She’d come. For him.
Right now, all past and future accomplishments didn’t mean shit.
Because he’d been right. Her libido had gone into hibernation, waiting for the right guy. It had rebelled against mediocre lovers and men who didn’t truly care for her, waiting for him. For him, dammit. And while he’d milked the first climax out of her, he knew there were many more to come.
And he had every intention of making another one appear soon.
Though the restraint was killing him, though his entire body was racked with the need to bury himself to the hilt inside her, Ben drew back a hairbreadth and slid deliberately between her hot, slicked folds, bumping her still-sensitive clit.
“Oh-h-ho,” she laughed, pushing up against him. “That’s cruel. You know I want you inside me.”
Ben bent and sucked a rosy nipple into his mouth, the taste of her exploding on his tongue. God, how he loved her body. It was small and compact, making heaven a mere nod away. She was smooth, soft and firm, a breathtaking combination of sweet curves, intriguing valleys. Pale skin, dark curls, dusky nipples. Her hair fanned out on the blanket, a mass of sexy, gorgeous curls.
She was, in every sense of the word, perfect.
“And I want to be inside you,” he told her, moving to the other plump breast. “But you must have pa—”
“Patience,” she finished, seemingly ready to howl. “I came,” she said, very impatiently. “It was magnificent, glorious, amazing. But I want you to fill me up. I’m hollow and achy and—” she rocked her hips forward burying the head of his penis inside her “—I need you.”
She leaned forward and nipped at his neck, causing a shower of sensation to trickle over his skin. She lifted her hips once more, pulling him even farther into her body, then she sank back as if the pleasure were sapping her energy.
It was one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. Need, desire, want…they were bleeding her strength, leaving her boneless with yearning, a willing love slave, enthralled and bound to him.
Ben drew back and slid between her pink folds once more, then dipped into her. Instinctively her feminine muscles clamped around him, attempting to trap him, draw him in. His dick throbbed with pleasure and he felt the beginning tingle of climax stir in his loins.
He dipped again, this time lingering a moment before withdrawing, savoring the feel of her wet heat fisting hard around him.
April’s neck bowed, exposing her delicate throat, and her mouth opened in a silent moan of ecstasy. She arched beneath him, lifted her hips and rocked, then slid her hands up over his belly, grazed his midsection and scoured his masculine nipples with those neat, manicured feminine nails.
Talk about a turn-on.
He shuddered, closed his eyes, and only by sheer dint of will did he manage not to collapse on top of her, to push himself so far into her that it would take Jaws of Life to get him out.
He pushed again, this time surrendering, and buried himself deeply inside her. A sublime smile of satisfaction curled her kiss-swollen lips and her lids drifted shut beneath the weight of pleasure.
Seeing her reaction, feeling the absolute flawlessness of being inside her, made Ben’s eyes drift shut, as well.
She was…She was…Words failed him. There was no way to aptly describe the matchless perfection being inside her inspired in him. His throat clogged, his heart raced and, were his toes not firmly planted into the blanket, they would have undoubtedly curled. A whirlwind of sensation—both physical and emotional—caught him up and spun him until he didn’t know anything beyond the brilliance of this moment.
April clamped around him again, rocking her hips, a silent but effective request and, because he wanted nothing more than to lie beneath this tree and make love to her for the rest of his life, he set everything else aside and concentrated on giving her that second orgasm he’d promised her.
With a deliberate flex, he withdrew and plunged into her again. Finding a slow rhythm, he savored the resistance, the perfect draw and drag of their joined bodies. She drew her legs back and anchored them about his waist, then reached around and cupped his ass with her warm hands, squeezing, urging, a mewl of carnal pleasure, a purr of satisfaction. She matched him thrust for thrust, easily, as though they’d done this thousands of times, finding his pace, keeping it, then demanding more.
He felt her tighten around him, then her voice caught, and she upped the tempo. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, whimpered and thrashed, the fever driving her mindless. Whereas seconds ago she’d been boneless and limp, now she’d gone rigid and wild, desperate for the second orgasm Ben firmly intended to serve up.
