An Acute Attraction
A J Walters
Copyright© A J Walters, 2013
All right reserved
Front Cover Copyright© John Walters, 2013
Dedication:
To the two most important young men there will ever be in my life. I love you so much and thank you for your patience.
Mum. X
Prologue
Turning back to me, he gently shifts the hair that is settled against my cheek. The same electrical charge I felt earlier is conducted through my body and fisting the hair at the nape of my neck, he brings his mouth down to mine. All I can do is to hold tight on to his athletic upper arms, afraid that my legs might buckle any moment now. Exploring my mouth, the taste of the whisky transferring from his tongue makes it all the sweeter. The kiss intensifies as he pulls me closer. Having the need to come up for air, he releases my mouth, but not before biting on my lower lip.
I watch on as he removes his blue suit jacket and tie, and I am caught up, mesmerized by this man. It is as though I have been drugged by his touch, by his kiss.
Never taking his eyes off of me, in a low dulcet tone he asks;
“Isabel, what do you want? What do you need?”
Only one answer comes to mind.
“You!”
The smoothness in which he delivered his question was suddenly gone. Roughly he takes my mouth again and this time both of our tongues are in search for what we want. While I have both of my hands flat against the taught contours of his chest, Marc brings one hand up in to my hair as the other desperately reaches for the hem of my dress.
Once he holds it, he uses both of his hands to pull the dress up over my head. He looks down at me, studying hungrily. All of the insecurities I had earlier vanish as he gazes at my ample breast, the nipples of which are audaciously teasing him.
“You are beautiful,” he breathes.
I can feel the sting of a tear at the corner of my eye, as no man has ever said that to me. Fighting to control my emotions, I can then see where this is leading.
“I have to ask, is it safe for us to do this? You know?”
He glides his hands over my shoulders and down my arms, “I know what you are trying to ask and yes it’s safe.”
Without warning I shift the power of what he is doing over to me.
Feeling brave I remove Marc’s clothing, revealing broad shoulders, a smattering of chest hair and a well-defined stomach. I inhale at the sight and smell of this man. All he is left standing in is his black boxer briefs. My hand reaches for him, when he abruptly stops me.
“My turn again.”
Marc presses delicate kisses down one side of my neck and shoulders. Taking off my bra and lace topped knickers; he discards them on to the floor. Once I am completely naked, Marc takes a hold of my full breasts, rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, whilst taking the other distended nipple into his mouth. His touch is exquisite and already aroused from the foreplay, I let out a moan as my hands take in his hair. I close my eyes to heighten the pleasure of him nuzzling at my breast.
I want this man and somehow Marc knows exactly what I am thinking. Pushing me back to one of the sofas, I stumble back on to it. Then grabbing my thighs he pulls me towards him so that I am now virtually lying on it, so I am open and ready for him.
I silently curse at the first touch of his keen tongue, playing and teasing. Slipping one and then two fingers into me to join his tongue causes me to release a sob of sexual pleasure, as they achingly slowly at first, work in unison.
My first orgasm is beginning to build. I am so close and this is how I want it to be. Marc sets a rhythm with his fingers and as I tighten around them, he rubs the most sensitive part of me with his thumb. That is the undoing of me and bowing my back, I come hard. I am still breathing hard when Marc closes his warm mouth over mine. I can no longer taste whisky, but the sweet juices that had just gushed out of me.
“You are amazing Isabel.”
Having the need to touch him, I reach down, finding him hard and rigid. Fighting against the material of his briefs, I release him and I am able to wrap my fingers around. I can feel his erection pulsating against my palm and twitch when my thumb caresses the head of him. With a steady cadence of my hand; Marc groans. I want to be as attentive to him as he has been to me and share the glorious sensual connection we have. Soon the longing becomes too much for either of us, Marc desires release and I have an urgent need to feel him inside of me.
