He stuck his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to pull her beneath his arm. "I like to come here at night when there's no one around."
"It's quiet."
Crickets chirped in the woods behind them. An owl hooted. He knew she meant the quiet without voices. Nature didn't disturb the peace, people did. "The afternoon wind dies so the water's still."
He turned slightly to look at her in profile. She hugged her arms to her breasts, covering the sheerness of her blouse. Her hair, artfully messy, framed her face. She had an elegant nose, aristocratic, with the slightest of upturns. Full lips, defined chin, and the smooth lines of her throat leading down to the hollow. He wanted to taste the scented skin there.
I love you.
He wouldn't say the words, not now, probably not ever. Yet he could acknowledge the emotion to himself. She was beautiful. Talented, passionate, thoughtful, and caring. Everything he'd ever wanted; all the things he'd never found. Not in one woman.
What he was doing to her wasn't fair. Her husband might be the ass of the century, but staying with him was her decision. Hers alone. By taking her away from the club, he'd upped the stakes, put their strange relationship on a different level. A change she hadn't intended to make. He'd forced it on her.
Nevertheless, she was here with him. And he'd take tonight. He had to.
He opened the car door, put the key in the ignition, and rolled the window down. Then he turned on the radio. A soft meandering jazz melody floated out into the night. A lover's song.
As he stood and closed the door, the music wafted softly on the air. He held out his hand. "Dance with me."
He could give her that at least, a dance. Something her husband refused her.
With the moon in her hair and the crickets adding their unique voice to the ensemble, she came into his arms. "I'm not very good," she whispered against his chest.
"You're perfect." He held her close as they swayed in the moonlight.
The song came to an end, another started. He didn't let her go.
"What's your name?" She leaned back, looking at him. "I don't know what to call you."
Over her head, he stared out across the water. Yet another lie between them. He was so damn tired of lying, but he didn't know another way. Not at this point. "You can call me whatever you'd like. You choose."
She snuggled closer, put a hand up to play with the ends of his hair. "I think I'll call you Stephen."
His heart seized in his chest, and he couldn't breathe for several seconds. He put his face to the sky and forced in two great gulps of air. When he could speak again, he said, "Yeah, Stephen would be fine."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Why did his arms around her shoulders and the gentle caress of his breath at her ear feel as sweetly passionate as his body filling hers? Why did his voice make her tremble when he asked her to dance with him as easily as when he told her he'd make her come over and over against his tongue?
"Stephen?" She liked saying the name. She'd feel weird tomorrow when she emailed the real Stephen, but for now, she liked the way it sounded, the seductive feel of his name on her lips.
"Hmm?" He rested his cheek against her ear. His voice vibrated inside her.
"I like this as much as I like it when you make me come."
He rubbed his cock against her. "So do I."
She kissed his throat. "You make me feel ... passionate."
Letting go of her hand, he cupped her face and tipped her head back. "You are passionate. You're alive with it. You should have a man making love to you every night. All night long."
She searched his eyes. With the moon behind him, they were black as night. She thought maybe he could see into her soul. "I would like that more than anything." She couldn't tell him the depth with which she needed that loving.
Her took her hand in his once more and moved with their slow dance. One finger slid over the wedding and engagement rings she hadn't removed. "Tell me about this."
Her heart pounded. "I'm married."
He touched his lips lightly to hers. "I know that."
"Does it matter?" Burying her face against his neck, she drew in the spice of his aftershave. Inside, her stomach flipped, waiting for his answer.
It took forever to come. "Not for tonight. But tell me anyway."
How could she tell him that she was feeling old, unattractive, used-up, and washed-up? That going to the club had been the desperate act of a needy, pitiful woman who just wanted a man to get it up for her. She almost couldn't hear over the roar in her ears, but she whispered, "He doesn't want me anymore."
His arm tightened across her back. "Then he's an idiot." He rocked her. "Is it possible he's having an affair?"
She almost laughed. It was better than crying. "Anything's possible. But no, I don't think he's lost interest in me because he has someone else." If only it were that simple.
