The Best Laid Plans

by Mataya, Tamara

  As soon as he got close enough, she was going to bite that lower lip and kiss him with everything she had until he couldn’t do anything but throw her down and fuck her right here on the floor.

  He came close, closer, almost close enough, but veered south at the last second, lips landing on her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Every single nerve woke, hyper aware of his presence, begging to be soothed by his touch. Her hands were released, but his mouth stilled as he waited to see her reaction. She stayed perfectly still, other than the trembling that shook her limbs.

  Malcolm nuzzled and licked at her neck, harder than before, but still not hard enough. Oh god she was wet with wanting.

  Can I force him to the floor? No, he’s too strong. Damn it. I wish he’d just fucking take me right here, right now!

  As if reading her mind, he slid a steady hand through the hair at the nape of her neck. Stroking her scalp, she almost came when he fisted her hair in his hand, and pulled her head back. He wanted her as much as she wanted him! He moved his mouth to the other side of her throat, increased the pressure of his tongue, and bit her flesh. She trembled and dared to press harder against his mouth, wanting more, needing more.

  He obliged.

  His other hand slid slowly up, gently grazing her skin, searing her softly as button by button, he undid her shirt. Palming her breast, he teased her nipple through the thin, silky fabric. Her eyes snapped open when he nestled the small square of paper inside her bra beside her breast. His gaze was on her, looking at her with a hunger she felt deep in her belly. Only he’d caused the hunger and could end it any time, but for some reason chose not to.

  “Seven p.m.,” he breathed against her mouth, not quite making contact. His breath was minty and cool as she licked her lips, trying to taste him. He tore himself away from her with a speed that made her whimper and take a couple steps in his wake before she realized she’d moved.

  He paused at the threshold, smiled, and shut the door softly behind him. Her shaky legs carried her after him, and she leaned against the door, breasts aching, and felt a corner of the paper dig into her nipple. Pulling the square of paper out and unfolding it, she realized the numbers were his address. When had he written it down? Had this been his plan all along?

  Cocky bastard.

  Her eye went back to the peep-hole. He didn’t look back at her as he casually leaned against the wall. Jayne bit her lip and gazed at his ass.

  No man had ever gotten her so hot, made her wetter.

  It wasn’t until he got in the elevator and out of sight that Jayne realized he hadn’t even kissed her.

  She’d worn out her vibrator’s batteries last night and it still hadn’t been enough. She wanted him. She wanted him so she could get it out of her system and forget about him. Move on.

  I only want him because he didn’t give in right away. Okay, he was sexy as hell and that kiss, and the memory of his expression as he backed her against the wall made her toes curl. But you always want what you can’t have. That’s how the saying went. That’s all it was.

  And she would have him. On his knees. Begging her for release. Begging hard.

  Please, let him beg.

  By the way her fingers trembled when looking up his address online, driving was out of the question. She’d crash the car on the way there. No, a cab was safer, and it would also leave more time to prepare.

  A long soak in the bathtub scented with rosewater and vanilla oil left her skin decadently soft and delicately perfumed without being overbearing. And it hadn’t turned him off last night. Best to keep the variables the same.

  As Lisa Tristina wrote, ‘Even expensive perfume can be off-putting when one over does it. Make him have to get right up close to experience you. Strong scents can drive a man away. Less is more.’

  Jayne agreed. She hated when women, or men, doused themselves with scent. Malcolm had smelled … clean. He might not have even worn aftershave, but he still smelled good. But his scent had been pretty much obliterated by the kiss. It overshadowed every other sensory memory from last night. She shivered again remembering the press of his lips, and the look in his eyes when he backed her against her wall. If he’d combined those two, and kissed her against the wall … Why hadn’t he wanted her?

  She exfoliated and shaved her legs, under her arms. She’d had a bikini wax last week, was good to go there. Unplugging the tub with her toe, she sat there waiting for the water to drain, and then for her body to dry. Towelling off made the skin red, and rubbed away the oils, removed some of the softness.

