BornontheBayou

by Lynne Connolly

  She bent and kissed him. He snaked a hand around the back of her neck and they lost themselves in each other for a time. She felt as though she was at the beginning of a new journey and, after all, a night could be a long time. A night’s journey.

  He sat up, taking her with him, and swung her body over him so she was lying in his lap lengthwise. Finishing the kiss, he gazed down at her, finding a strand of hair to wrap around his finger. He let it go, the curl he’d made springing back, watching it with a fascination that made her wonder if that was the part of her he wanted to write about.

  “I suggest a shower and some food. Then we can go again, but I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast at the airport and my stomach thinks I’m taking out divorce papers. I let a perfectly good beignet go to waste because you needed me.”

  “I did not need you.” She laughed, letting the sound bathe her in delight. “I knew exactly what I wanted. Penny needed you.”

  “And you needed Penny. I loved your face when you saw what she was showing you with the colors.”

  “I enjoy learning new things.” She couldn’t remember telling anyone that before. Nobody had asked.

  “I bet they loved you at school.” She stayed silent and lowered her gaze. He tucked a finger under her chin and urged her to look up at him. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

  “I just got by at school,” she admitted. “I was too busy helping out at night. My parents were building their reputation then. They’d bought their first restaurant and it was hard at first. Besides, I didn’t like school half so much.”

  He looked concerned, though she didn’t know why. “Did they work you hard, your parents?”

  She forced a smile. “Yes, but I didn’t mind. That is, I minded at the time, but I got the bug. The cooking bug. I loved creating and watching my father create.”

  “Sure.” He pulled her closer and his nipple rings imprinted on her arm. She loved his warmth, could soak it up. “So tell me about cooking. Why aren’t you in a kitchen now? If you love it so much, what’s stopping you?”

  People asked her that all the time, and until recently tears sprang to her eyes every time she told them. It was no different now. But he wouldn’t let her look away, although his expression softened.

  She told him. “It’s flour. I developed an allergy to flour.” She swallowed. “Not cooked flour, but raw flour. It’s the dust, they think. It started with asthma-like attacks, and then I got a rash on my hands and arms. I could put up with that, but it got worse until one day I nearly died. I went into anaphylactic shock.”

  “Oh no, poor baby.” He stroked his hand up her back and she felt better. He sounded truly sorry.

  “After that, I tried wearing gloves and a mask. I wanted to be like my father, and I loved spending time in the kitchen with him. So it was worth trying.”

  “Not if it sends you into shock.”

  She shook her head. He’d removed his finger from under her chin, leaving her still gazing into his eyes. She swallowed. “I tried to carry on, but I couldn’t do it with the mask and gloves. I need to feel the food, gauge textures, test ripeness, all kinds of things.” Emotion moistened her eyes. “It was like being bereaved. I didn’t know anything else, didn’t know how to live outside a kitchen.”

  “Hence the lack of dress sense.” He got to his feet, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, which she knew was far from the case, and took them into the bathroom. He switched on the shower and tested it with his hand before gently putting her down under the deliciously warm stream. “I’ll join you in a minute,” he said. “Do you want anything in particular from room service?”

  She shook her head and reached for the little bottle of shampoo. She’d have to remember to use only half, because he had almost as much hair as she did.

  Beverley’s bravery astonished Jace. To give up something she’d imagined would take up all her life and move on to something new, in a new country even, filled him with awe. He’d never done anything without somebody at his back.

  He felt strangely protective of her. He had affairs all the time, and one-night stands weren’t uncommon although he rarely had them with new people anymore. Rather, he’d developed the sailor’s habit of having a girl in every port, the electronic equivalent of a little black book, with numbers he could call if he wanted company. They all knew the score. Would Beverley?