Stephen didn't say anything. The silence beat against her ears. She looked up to gauge his reaction, but could read nothing in his expression. "You think I'm lying to myself, don't you?"
He pushed her head back to his shoulder; then stroked her back. "I don't really know."
She gulped a breath. "He comes home on time. He doesn't go out on the weekends. If he's having an affair, I don't know when he's doing it." Her eyes suddenly ached. "I really don't think I want to talk about this anymore."
"If he doesn't make love to you anymore, it isn't because of you. It's him."
Now she was the one who didn't answer. Couldn't.
He stepped back. Her body screamed at the loss of his warmth.
"Look at me."
God, he was beautiful. His hair frosted with moonlight, the strong face, the hard body. Intensity radiated from him.
"You are the most desirable woman I have met in a very long time."
She closed her eyes and drank in his words as if they were water and sun to a wilting flower.
"I wanted you the first moment we..." He stopped. "From the first moment I saw you."
She was so damn weak and pathetic for needing to hear him say how much he hungered for her. Her husband's words beat at her. Why is it so important? Why can't you feel good about yourself without it? Why? Because being desired was important, dammit. Because she hurt. Because she was empty, and she needed something to fill her up. For all her adult life, she'd never gotten enough.
She needed Stephen to fill her up. Now.
He kissed her eyelids, feathering down to her lips. Rising on her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him. She touched her tongue to his, sucking him. He nipped and then licked her lower lip.
"I want to make love with you again."
She knew what they'd done hadn't been making love. This time, she willed it to be different. "I want to taste you. I want you in my mouth, Stephen."
His fingers tensed, and something fierce glittered in his eyes; then he took her with a soul deep kiss that stole her breath and set her on fire.
"I need you so goddamn badly," he whispered against her lips.
"Will you let me swallow?"
"Let you?" He laughed, choking it off when she cupped him through his jeans.
She loved the throaty growl that rose up in his throat.
"Please."
"You don't have to ask. I'm already begging." He put his hand over hers, using her palm to stroke the hard ridge.
She pulled at his belt buckle. He helped her loosen it. The rasp of his zipper filled the night, filled her. He sucked in a breath as she reached inside his briefs and touched him. Warm, velvety smooth. And hard. For her. She hadn't made her husband this hard in more years than she could remember. Stephen throbbed within in her grip.
"Tell me what you want." She needed his command, needed to fulfill his desires exactly as he described them.
"Reach down and squeeze my balls."
They were hard and tight in her hand. She rubbed, molded, squeezed lightly. He put his head back and drew in a deep breath.
&
nbsp; "Make a fist around my cock and stroke me."
She wrapped her hand around him and worked to his tip. Back down; then up once more. With her thumb, she smeared a drop of pre-come over his crown, delving into the small slit.
He stretched; then arched into her, raking his fingers through his hair. "Suck me. I want your mouth on me. Jesus H. Christ, I need it now."
She licked his neck as she pushed at the waistband of his jeans, sliding them down his hips. She dropped to her knees. Cold concrete and gravel bit into her flesh. She didn't care. He had the most beautiful cock she'd ever seen. He wasn't huge, but he was perfect. Another droplet of come glistened. Holding him with one hand, the other on his thigh for balance, she licked the tiny jewel.
She savored the morsel, looking up at him. "You taste so good."
"You're gorgeous." He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling the locks aside so that he could watch her. She felt the predator in him, reveled in it.
"Blow me, baby," he whispered, as if it were a sweet nothing.
To her, it was. She slid her tongue along his slit; then blew on the light film of moisture. "Is that what you want?"
He hissed through his teeth. "I want you to suck me. Fuck me with your mouth."
She looked up and smiled. "All right."
Then she took him, until her lips kissed her own hand fisted around him.
"Christ." His body heaved, his cock pushing her limits.
Letting him slide out, she sucked hard, releasing another bead of come. Salty, hot, all male, the taste of him spiraled her own desire higher. She worked the tip with her lips. Then taking him in once more, she stroked him with her tongue and mouth. With a feral groan, he twisted his fingers in her hair and rocked his hips. She wanted more. Removing the hand she'd kept at his base, she grabbed his thigh, squeezing.
