“So?” I prompt. “Why not major in theater?”
“I don’t know. A theater degree seems impractical unless you either want to go on to work on Broadway or teach. I don’t think I want to do either.”
“Unless you’re getting a professional degree, aren’t the rest of them pretty much the same? Business, communications, B of A, those are basically all you-made-it-through-four-years-of-higher-learning degrees. Hell, my brother majored in journalism. He planned to work for the Washington Post or one of the local TV stations if he didn’t make it to the pros. Now he’s a spokesperson for Nike and a luxury hotel chain. When he retires from football, he’ll probably go into sports broadcasting.”
“But your brother is a football star. My career choices won’t be quite as broad,” she says dryly.
“All I’m saying is that you won’t be limited to Broadway and teaching. There’s probably a ton of jobs you’ll be able to get with a theater degree. Most companies don’t care what you majored in, as long as they think you can do the job.”
She nods in agreement but something in her expression tells me she’s heard this spiel before and knows what I’m saying is the truth. Hell, she’s probably researched the subject a billion times on the internet, discussed it with her professors and guidance counselors. Which means that’s not the real reason she doesn’t want to major in theater.
“Let me get this straight, you modeled and did some acting when you were younger, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you stop?” I already have a pretty good idea why.
“I didn’t want to do it anymore.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “Funny thing is, my mom turned out to be one of those pushy stage mothers. When she was trying to make a career out of it for me, I hated it. It wasn’t fun. I was ten when I finally worked up the courage to say I didn’t want to do it anymore.”
Just as I’d thought. “Is that why you only started performing in the school plays senior year? Afraid if you showed any interest in acting your mom would turn into the stage mother from hell again?”
An arrested expression comes over her face. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I did.”
I’m not the least embarrassed at what that revealed about my feelings for her in high school. “Yeah, well now you know.”
She blushes and averts her gaze from mine. I want to kiss her so bad it’s like a physical ache. To take my mind off my body’s growing demand, I get the conversation back on track. “Ever thought that’s why you don’t want to major in theater?”
“It’s definitely one of the detractors,” she admits, looking at me.
“Well it doesn’t have to be.”
“We’ll see,” is all she says, her expression thoughtful.
By the time we head back to the hotel, it’s been over two hours but it feels like half that.
When she excused herself to go to the restroom back at the restaurant, I’d called Bill. I asked him two things: Are you in the room? No. When do you plan on getting back? He snickered before he told me he found himself his own French amour and not to expect him back until after midnight.
I’m holding her hand as we head toward the elevator and I pull her tighter against me. Flushed a soft pink, she peers up at me.
“It’s still early. You want to come to my room?”
It feels like an eternity elapses before she blinks and replies softly, “Okay.”
In her eyes I see a promise of what’s to come. She only drank one glass of wine and finished it an hour before, so I know she’s not even buzzed. I want her lucid and one hundred percent participating.
I can’t get us to my room fast enough. In front of my hotel door, I treat myself to a police pat down, searching for the keycard.
“What about Bill?” she asks tentatively.
I pat the upper pocket on my sports jacket. Got it! “Bill won’t be back until after midnight.”
At my words, her hazel eyes widen. While she digests the full meaning of that, I swipe the card, turn the handle and push the door open.
She pauses at the threshold and I see conflicting emotions flash across her face. I don’t want to do anything she’s not sure of.
“Listen, if you want to go back—”
She enters the room and the door closes behind her. “No, I want to be here. With you.”
***
OLIVIA
“C’mere.” His voice is low and sexy with a hint of a growl.
My feet move on their own accord because I can’t seem to stop them. Then I’m standing inches in front of him, my head tipped up so I can look into his smoldering gaze. I trace the curve of his lips with my eyes and I can’t remember ever wanting something as badly as I want to be in his arms, his mouth on mine.
His hands steal around my waist as he oh so slowly pulls me to him, my breasts making full contact with his chest. I place my hands on his shoulders, then loop my arms around his neck.
I expect him to kiss me but he just stands there unmoving, staring down at me. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, confused and growing hungrily impatient.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “If you only knew how much I want you.”
I tilt my hips against the physical evidence of that pressed against my lower stomach. Zach lets out a tortured groan. Desire flares hotly in his eyes before he gathers me closer, lowering his head and taking my mouth with his.
The kiss isn’t hot, it’s incendiary, searing through me like a bushfire doused with gasoline. His tongue plunges into my mouth and begins making sweeping forays as if he’s a sculptor mesmerizing the texture, the wetness, every hollow and ridge.
Eyes closed, I follow his lead, chasing his tongue in a dance that starts out fevered and frantic, then slows to something deeper and languid until we’re both frantic again, trying to get more from the other.
His hand tracks from the small of my back to my bottom. Cupping one cheek, he grinds me hard against him. I gasp and, debilitated by lust, my legs lose all capacity to support myself and I go limp in his arms.
Without breaking the kiss, Zach maneuvers us until we’re lying on the bed, me on top of him. I feel his hands tugging down the zipper at the back, and before I can form a thought, I feel a rush of air on my upper breasts. Then he pushes the shiny blue material from my shoulders and watches as it pools around my waist. He removes my bra with indecent haste, his fingers deftly unhooking and dropping it onto the carpet.