  He doubted it. She didn’t seem the kind of woman who would accept a casual affair, or someone he could call when he was in town. He usually found a willing woman, fucked her brains out and moved on, leaving them both happy. Jace knew women liked him. He’d have to be plumb stupid not to realize they followed him around. They always had, long before he’d been legal, and he’d had quite a few hurried, furtive fucks with women before his seventeenth birthday.

  Men too, for that matter, but as he got older Jace found he preferred women. Men provided spice and difference to his sex life, but he didn’t get the same kick so he wouldn’t call himself bisexual. Bi-curious, maybe.

  He didn’t want Beverley getting too hooked on him but he knew she’d cope. No waif, she, for all her inexperience. He grinned as he picked up the menu and found the phone.

  He glanced at the mirror opposite the bed. This room was festooned with mirrors. He saw Jace, the man he’d seen growing up, but other people saw Jace Beauchene, rock star, an image rather than a person. He sometimes found it hard seeing that person, the rock star, but other people did that first. He loved that Beverley didn’t.

  His reluctance to leave her shocked him, but sometime this afternoon he’d realized he wanted more from Beverley than a little afternoon delight before he moved on. Which was downright strange. Since childhood his passion had been for his music. He tended to play it down, not let people know how passionately he felt about what he did, but now the world knew and he had an excuse to spend the day doing what he loved.

  He hadn’t thought of his guitar once today, not until now. Usually he’d bring it into a hotel himself, spend some time every day practicing and noodling, letting his brain work with the music, revealing textures and colors. He’d left it in the car.

  Beverley had talked about feeling textures and suddenly he saw what she meant. If he had to play wearing thin latex gloves, he could, but he wouldn’t be in direct contact with the music anymore. Or if his hearing became impaired and he had to lose touch with some of the ranges he took for granted. Hunter, the band’s drummer, had started in percussion to please his deaf mother. Jace would die, or he’d want to, if he couldn’t hear anymore.

  If Beverley was as devoted to food as he was to his music, her bravery in making a clean break and moving on astounded him­—that she could accept that part of her life was over and let it go. Except he suspected she hadn’t let it go yet. She didn’t talk about it except in dispassionate terms. So he guessed that it still hurt her to think about it.

  He wanted more time with her, and he wanted to make absolutely sure she’d be okay. He didn’t have to be in Atlanta for a few days yet. If Chick had booked them on to a TV or radio show, they could work around him.

  After all, he owed her. And she was fucking hot.

  He wondered if she’d ever had shower sex. He had two more condoms before he needed to go out for supplies.

  Grabbing one, he headed for the sound of running water.

  She jumped when he stepped in and slid his hand around her waist. “Naughty thoughts?” he queried. He cupped her breasts, adoring the way the plump mounds settled in his hands. When he peaked her nipples with his fingers, satisfaction warmed him at her sigh and he felt the soft peaks harden. She had such sensitive nipples. Gorgeous breasts.

  His cock rose and he moved closer to feel the welcoming heat of her back. She moved forward so he could share the shower. The enclosure was plenty big enough for two, and the clear glass gave an almost unimpeded view of the full-length mirror in the bedroom beyond. He’d been in too much of a hurry to close the door.

  He knew already that
she didn’t like to look at herself. She’d turned away from the mirrors at Penny’s until she’d gotten used to seeing herself and then become entranced by the looks Penny created for her.

  Time she got used to seeing herself, because she was well worth the view.

  He urged her to turn around, keeping himself flat against her back so she couldn’t turn back when she noticed the big bathroom mirror, which she did almost immediately.

  She flinched and turned her head to gaze at him instead. He couldn’t resist taking the kiss, because her parted lips invited it. She tasted wonderful, even her mouth taking him over. Jace had kissed enough frogs to know a princess when he got one and he finally admitted to himself that he didn’t want to let her go just yet.

  After he’d thrust his tongue into her mouth, indulging himself by taking what he’d wanted all day, he finished the kiss, smiled and turned her back toward the mirror. “Go on. Watch.”