His own loins were experiencing the fiery torments of the damned and every cell in his body was ready for release. The instant she caught hers, Ben knew he’d come.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pushing her back even farther, then pumped frantically, pistoned in and out of her until he thought for sure that his heart would explode. Her feminine muscles clamped again, heralding her impending climax. Breathing raggedly, Ben smiled, then leaned forward, licked the shell of her ear and then deliberately nipped at her lobe.
Predictably, she shattered.
A long keening cry tore from her throat. Her body bowed off the blanket, bucking beneath him and the walls of her channel clenched forcefully around him.
And that was all it took to make him detonate like a nuclear bomb, pleasure imploding upon itself. She spasmed hard around him, flexed and quivered, and with each pulse he felt himself quake inside her. Her climax perfectly milked his, draining him of everything but the sublime satisfaction of phenomenal sex.
When the very last pulse throbbed out of him, Ben gently withdrew, then collapsed beside her and rolled her next to his side. He tucked the blanket firmly around them. Her head lay nestled against his chest, her curls spilling over, tickling his side. She rested her fingers upon his belly, and slung a smooth leg over his thigh. In short, she melted over him like hot fudge over a scoop of ice cream and he didn’t know when he’d ever felt anything more amazing in his life.
Her. Him. Here.
Heart still pounding, Ben bent and kissed the top of her head, looked up at the canopy of branches and felt a wash of contentment bathe his soul. The sun had begun its descent, painting the fall sky in a glorious display of color.
“Ben?”
He doodled on her upper arm. “Yes.”
“I’ve got a confession to make.”
He smiled against her hair. “Yeah? What’s that?”
She let go a soft whispering breath and nuzzled closer to him. “I’m still hooked, too.”
His chest tightened, forcing him to swallow. Good, he thought. He could hardly wait to reel her in.
10
“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE that you kept something like this from us,” Frankie griped. “You’re pregnant, for Pete’s sake. You don’t think you could have mentioned that?”
Zora lifted a cool shoulder and idly sipped her virgin margarita. “I wanted to get past my first trimester before telling you guys. You know, in case something went wrong.”
Slightly mollified, Frankie nodded.
“We understand,” April said. They usually met at the Blue Monkey on Friday nights, but in light of everyone having—or at least everyone with exception of Frankie—good news to report, they decided to get together for a celebratory meeting. No bitchfest tonight, April thought, with a soft smile.
A rare smile curled Carrie’s lips. “Well, we’re thrilled for you, at any rate,” she announced. “You’ll be a fantastic mama.”
Zora grinned. “And the three of you will make equally fantastic honorary aunts.”
“What did Tate say when you told him the news?” April asked.
“You told him before the end of your first trimester, didn’t you?” Frankie interrupted. “Because if you didn’t that’s just—”
“I told him,” Zora said, fondly exasperated.
Frankie nodded succinctly. “W
ell, good.”
“He’s thrilled,” Zora reported. “A nervous wreck, but thrilled.”
April could certainly see that in Tate’s character. Much like Ben, Tate was a he-man kind of guy, the type who took the whole “love and protect” thing very seriously. Adding a child to the mix had to be disconcerting, but she didn’t have any qualms that he wouldn’t be anything short of a fantastic father. This was going to be one lucky baby, April thought, slightly envious of their budding family.
For the first time in her life, she heard the tick of her biological clock, felt a yearning for her own family. An amber-eyed, dark-haired baby sprang to mind. Her lips quirked. It was definitely telling that she’d given her imaginary offspring Ben’s features.
Finished with her turn in the hot seat, Zora swirled a straw around her drink and looked at Carrie. “Well,” she said. “I understand that you have some news to report, as well.”
Carrie smiled self-consciously. “Nothing as remarkable as having a baby,” she admitted. “But I did get some good news this week.”
“Do tell,” Frankie murmured, happiest when juicy tidbits were forthcoming.