Taking my right hand, he holds it above me on the sofa and gently slides into me, which is made easier with my earlier orgasm. Hooking my legs over his shoulders means he can thrust deeper into me and it is only at that point I realise I still have my heels on. No matter, my body and mind is with this man in this moment. The velocity in which Marc moves in and out of me means we are both close to our impending orgasms. Feeling me tighten around him has the desired effect on Marc.
Panting heavily Marc calls “Come with me Isabel, please”
The noise from the both of us signals our joint climax.
Collapsing on top of me, spent and exhausted, Marc finally let’s go of my hand. My legs ache as I wearily drop them to his sides. Beads of sweat mingle as one as he lies outstretched across my body. In an attempt not to hurt me, Marc distributes his weight to one side.
After what seems like an eternity, Marc finally lifts his head and places a tender kiss upon my breasts. I shiver from both the touch of him and the cold that is now descending around us. Sliding out of me, Marc stands holding out a hand for me to take. No more words are exchanged until I’m enveloped in his warm arms and the comforting cover of his bed.
Kissing the top of my head, I hear Marc whisper for the second time just before sleep takes over us,
“You’re beautiful.”
Just how the heck did I get here?
Chapter 1
This is exactly what I, Isabel Chambers, need. Being a single mother to two; wonderful, intelligent boys, weekends like this never come along!
Working as a Junior School teacher certainly has its perks, especially when it comes to the summer holidays. This year however, is the first time that “number one” son is old enough to stay home alone and “number two” son is spending a fun packed week down in Suffolk, 150 miles away from home, with his grandparents. So having nervously left him in their capable hands, I have checked into my hotel and it is only now I feel I can begin to relax.
Sat in the swanky hotel lounge, I can smell the luxury of the leather upholstery. I make sure I am sitting in a prime position so that I can participate in my third…no fourth favourite hobby…People Watching! I’ll let you guess the first three. The Haveril Lodge is located on the outskirts of a small town just 15 minutes away from where “Number two” son is staying. It isn’t particularly busy, but whilst sipping on a cool glass of Pinot Grigio, I am witnessing a steady stream of comings and goings.
There is a group of Spanish men, dressed in jeans, t-shirts or polo shirts. On their feet they wear cement splattered boots….Ah ha! They’re building a new science research park down the road; an ideal location, with it being twenty minutes from Cambridge and the University.
A middle aged couple both smartly dressed then attracts my attention. The gentleman, greying slightly, carries a suit with its protective cover and a black holdall. His petite wife, or partner, following him holds a floral hat box in one hand and wheels a small blue suitcase with the other….Wedding! I’d put my money on them attending a wedding.
I smile to myself. Weddings! Silently toasting the happy couple, I wish them good luck; they’ll need it at some point in their joyous life together. Not that I’m bitter or anything, Oh no! Having reached for my glass, I take a mouthful of
the ever so sweet liquid. Not sweet in taste, but sweet for the situation I’m in right now. I slowly close my eyes savouring the taste, sighing with happiness. Opening them again I look up……
Holding back a cough and splutter I cover my mouth with my hand, so as not to lose any of the precious nectar I’m holding. Oh my! I intently watch the next guest to arrive in the reception, mesmerised, for all I know he could be walking on water for how his streamlined and buff body glides to the desk. Shifting in my seat, I try my best to over hear the conversation between this God of a man and the young receptionist. Standing at least 6ft tall, he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he leans over the desk. Although his dark brown hair isn’t especially long, the front strands flop deliciously over his face. I envisage running my fingers through it as he looks longingly into my olive green eyes. What tops off his look though is how damn hot he looks in the blue 3-piece suit he’s wearing. He casually leans against the desk with one hand inside a trouser pocket, looking directly at the receptionist as she speaks; I am surprised she can even get a word out and not be hypnotised by his presence.