“Jesus Christ, Liv,” he says hoarsely before lifting his head and taking my nipple in his mouth.
Ooooooh God.
It feels so good, I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning loud enough to alert guests in the surrounding area to what’s going on in room 923. I clasp the back of his head with both hands and run my fingers through his hair, the dark strands soft and silky.
A moan that originates from deep in my chest comes tumbling out of my mouth when he uses his tongue to trace around the areola before suckling my nipple back into his mouth.
My impatience turns me ravenous and all I can think about is seeing him, touching him the same way he’s touching me. High on desire and lust, I lean back, my hands finding the hem of his sweater, and tugging up.
“Liv,” he moans, his mouth switching to the other breast. It takes him another minute before he continues and by that time, I’m practically incoherent. I don’t think I could’ve formed a sentence to save my life. “I want you.”
I know exactly what he’s saying—know what he’s asking. “Zach,” is all I can manage, which in my mind equates to, Yes, please oh God.
Before I can blink, his shirt is off, and I have an up-close and personal view of his muscled chest and honest-to-God, lickable washboard abs. Like a smorgasbord, my hands and lips run amuck as I press him down onto the bed, straddling his waist and trapping him under me.
With the top half of my dress around my waist, one of his hands is stroking the length of my back, his touch arousing and gentle, his other
hand is rhythmically squeezing my butt, driving me crazy.
Reluctantly, I abandon his chest to tackle the button and zip on his chinos.
“Wait. Hold on,” he says in a graveled voice I barely recognize.
When I finally had sex, I always thought I’d be more nervous, shier. But the glazed look in Zach’s eyes, the roughness of his voice sends anticipation zinging through me. Being with Zach is not at all like making out with Jeff. With Jeff I was never really tempted to give in. With him, I’d hung on tight to my virginity. With Zach, the burning need to be with him like this pushes every other thought from my head. I want this connection with him. Want it more than I could have ever imagined wanting anything.
Zach rolls to the side and opens the drawer of the nightstand and begins rooting around inside. After several seconds, brow creased, he sets me gently aside and pushes himself into a sitting position, his feet on the floor. He yanks the drawer out as far as it can go. His movements become desperate.
“Shit. Where the fuck—?”
The moment I hear that, something clicks inside me and I know exactly what he’s looking for. I drag my dress up to cover my breasts, too self-conscious to sit on the bed half-naked.
Scowling and looking slightly frantic, Zach bolts to his feet and begins pulling out the drawers of the dresser.
I clear my throat. “No condom?”
“Dammit. I put them right there.” Shirtless, he points to the nightstand and then plows both hands through his hair, the dark strands spiked and disheveled. Incredibly sexy. I scramble off the bed and retrieve my purse from the dresser.
My mom has always taught me to be prepared and although I told myself I wasn’t going to need protection, that trusty voice inside me had urged me to be ready for the “in case”. Tonight I’m glad I listened.
Not giving up hope, Zach goes to the closet and yanks his suitcase from inside. He opens it there on the floor and rifles through its contents but after a half a minute, he rises, defeat and frustration written all over his face.
“Looking for one of these?” A foil package dangles from my fingers. I try to make my voice light and teasing but my question is all unadulterated need and want as my body hums in anticipation.
By the look on his face, you’d think I just discovered the Holy Grail or the Cowboys won the Super Bowl again. It’s a mixture of relief and the kind of joy a guy gets when he’s going to get some.
“Thank God.”
Taking the condom from me, he gently lowers my hand from where it was holding my bodice up and walks me backward until the back of my knees hit the mattress. Then he’s lowering me onto the bed, settling between my thighs.
From the way he undresses me, taking his time, kissing every bit of flesh he uncovers, it’s obvious this isn’t his first time. After every stitch of fabric I had on litters the floor, he makes quick work of stripping off the rest of his. Then he’s over me, all broad shoulders, muscled chest and arms and smooth, golden skin. I’ve never seen anything this beautiful in my life.
With my palms flat against his chest, I run my hands from his defined pecs to the rippled hardness of his abs until he lowers himself on top of me. My hands then move to his back.
When he starts to kiss me again, I lose all sense of time, transported from the here and now. Not one inch of me goes unattended: my breasts, my stomach, my hips, my butt. Everything he does heightens every one of my senses so that when I wrap my legs around his hips and he thrusts into me, I’m so far gone, I don’t tense up but tilt my hips and let his rhythm take me.
What I’d always imagined would be a painful experience turns out to be no more than a pinch of discomfort and before too long, I’m experiencing the kind of pleasure I’d only ever read and heard about.
The race to the top is hot and wild as he pounds into me. The peak is high as he captures my breathless cries in his mouth. The descent is long and languid. I come down from it cocooned in a haze of passion…supremely sated.
~*~*~
“What time did you say Bill will be back?”
We’re lying on our sides, spoon-fashion and he’s nibbling on my neck. I sigh. I could stay like this all day, him holding me, me in his arms.