Carrie dragged in a small breath. “I was offered my own show.”
She’d suspected as much, but April whooped with joy nonetheless. A round of raucous applause rang from their table, causing the few other patrons in the bar to shoot them a glance.
“Carrie, that’s fabulous!”
“You bet your sweet ass it is,” Frankie enthused in her typical blunt fashion.
“Congratulations,” April told her. “When do you start?”
“Wait!” Frankie interrupted. “First things first—have you told Martin yet?” Martin—better known as the dickless wonder among their set—had made Carrie’s life a miserable, wretched hell for the past three years. They all hated him, Frankie probably even more than Carrie.
Carrie shot them a hesitant look. “I haven’t yet.”
Frankie’s eyes widened. “What? Why the hell not? That would have been the first thing I would have done.”
Again, Carrie gave them a hesitant look and bit her lip. “I haven’t told him yet because I’m not entirely sure that I’m going to take it.”
There was stunned silence, then…“What?” Frankie asked flatly, as though the idea were ludicrous.
“Why not?” April breathed. She would have thought that Carrie would have jumped at the chance to change jobs.
“Money or principles?” Zora asked.
Carrie snorted. “It’s not the money.”
Zora nodded thoughtfully.
“Then what’s the problem?” Frankie asked, evidently not concerned with principles.
Carrie fiddled with her drink, then cocked her head and offered a strained, almost bitter smile. “They want me to be their Negligee Gourmet.”
April frowned. “Negligee Gourmet,” she repeated.
Frankie’s lips twisted with knowing humor. “Let me guess—they’re angling for the male demographic.”
Carrie nodded. “Yep.”
“So the premise of the show is you cook wearing sexy nighties?” Zora asked.
“Right again,” Carrie told her. “How will anyone ever take me seriously if I do this? Furthermore, if they cancel the show, how will I ever be able to find reputable work again?”
Frankie paused and considered her. “Carrie, there’s more to you than a pretty face—you are one helluva chef.” She shrugged. “Personally, I think you should take this opportunity and, instead of treating your beauty like a handicap, embrace it. Capitalize on it, babe. Men will watch. Women will envy. Ratings will soar. Even if, God forbid, the show is ever canceled, your talent speaks for itself. Finding a job won’t be a problem.”
“I agree,” Zora added. “It might not be the show you dreamed of, but make it into a new dream.”
“Sounds like excellent advice to me,” April told Carrie. “Frankly, I’d think anything would be better than working for Martin.”
A small smile shaped her lips and a spark of tentative excitement lit her gaze. “There is that.”
“Hell, yeah,” Frankie said. “Tell him to kiss your sister’s black cat’s ass and move on.”
Carrie paused. “You guys really think I should do it?”
“No question.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Definitely.”
Carrie let go a shaky breath. “Well…all right then.”
More whooping laughter and congratulations ensued, once again garnering irritated scowls from other patrons. Annoyed, Frankie raised her arm, evidently prepared to give them the middle finger salute, but thankfully Zora intercepted her hand and forced it back down. “Please,” she admonished. “Can’t I take you anywhere?”
Disgruntled, Frankie mumbled something uncharitable about rude people, but made no more attempts at sign language.
“All right,” Carrie said. “I’ve shared my good news.” Her twinkling gaze slid to April. “That leaves us with you. I understand I’m not the only one who’s experienced good things this week.”
April warmed all over, both at the innuendo and at the reminder. Pleasure still hummed along her nerve endings. “I did.”
“Out with it,” Frankie demanded impatiently.
April shrugged. “I’m cured.”
Zora’s mouth curled. “So The Vagina Whisperer worked his magic, eh?”
Oy. Had he ever. “Oh, yeah,” she told them, inclining her head. “He sure did.”
Frankie waited for her to elaborate. “What? No details?”
“She’s fixed,” Zora chided. “That’s good enough for us.”
Frankie snorted. “Speak for yourself. If he’s got some sexual mojo going on, I need to hear it. It could be good for my column.”