  She looked. He could see all of her body, sweetly curved, the breasts weighed in his hands, the nipples pert and hard. Her waist curved in, a dip that made him want to shape it, but if he did, he’d have to release her breasts and he didn’t want to do that yet. His cock pressed against her, hot and ready. When he moved he knew all the dampness hadn’t come from the showerhead. He’d put on the protection before he fucked her, but he wanted to feel her, skin to skin, for as long as he could. She had gorgeous skin, satiny and warm, tempting him every time he touched her.

  “Look at that,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She didn’t sound happy but she turned around and stared into the mirror.

  “Relax, Beverley. Let me take care of you.” He kissed her shoulder, licked her skin as if it were a tasty morsel.

  Laughter colored her voice. “You mean you want to fuck me rigid.”

  “Something like that. Any objections?”

  Now her voice darkened. “None whatsoever.” She bit her lip. “But do I have to watch?”

  “Yes, you do. If you don’t, I won’t fuck you. You wouldn’t want me to suffer, would you?”

  “Oh, that could be fun.”

  He laughed as he stroked her, smoothing his hands gently down her body. He lingered over her slightly curved belly, enjoying the pillowy softness. Until she tightened her muscles. “Hey, none of that. You have some flesh on you, but it’s gorgeous. Toned and sweet.”

  “Like belly of pork?”

  “Like you. Just like you. Get your mind off food. I ordered something to eat, but you’re going to have to work for it.”

  She wriggled against him and he moaned, let her hear what she did to him, though if she didn’t feel it she’d lost sensation in her lower back. Widening his stance, he bent his knees in a pose reminiscent of one that he used onstage. That gave him an idea that heated his blood.

  “What if I took you onstage with me? We played Madison Square Garden a few weeks ago. Imagine going naked onto that stage and, instead of a guitar, I’ll play you.” Growling, he bit the edge of her ear. She squeaked. “Keep watching,” he told her. “Or we’ll move straight to the meal.”

  He could just about reach the lever that switched off the water. The bathroom was warm now he’d worked out how to turn the air-conditioning down. They were going to get plenty wet enough. “Lean forward a little.”

  She did so and he anchored her with a hand around her waist. Her bottom pressed against his abdomen and he took a moment to glance down and take in the creamy curves. Shit, any more of this and he’d come before he got inside her. He hadn’t done that since his teenage years. Well, except for one or two times when he’d gotten too drunk or stoned and that was a while back now. Certainly not like this. Stone-cold sober and as excited as he’d been before his first public performance.

  What had made him talk about taking her onstage and fucking her in front of thousands? He wanted to keep her to himself. But there was no harm in a bit of fantasy, and that particular thought had him straining.

  Silence in the bathroom now, except for their breathing and the gentle whirr of the fan. He found the condom, tore it open with his teeth and put it on one-handed, keeping his other arm around her waist so she didn’t overbalance.

  He needed to make sure she was ready but he wanted to see her too. He opened her pussy lips, lifting her a little so they could see her clit peek through. “Do you think it wants me to touch it? Suck it? Would you like that, honey, for me to suck all the juice off your pretty clit? You taste good, I already know that.” He let his fingers slip through her folds until it reached her channel, slick and open and all too ready for him.

  His cock wouldn’t behave; he couldn’t get it into the right position to push inside her body, so he had to take his hand away from her. Before he took his dick in hand, he sucked his fingers and watched her eyes widen as he savored the feast. He winked. “Real good.”

  One finger, two, taking his time, then he gripped his cock and held it steady so he could breach her pussy. His eyes slid closed. It felt so fucking good, that moment of entry. Every nerve ending in his cock, and fuck, there had to be a million of them, went on full alert, all sighing in ecstasy as they entered the best place in the world. Thrills chased up his spine, heading for his brain, but with an effort, he cut them off at the pass and kept his wits. “Hands on either side of the door.”

  The clear shower panels were held in place by rigid aluminum structures, firmly bolted to the floor and ceiling. They should help her keep her balance. Just in case, he kept his arm around her waist. He didn’t want her going anywhere.