  When she’d dried, she rubbed a bit of lotion on her elbows and knees, then set her hair in hot rollers while she did her makeup.

  ‘Make-up should enhance natural beauty and hide flaws. The more natural you look, the sexier you look. Save the brightly colored, playful eye shadow for girl’s night out. Play it neutral for him. He should see you, not your product.’

  Jayne used a light hand in following Lisa Tristina’s advice, fixing flaws, making herself look dewy and soft instead of painted up. She swiped on extra mascara, and swept a subtle rosy glow on her cheeks with some blush. She looked bright, fresh, and sexy.

  Her heart beat too fast, and she leaned against the counter taking deep breaths. When had she wanted anyone this badly? Maybe never. What if he didn’t want her at all? Had she read the situation wrong? No. She hadn’t misread the way he’d backed her into the wall.

  She slipped into a delicate silk slip dress that landed just below her knees and had a sweetheart neckline. Vamping it up wasn’t the way to go. Jayne’s instincts told her that sweet and feminine would be the way to get him hard. Eschewing heels for ballerina flats, she removed the curlers. In the mirror, her pupils were dilated, lips plump with increased blood flow from desire, and fear if she was honest about it. Oh, Malcolm, you are going down.

  And she would be on top of him when he did.

  ***

  Had he supremely screwed up? Malcolm had been certain she wanted him last night; that he’d gotten her hot. But had he turned her on enough to come to his apartment tonight? God he was nervous. Walking away from her last night had taken a strength he hadn’t known he possessed. His dick throbbed in protest as he left her apartment, but he suspected she’d been watching him and he couldn’t give in, or the game was lost. A woman as hot as she had become wouldn’t be used to men doing anything but giving in to her advances. It would drive her nuts that he’d walked away.

  He hoped.

  Jerking off in the shower twice when he got home brought some release, but no relief, no satisfaction. It hadn’t helped this morning either. He’d still been half hard after he came, thinking about her. That kiss had been amazing. What if he’d blown his only chance to be with her?

  No, not be with her. Fuck her. Be inside her. He was seducing her, pure and simple. It wasn’t personal, it was … well, it was personal. But it wasn’t about how much he wanted her now. He had to do this for what she did to him back in school. What her actions had done to him. She’d made him want to die.

  He very nearly had.

  Damn twelfth grade growth spurt. By then he’d been doing high school through correspondence for nearly two years. He never went to the graduation ceremony, though he’d had the right to graduate with the rest of his class. Strolling around the gym schmoozing with the people who’d made his life a living hell didn’t make Malcolm’s top ten list of fun things to do. Now, he guessed it might have been good for closure, but he didn’t need it, and at the time he wasn’t ready to face his tormentors over a bowl of punch.

  He was over it all. Except when it came to Jayne.

  He’d started out liking her in the eighth grade. She was smart and didn’t pretend not to be. Good at sports in gym class, she didn’t care if she embarrassed the popular boys by outplaying them at soccer. If she’d tried out for the school teams she might have been more accepted, but she seemed content to best everyone in gym for fun. Whether she didn’t know or didn’t care that it alienated
her from the popular crowd, and those who desperately wanted into that crowd, she didn’t change for anyone. Malcolm had admired her for that.

  She’d defended him one time. It was the first time anyone had ever really teased him about being small, but the two guys had been doing it all week. Jane had passed by and walked up to them, looked them up and down like they were nothing and said, “He may be small now, but someday he’ll be bigger than both of you and you’ll be sorry you teased him. Just remember that.”

  The guys hadn’t looked worried, but they’d moved on to another target. And Malcolm’s admiration of the tiny blonde had morphed into a crush that he’d nurtured from afar for years. High school came and they no longer had the same homeroom. But he never really looked at anyone else. He wasn’t deluding himself – he knew she hadn’t defended him because she liked him. She’d defended him because it was the right thing to do. She was genuinely a good, caring person. At least she had been then.