It’s only when I feel the cold wine being spilled on to my lap, I realise I’ve been holding my breath. Dammit! I stand putting my glass down on to the glass table in front of me. Wiping my now wet trousers down, I curse to myself. Embarrassed and blushing furiously, I look around to make sure nobody has seen me make a complete arse of myself. Oh God, please don’t let him have seen. Glancing over to the desk I notice he’s no longer there. Should I be relieved? What if he saw the whole spectacle? Dropping heavily into my seat I yet again curse, being clumsy is just one of my faults, along with suffering from ‘Foot in mouth syndrome’…Oh and being too inquisitive has got me into trouble in the past, yet I still haven’t learning anything from it.
This is the woman that once walked into a shop in the middle of summer looking for a job. I casually walked up to a shop assistant and to make conversation said how the heat must be terrible in her ‘condition’, only then to be told she wasn’t pregnant and had in fact lost 3 stone in weight. Needless to say I slinked back out without picking up an application form.
“Well done Miss Chambers, well done”, I say to myself.
Hoping that a shower will dispel the smell of humiliation as well as alcohol, I head to my room on the first floor. As rooms go in a hotel, number 112 is sufficient. It had nearly everything I needed for a short stay: Soft double bed: needed more pillows though; a decent hair dryer; flat screen TV; tea and coffee making facilities: no skimmed milk, just creamer; a view over the car park; and a power shower lacking in the power department.
Ok so it was adequate.
Now, just to let you know, I’m not a body confident woman. A size 18-20, but having recently dropped three dress sizes I was getting better…until I step into a shower that has floor to ceiling mirrors surrounding it – room downgraded again!
Despite all of that, the Non-power shower has been refreshing. Now sat at the dresser with my red/auburn tresses piled high in a towel; I apply the new lush, vanilla scented body lotion I treated myself to. Inhaling such a sweet aroma means I can almost taste it. Mmm! I wonder if it would be the same for the dark, handsome mystery guy. Shaking such thoughts from my mind, I continue to get ready for the evening. Sliding into the blue knee length dress, straightening my hair and applying a little make –up I am almost ready. Being the age I am, I don’t go mad, a tad of foundation, eye shadow and mascara will do, and without being too modest, I feel and look pretty good, airing on sexy. Oh yeah!
For dinner I opt to dine in a restaurant just a couple of blocks away. It is the mouth-watering smell of steaks being grilled that entices me in; I do have a weakness for a tender, juicy steak. Inside the atmosphere is set with low lighting, easy listening background music and cheerful chatter. Needless to say the food tastes as good as it smells and accompanied with a crisp white glass of wine, it really has been a lovely evening. So leaving feeling happy and full, I saunter back to the hotel. According to the reception clock it is 8.30pm by the time I get back. The bar is open 24/7 so I know I can sit back and relax. Before heading on off up to bed, I call “Number one” son to make sure the house hasn’t been burnt down or blown up. I have no need to worry however; as he says everything is fine and is enjoying the peace and quiet. I sense he is enjoying being on his own a little too much and just hope I don’t get home next weekend to find the locks changed!
The following day I take it easy by taking a gentle stroll into the town and around the outdoor market. The high street is like a ghost town compared to how it used to be before we moved away, the recession has had an impact on all businesses here and it is such a shame. The one place that doesn’t seemed to have lost much trade, is the pub on the square as you can still get a decent cheap meal and drink from it, which is where I head off to spend a couple of hours reading with a cup of coffee or two.
An hour after I arrive back at the hotel, I am sitting in the bar area and have just finished reading the local newspaper when I see him. Oh.My.God! I’m sure I could hear a celestial choir of angels signalling his arrival. Willing my heart to slow from its rapid beating, I take several deep breaths. Calm yourself Chambers, he’s just a man. Ok, a goddam sumptuous and heavenly looking man, but still just a man.
Distraction! Thinking of a distraction I decide to go over to the bar and order another Pinot. With a half full glass in hand I call one of the bartenders over. Realising I now look like an alcoholic; I turn to return to my seat.
“Shit!” I look upwards to where those angels could have alerted me.