Sorry, April thought, but she’d die before she let something as beautiful as what she and Ben shared beneath that tree find its way into Frankie’s column. Frankie might have good intentions, but this was private. Special. Cherished. She wasn’t prepared to share her breakthrough with the sexually repressed of the world. Was she being stingy? Yes. Because she used to be one of them.
But this was different. It had been way more than sex or making love. She and Ben had connected on a level that she’d never—never—dreamed of, much less experienced. Their souls had mingled. He had surpassed the fantasy, that was for damned sure.
“Well,” Carrie said. “The important thing is that you’re fixed.” She darted April another look. “Is he going to continue to whisper to you, or are you finished with your…treatments?”
April grinned, sliding them all a sly glance. “Oh, I’m not finished. Not by a long shot.” In fact, April thought, pulling out her trusty cell, she was due for another one in about, oh, say…fifteen minutes.
9:00 p.m. You’re the hunter. I’m the prey. Jackson Square. Find me…then take me.
BEN READ THE DISPLAY twice just to make sure that he hadn’t misunderstood, then felt a bolt of heat hit his groin and a broken laugh emerge from his throat.
Damn, but she’d certainly taken to this beck-and-call rule, he thought, feeling the first quickening of excitement zip through his blood. “You’re the hunter, I’m the prey,” indeed. Now this was a game he could get used to.
Ben checked the time on his cell and decided he had a few minutes to arrange a little preparation of his own. When he found her, he wanted to make sure he had a safe place to take her.
Twenty minutes later, he was strolling through the square. Midweek activity was considerably less than weekend, but there was still enough going on that he had to keep a keen eye out for April all the time. Street musicians played moody jazz, tarot card readers, fortune tellers and the odd artist dotted the city-block-size park.
Rather than wandering aimlessly, he decided to start at the middle and work his way around. With that in mind, he made his way to the impressive statue of Andrew Jackson on horseback—hence the name Jackson Square—that sat in the middle of the area and scanned the
park closely, looking for anyone who remotely resembled April.
When he didn’t readily see her, he went on the move. He was supposed to be the hunter, after all, though to be quite honest, he could probably get to the taking-her part a lot more expediently if he merely waited. But that was hardly sporting, was it?
He strolled past the Cabildo, Saint Louis Cathedral, and the Presbytere, certain to check amid the various knots of onlookers stationed in front of each.
Then he moved down the other side, past the Pontalba buildings, which housed various restaurants and specialty shops. She could be in any one of them, Ben thought, taking his time to carefully check each storefront and café.
Quite honestly, he expected her to be hiding in plain sight, otherwise they could be out here all night, walking in circles around one another. Most likely she’d chosen one spot to wander around in and was simply waiting for him to stumble upon it. He found himself walking faster, his heart pounding with an excited thrill-of-the-hunt rhythm that, frankly, he would have never suspected he’d enjoy.
Just knowing that she was here, somewhere in this square waiting for him to find her and take her made the fine hairs on his neck prickle, made his belly clench with lust and his dick swell for sport. Hell, he’d had a friggin’ hard-on since the instant he’d read her provocative, wicked instructions.
Quite frankly, bedding her again, sinking into the welcoming heat of her explosively responsive body had consumed every waking—and sleeping—thought since he’d taken her yesterday afternoon. His mind reeled back and visions of pearled nipples and dewy curls, swollen lips and lush breasts filled his thoughts, momentarily blinding him to the sights around him.
God, she’d been perfect. Utterly and completely perfect. Ben had been with countless women, more than he’d had any business bedding. But none of them had ever affected him like April. When he’d slid into her, he’d felt more than his dick engage—he’d felt his heart engage, as well. He was wholly, completely invested in her and had no goal outside of making her want him the way he wanted her. More than desire. More than need. He wanted her to want him. He wanted it to be out of her hands, beyond her control. A mindless surrender that bound her firmly to him.
Getting It Right! Page 11