  He’d escaped mostly unscathed through the ninth grade, and part of the tenth. He had a few friends, definitely not popular, but he wasn’t unhappy. For the most part he was invisible. No one wanted to be the wallflower, but no one picked on him either, and that was fine by him. Sometimes being invisible had its perks. He wasn’t noticed. Not until she drew the bullies’ attention to him.

  Anger brought his focus back to the present. He kept his apartment spotless, but not obsessively so. It had a casual air from the furniture layout, from the book laying on the black glass coffee table, to the soft chenille blanket thrown over the back of the leather chair. Needing to burn off some nervous energy, he decided to re-clean the bathroom.

  Calmer after, he ate a late lunch and grabbed a nap, making sure he’d have energy for later. With her, if she came by. She had to show up. He woke at six-fifteen and brushed his teeth. Then all he had to do was wait.

  He’d dressed in faded jeans and an open black dress shirt, nothing underneath, and sat on the couch playing his guitar. It gave him something to do, and helped warm up his hands. She’d probably been hit on by guys with guitars before, but he could actually play. The band was for fun; the studio work paid his bills. Producers hired him because of his speed and skill. In an industry where time was money, he never required more than two takes to nail the song.

  He let the music carry him away, calm his nerves. Eyes closed, fingers flying, he gave in to the sound he created.

  He smelled her before he heard her. She’d come. And walked right into his apartment like she owned the place. He liked that, but denied the smile he felt. He kept playing, wondering if she’d put two and two together, and place him.

  It had all begun with a song played on the guitar. All those years ago.

  But he didn’t have the courage to play it now. That wound he couldn’t reopen. Not now, maybe not ever. He played a few notes from the song, then switched to another. He wanted her, needed to make sure he had her before he revealed his identity, and then left her. Maybe he would just leave her without letting her know that they were pre-acquainted.

  But before he left her, he had to get her, get inside her, body, mind, heart. He smiled.

  “Hello, Jayne.”

  “Malcolm.”

  He finished the song with a flourish that showcased his finger speed and opened his eyes. Good thing he’d waited to open them; the sight of her would have made his fingers clumsy.

  She wore a silvery green dress and flat shoes, looking fresh, and new, and innocent. Except for her eyes. Hungry, knowing, and sexy. She was pretty, and feminine, and eye-fucking him so intensely his dick went insta-hard. He was glad the guitar hid his erection. He had to be the one in control of this, or she’d lose interest.

  But she’d definitely brought her A game.

  ***

  The door had been unlocked. Jayne heard the guitar, got curious, and tried the door without knocking. If she could creep up on him, catch him unawares, she could shift the power back to her court a bit. Glad about her decision to wear the flats, she tiptoed inside the apartment silently and closed the door behind her.

  His apartment was … sort of chic, but homey and welcoming, not sterile like a lot of expensive lofts she’d been to. Oh, it looked expensive, had the requisite bachelor black leather and glass. But there was a giant bookshelf, and when she’d crept past it, the kitchen had looked like it wasn’t just the place to order takeout from.

  She followed her ears to the living room and watched him for a moment. He sat perfectly still except for those hands. Oh, she wanted them to play her like they played that guitar. She couldn’t even hear him over the pounding of her heart, drinking in the sight of him with his head thrown back. He had a strong neck, something about it begged to be licked. He wore jeans and an unbuttoned black dress shirt. What she could see of his body was fantastic, built, but it didn’t look like he spent too much time in the gym. There was nothing worse than a man who spent more time looking in the mirror than looking at her.

  Not that it mattered what he did in his down time. She’d only come here for sex.

  As she stood there, she began to pay attention to his playing. He was actually incredible. His talents were wasted in bars. He could play in stadiums with an orchestra backing him. She didn’t know much about music, but she could appreciate skill. He had it.