Not two seats away from where my jacket is draped over a chair, Mr Fantastic is sitting back with his right foot leisurely resting on his left thigh, as he casually reads a broadsheet newspaper.
This is stupid! Deciding to get a grip of myself, I valiantly walk back to my seat, placing both of the large wine glasses on to the dark oak table. I have brought my kindle with me, if I’m honest I take it everywhere and so reaching into my bag I pull it out to find the latest, newly released book I have been reading for the past week. I’m not afraid to admit that I enjoy reading contemporary, erotic romance novels, just like the one’s you’ve read no doubt. Saying that, I’m thankful that the advantage of having a Kindle is that there is no cover to the book to advertise the fact. Starting from where I left off, I continue reading occasionally sipping at my wine.
Don’t ask me what makes me look up from my book; I must have a sixth sense or something, but when I do, Mr Fantastic is looking directly at me, with an amused look on his beautifully sculptured face.
As I am looking behind to see if there is someone else standing there, he speaks to me, yes to me!
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare at you. It’s just that you were making some rather interesting faces. Then when you giggled to yourself and bit your lip… Well I just found it amusing; in a winsome kind of way of course.”
I listen to his seductive American accent, but my sense of hearing has shut down not long after he said “interesting faces”, so his hot, sensual mouth is still moving without any of the sound coming out.
Once I see he has stopped I reply “Oh!”
You have got to be kidding me Chambers. Oh! Is that all I can say? Bloody “Oh!”
If I could, I would face plant myself on to the table right this instant, however knowing that it isn’t an option here I continue.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to disturb you from your reading.”
“Oh you didn’t don’t worry. I found it, how can I say, cute in a way.”
Did my stomach just do a spectacular, triple axel or am I imagining it? As the row of six perfect scores goes up, I deduce that it wasn’t my imagination.
Turning his attention back to his paper, it takes me a good 5 minutes to compose myself. I need to talk to my best friend Jackie like now. This is a moment where I know I really need her and her sound, logical thinking advice.
I am taken back
to the conversation we had one month earlier, leading up to me making the leap of faith and coming down here:
“It will do you the world of good Izzy, you need to take some time out and I don’t think you’ll find as perfect time as now. You’re 39 years old and you’ve not spent anytime away from the boys in nearly 10 years.”
Blowing my piping hot cappuccino to cool it down, I half listen to my best friend Jackie and half to the little voice in the back of my head saying I’m nuts! I don’t disagree with either of them.
“You really deserve this. Being a working single mother is tough and you can’t switch off from it. You need to be there emotionally 24hours a day, 7 days a week, but the boys are growing up now, so it’s time to think about you for a little while. I personally can’t think of any reason as to why you shouldn’t go.” Oh, oh! Jackie has her serious face on and emphasises the seriousness by sitting back crossing her arms.
I know she is right. I’ve been on my own for 4 years since he who shall not be named “left”. Believe me when I say it was the best thing to happen to us and I became a far stronger woman through it. The children are happier and thriving in school. I can see the both of them being heart breakers in the future, not in a malicious way of course, but because of what young gentlemen they are already growing up to be. Now however, I am starting to feel a bit lost and lonely. My social life is virtually zilch, so it seems it’s currently all work and no play. I think I’ve also forgotten how to talk as an adult to an adult, what with working as a teacher as well. I love my children to bits, don’t get me wrong, but something is missing! What that is I have yet to find out. Is it the lack of male companionship? Or is it that I need to discover myself again, start living my life, go places and make discoveries? I sigh to myself. I’ve tried setting up a single parent group, but unfortunately there was no interest in it. I seriously considered starting dance lessons; hey! you can stop cringing like that, it was Ballroom and not street, but guess what? I needed a partner. I sounded a bit pathetic over the phone when explaining I didn’t have anyone and didn’t exactly enjoy the sympathetic tone in the woman’s voice when she said that there weren’t any other ‘singletons’ at the class. Why is it then, I’m still trying to talk myself out of it?
An Acute Attraction Page 1