A glance at the clock on the night stand beside me tells me it’s almost midnight.
“Sometime after midnight,” he mumbles, tightening his arms around me, one hand moving to cup my breast. A bolt of pleasure arrows through me to start a dull throbbing in my center.
“I wish you could spend the night,” he says, his voice muffled by his lips on my neck. “I already want you again.”
The way my bottom is pressing against him, my body definitely concurs. And there’s nothing I want more. But we’re on a class trip and that’s not going to happen.
“Come on, we need to get up. With my luck, Bill will come back early and find us…like this.” With a sweep of my hand, I gesture to our entwined legs and the way our damp bodies are melded together.
Zach takes his time removing his hands from me. He slowly sits up and swings his feet to the floor. As I’m visually caressing the gorgeous contours of his back, he slants me a suggestive look over his shoulder as if to say, You sure?
Yes. Um no. Argh!
It takes him seconds to step into his boxer briefs and then his pants. Instead of following his lead, I remain on the bed, clutching the sheet to my shoulders and watch him as if he’s my personal peep show.
Turning, he sees me staring and a predatory smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t tempt me,” he warns.
My face flames hotter. Now fully conscious that I’m stark frickin’ naked, I search the dimly lit room and spy my discarded clothes on the floor.
The break in eye contact seems to clear Zach’s head because he gives it two shakes before he moves to pick up my dress, my silky bra and my barely there thong. “Turn around,” he says, his voice strained.
Zach helping me dress is not what I had in mind—and given the tenuous nature of our control, so not a good idea—but I instinctively follow his command, exposing my bare back to him.
His sharp intake both excites and floors me. I love knowing he wants me this much.
In a silence thick with more sexual possibilities, he helps me on with my bra, securing the back hooks while I adjust the cups in the front. The whole time we’re working in concert, I can feel the moist warmth of his breath on my neck.
Just as I’m reaching to pull the top half of my dress in place, his hands come around from the back and cup my breasts in his palms.
“Just one last feel to keep me tonight,” he says through a groan, his mouth open on the side of my neck.
White-hot desire throbs in my lower stomach and my breath becomes reedy as if I’m gulping air instead of breathing it. It’s like his touch is too much and my body can’t stand the stimulation. I once heard sex described as sweet agony and now I know exactly why.
“Hmm,” I say, unable to get out more than that.
Suddenly he’s gone, his hands, his mouth, the press of his chest against my back. Gone. Still in my fog, I turn and peer up at him, my eyes unfocused for a second before he comes into sharp focus, the tense set of his jaw, the hot glittering awareness in his blue eyes, the distention in the front of his pants.
“Come on before I do something extremely foolish.”
I’m sitting not a foot away from him but I have to strain my ears to hear him and he looks and sounds like a man hanging on to his control by a thread.
The tab of the zip is like soap in my shaky fingers. Zach brushes my hands aside and completes the task of zipping me all the way up. After he’s done, there’s another couple of seconds where neither of us moves, then we’re both moving at once, me off the bed and him toward the door.
In silence, he walks me to my room. He kisses me one more time at the door. Short, hard and sweet. I watch him head back toward his room. He looks back twice to find me still standing in the doorway. He doesn’t say goodnight and neither do I. I don’
t have to because it’s already been the best one of my life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ZACH
I’ve never been unsure of myself around girls. Maybe it’s because I grew up watching my brother pretty much have his way with any and all he chose. And being the younger brother of a pro football player doesn’t exactly work against me when it comes to getting girls. Being a football player doesn’t hurt either. My looks may play into the way they respond to me in the beginning, but as I know, having dated several beautiful girls, that can fade pretty damn quick.
But facing Olivia the day after what was definitely the best sex I’ve ever had has me…I don’t know, unsettled. I like her…a lot. More than I can remember liking any girl.
I’m standing in the lobby of the hotel and staring out at the city around me. This is Paris, the city of love as the saying goes. I guess it’s pretty easy to fall for her here of all places. I dismiss the voice inside me reminding me how much I liked her before the blowup.
“Zach.”
I turn at Olivia calling my name. I spot her coming toward me and she’s wearing a shy smile, her face glowing. Today she’s covered up to the hilt, wearing a tan cowl neck sweater and a pair of dark-green pants that do incredible things to her legs and ass.
I swallow. “Hey,” I say when she reaches my side. I kiss her just the way I did at her door last night, as if it’s the most natural thing to do. Her response is immediate, which makes me feel ten feet tall. I break it off. The class is supposed to meet here for our trip to Le Louvre. A couple of the girls, whom I’ve already greeted, are milling over by the gift shop until the teacher and the others come down.
“I-um-it’s supposed to be cold today.”
“You look great.”
She laughs softly. “I wasn’t fishing.”
“I know you weren’t but that doesn’t change the fact that you look good.”
Her face goes through three shades of pink.
“Where’s Rebecca?”
“Talking to her mom. She’ll be down in a few minutes. I figured she’d want some privacy to talk, ya know?”
When in Paris... (Language of Love) Page 18