  She did as he told her but her head sank forward. He tugged on her hair, pulling back her head. “Up. Keep looking. Now open your legs on either side of mine.”

  Watching as if hypnotized, she glanced away only long enough to see where to put her hands, then back to the mirror again. “Surprised?” he murmured silkily.

  “Yes,” she whispered, so softly he could hardly hear her.

  He thrust. Hard, making sure he had her safe. She cried out and it sounded as good as any B note he’d ever heard. Not pure, simply perfect. He loved the moment his balls impacted against her, the sharp slap adding extra stimulation—as if he needed it. His involuntary grunt made her sigh, her breath frosting against the glass before it evaporated into thin air.

  He had her now. If he took a small step back and lifted her, he could find purchase against the tiles at the back of the shower stall, and that would give them a better view. He wanted to watch and he wanted to watch her watching.

  Fuck, what a turn-on. He had to fight to keep his semen where it belonged for now—inside him.

  After leaning against the narrow ledge of tiles, he had her straddling his thighs. She’d let go of the supports but he had her around the waist again. “Now look. See us? Me inside you? I’m moving now, but you’ll have to move too if you want to feel me hard inside you, shoving you closer.” She moved and thrills went down his cock to travel up his spine where a very happy dragon waited to absorb the sensation. “Oh yeah, that’s it.”

  He bent his legs a little more, letting her plant her feet on the nubbed floor tiles. She slid up and then down, and his avid stare met hers in the mirror. “You go, honey. Nobody but us here and I ain’t telling anyone what we’re doing. Feel free to do whatever you want. What turns you on?”

  “You do.”

  The simple response sent shivers through his cock and balls, tracking around his body, kittens chasing balls of yarn turning to electric currents short-circuiting. The outrageous images raced around his head and he knew he’d make use of them later.

  He thrust up, meeting her movements, which were tentative at first, as if she were feeling her way, then stronger as she felt safer. “I got you. You’re not going anywhere. Go for it, Beverley.”

  “I love the way you use all my name instead of Bev,” she said, surprising him by the sudden clarity. But she was moving now, leaning forward a tiny bit, and when she cried out, he knew she’d found her sweet spot. All on her own. Every hard drive hit it now.
He could almost feel it, the silky skin braced by firm muscle now working around him, small quivers warning him that she’d come before too long. So would he if he wasn’t careful. He wanted more, wanted this to last. Wanted memories.

  She found a rhythm and he followed it, maintaining the angle she’d discovered, willing her on, mind and body. Pressing his back against the wall, he firmed his stance. She was soaked now, and he reached around to open her up again, to see that magnificent pussy, wet with her arousal. Her scent, essentially female, wreathed around him, providing extra stimulus, as if he needed it.

  She looked so good, the inside of an oyster flushed pink, a rare orchid. His cock rammed inside her, taking her with a force he couldn’t stop now. But he wouldn’t come, not yet. He gritted his teeth and slammed his head against the tiles to give him a shot of pain, trying to stop the inevitable for a few minutes longer.

  The ripples around his cock grew in intensity and her mouth opened, as if she couldn’t get enough air any other way. Her little cries mingled with his lower but just as heartfelt sounds. He used her name again, the sound sweet on his tongue, but not as sweet as her juices.

  She screamed his name and tried to move off him, but he held her down, the quivers becoming hard, brutal contractions, milking him so he couldn’t hold back any longer. He cried out as he came, beyond words now.

  He used the strength he had left to switch on the shower again, in case she got cold.

  * * * * *

  Wrapped in bathrobes, they shared the meal a waiter had brought up about five minutes after they’d exited the shower. He kept her cinched to his side while the man laid out the meal. He wouldn’t give her a chance to feel ashamed or back off. He wanted more of the dangerous intimacy he felt around her. He had to watch that, it might get addictive, and then fuck knew what he might do.