliding against the glass slick with sweat and steam, as he pulled the sweats over my hips, taking my panties with them.

  I’d never been so naked.

  Pressing my thighs tightly together, the slick heat there making me crazy with need, I nearly screamed when he traced the outside line of my thighs. Then lifted my feet one by one out of the sweats.

  And kissed the back of my knee.

  “Fuck the shower,” I gritted out, trying to open my legs. “Do me now.”

  He laughed, the sound a tormenting demon might make and held my knees together, licking the back of one and then the other. “Not yet.”

  “I’m serious!”

  Hands smoothed over my thighs, containing my struggles and stroked over my ass. I stilled, hoping he’d relented and would finally touch me where I needed it most. Then squealed when his teeth nipped me there.

  “So am I.” He sounded serious, too. “I said not yet and I mean it.”

  His hands left me and he moved back. The mirror had totally fogged over, so I couldn’t see exactly where he went. But I was totally naked and more aroused than I’d ever been, shaking from it, and from the dire certainty that he had come nowhere near to being done playing with me.

  “The shower is waiting,” he said.

  Wondering if even my strong legs would hold me, I straightened and turned. He leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, sweating a little in the steam. His gaze, alert in a face all savage gentleman, took in my every movement. Acutely aware of him, I stepped under the hot spray of water, gasping as my wired nerves sang with overstimulation.

  I took a moment, closing my eyes and letting the water calm me. Then I reached back and wound my trailing ponytail into a knot on the top of my head, to keep my hair dry. Daring a glance at Daniel, I found him watching the rise and fall of my breasts as I moved. He dragged his gaze up and his lips twisted into a wry smile.

  “There’s soap.”

  Taking the suggestion, I found a bar and sniffed it. “Very manly.”

  “I’ll get you something for next time. Magnolia-scented, to match your skin.”

  I raised an eyebrow, taken aback by his odd mixture of command and poetic romanticism and by his certainty. “You’re so sure there will be a next time?”

  ~ 9 ~

  His jaw clenched and eyes glittered dark. “I warned you about how I am. But the deal stands. I’ll leave it up to you. You know how to find me. If you come back, there will be soap you like.”

  “I like this one.” I began stroking it over me, dragging his gaze with it, directing his eyes where I wanted them to go. Soaping my breasts, I caressed and lifted them, loving how he licked his lips. I’d never done anything like this, but it turned me on to perform for him this way, a kind of sexual dance. One that I controlled now, the way he ostentatiously stood back, following my lead.

  Taking my time, just as he’d done undressing and teasing me—paybacks are hell, my friend—I soaped myself thoroughly, making sure the foam covered my bits for the water to sluice away again. A lot of young dancers get into stripping, just for the money. I’d never gotten that desperate, thank God and a mother who never criticized when I asked for a loan, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about how I’d do it—and that I’d be damn good at it.
>
  Dance is dance, after all.

  Moving to the music in my head, I made the soap, the hot water and the steam into my partners, twining with them for my rapt audience of one. I put the soap away before I opened my thighs to rinse the water through my pussy. A girl has to be very careful about what chemicals touch that area and most soaps will only irritate. The feel of my own hands shocked me and I gasped, knees buckling a little. Holy hell. I almost couldn’t stand it and had to brace myself against the wall. My clit had never been harder, my labia never slicker or more swollen.

  Abruptly self-conscious, I searched out my watcher. He’d moved closer, eyes glued to my hand at my crotch, then flicked that avid gaze to mine. “Bonus points if you make yourself come.”

  Mesmerized, unable to look away, I stroked myself for him. Something I’d done thousands of times, but always in the loneliness of my bed. Getting myself off had always felt like a Band-Aid, the poor man’s second best to the real thing. I should know the feeling well, as I’d been doing myself quite a bit lately, with this particular face in mind. Keenly aware of my own touch, the twin sensations of my slippery flesh under my fingers and the sheer, delicious build of orgasm, I experienced the act as never before. As something truly sexual and not merely the scratch of yet another itch.

  Leaning back against the slick wall, I spread my thighs and cupped my breast, rolling the nipple as I imagine he’d do. Tension riding his body, Daniel took in the show, the hands in his pockets clenched into fists. My thigh muscles tightened and I let out a thin whimper, which became a full throaty cry as the climax exploded.

  I might have collapsed, head swimming, but no—that swirling sense of dislocation came from him lifting me. Sweeping me into his arms, my hand still buried between my legs, Daniel carried me wet and naked to his bed. He’d soaked his suit and his loosened tie clung to my breast even as he slid down my body and opened my legs.

  “The water is still running,” I said, grabbing a hold of the sopping silk tie and winding it around my fist.