  Which only made him sexier. Passion was hot, but talent was hotter. He could back up the talk, possessing the goods to validate all the rumors she’d heard at the club the other night.

  At least about his playing. She had yet to find out about his prowess in bed.

  “Hello, Jayne.”

  “Malcolm.”

  She didn’t know what else to say. She’d arrived ready to play. If he thought he sat in the driver’s seat, he had a shock coming his way.

  The notes he played went straight up her spine. He opened his eyes and looked her up and down.

  “You came.”

  If he had any idea how many times she’d come last night, writhing in bed thinking about his hands, and mouth … “I did.”

  He began playing another song that teased the back of her mind, almost, but not quite familiar.

  “Care for something to drink?”

  “I’m not here to drink.” Best to be bold about it.

  “What are you here for?”

  She smiled. “You didn’t invite me here to listen to you play.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “Did you?” He hadn’t actually said. She couldn’t believe his restraint. He just sat there so casually, playing his music, when she barely refrained from throwing herself at him. Her body was wound tighter than the strings beneath his fingers. How could she have been so wrong about the situation? He didn’t want her. Her cheeks flamed. Of course he didn’t. He was perfect, not an imposter like she was. He’d rejected her and brought back her insecurities –he could probably smell them all over her like a cloying perfume. Get out! Leave before he spells it out for you.

  “I shouldn’t have come. Have a great night and a nice life, Malcolm.” She turned and walked away.

  “Jayne.”

  The way he said her name, forceful, a command, solidified her legs and rooted her feet in place. She heard the strings of his guitar thrum, and then a second later felt him stand close behind her. She shivered against his heat.

  “That’s a nice dress. Take it off.”

  Relief and lust mingled and slammed through her with the force of a hurricane. She reached behind her, grasping for the zipper. He captured her hand and turned her around holding her hand behind her back, and pulled her to him. Slowly, he dragged her hand down, undoing her dress.

  She felt his erection, long and hard, and closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see them rolling back in her head. She was supposed to be in control, but here she was, no better than his puppet. Something about his voice compelled her to do what he said.

  But she had a free hand and a shred of self-control left. She smiled.

  ***

  Her minxy l
ittle grin almost did him in. Locked in his arms again, hand trapped behind her back, pressed against him and she fucking grinned. Oh, she was a wicked one. The all-consuming need to fuck her lost to his curiosity. What would she do if he let her have control for a moment?

  She leaned forward, kissed his neck, and licked it. Her tongue felt hot enough to burn him. Leaning his head back so she had better access, he decided he liked when she had a little slack. Her trapped hand eased down so the back of his hand grazed the curve of her ass, touching it but not grasping it like he wanted.

  Her other hand trailed over his chest, and down his abs, slow enough to drive him crazy. When she finally touched his dick through his jeans, he released her fingers and seized her ass in both of his hands, kneading and squeezing it, reveling in its size and shape.

  It was curvy and luscious, but it wasn’t enough. He bent to her height, and stopped a fraction of an inch away from her mouth. She paused, and he felt her breath hitch. He was winning.

  It took no effort at all to tip her head back, her body pliant and willing, as he kissed her throat and trailed his fingertips down her collarbone to her breast. He deliberately avoided the nipple and worked his way back up, lightly slipping the straps of her dress off her shoulders. She smelled amazing, sweet and delicate.

  Her dress fell down, and he gathered her in his arms, one hand below her ass, the other around her back, and pulled her up to him, her head level with his, and kissed her while her feet were suspended in the air.

  He moved softly at first, exploring her lips with his own, leading the action and feeling her mirror him. He increased the speed and depth, darting his tongue inside her mouth. She gasped and grabbed at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, using her tongue to draw his further inside.

  He ran his hands over her ass, now only covered by a tiny pair of silky panties, and bit her bottom lip. She moaned in his mouth and pressed tighter to him, driving her tongue inside his mouth, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing against his crotch, unleashing a sharp pleasure through him.