Then she took him all the way, deep, to the back of her throat.
"Jesus, you make me crazy." He held her head in his hands and fucked her mouth, his muscles bunching beneath her touch.
She'd never felt so needed. She'd never wanted a man's come so much. He pulsed in her mouth, his breath a harsh panting. With a gut-deep cry, he filled her, his semen pumping down her throat. She swallowed every burst, savoring it, working him for more. When his orgasm subsided, she didn't let him go. He was still hard, still delicious. She stroked him lovingly with her tongue.
"I died and went to heaven, right?" His fingers running through her hair, massaging her head, he held her close. "That was so fucking incredible."
She ran her tongue from base to tip; then let him fall from her lips. She raised her head until she could meet his gaze. "You taste good."
He rubbed his thumb across her lips. "Let me taste, too."
"You mean you want to kiss me?" She realized she'd dug her nails into his thighs and loosened her grip on him.
"Yeah. What you just did was so damn beautiful, I wanna share."
Her husband made her brush her teeth after she'd had him in her mouth.
This man wanted to kiss her. "Okay."
Tugging his jeans up with one hand, he pulled her to her feet with the other; then held her arm as her legs wobbled. She brushed the dirt from her knees.
"Don't you want to kiss me?" He held her still, only inches away, his gaze roaming her face.
More than anything. But she didn't want him to be ... grossed out in the middle of it.
He licked the seam of her lips when she didn't answer, and she knew he could taste himself even with that small swipe.
"Tell me you want to kiss me." He ran a hand up her arm; then cupped the back of her neck. The glitter in his eyes was need.
She knew the feeling so well, the pulse-pounding, gut-wrenching need to touch and be touched, to have and to hold, to share every facet of love-making, the very essence and flavor of it. "Yes, Stephen, I want to kiss you." With her lips on his, she added, "I think I'll die if I don't."
His groan vibrated up from deep inside as he took her mouth. With lips, tongue, teeth, he tasted and claimed her depths.
Finally, his breath harsh, he gathered her to him, leaned back against the car and held on tight. Hard again, his cock nudged her stomach through the opening of his jeans. "You don't know how good that is, knowing you've taken me with your mouth; then tasting what you tasted."
"Was that making love, Stephen?"
"God, yes. Can't you tell?"
She stuck her hands up the back of his shirt. "I thought..." She held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut. "I thought maybe it was just fucking."
He rocked her. "You can call it whatever you want. Fucking, screwing, making love. The name doesn't matter. It's the feeling inside that defines it."
The feeling had been good, beautiful, passion and heat and want. She hadn't had that in so long. "I want to feel that again. I want you inside me, Stephen."
His arms tightened, and he lifted her off the ground for a moment. Setting her down again, he exhaled, a long pent-up sigh as if he'd been holding his breath. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that."
A day, a week? It seemed like a lifetime to her, too. "Now. In the back seat."
He pulled back, held her head in his hands, and rubbed the tip of her nose with his. "I've got a better idea."
CHAPTER NINE
He didn't let her climb into the back seat. She wasn't a back-seat kind of woman. He wanted her by the water's edge, under the stars, with the scent of freshly cut grass all around them. Just as he'd imagined earlier.
He'd beg her to say his name over and over. She wouldn't know what it meant to him, wouldn't know how the sound of it on her lips would be the only thing to keep him going through long, sleepless nights. Wouldn't know how meaningful it was that she'd chosen to give him his own name.
He wasn't an email address. Or a check. Or someone who believed in her work. He was the man she chose as her lover, even if she didn't know it.
His belt still unbuckled and his pants unzipped, warm air stoked the tip of his cock. He took her hand.
"Where are we going?"
"Down there."
He walked slowly, holding onto her, wary of her heels sinking into the earth.
"What if someone sees us?"
She'd given him one helluva blow job at the side of the road. Someone could have seen that, too. Suddenly, he knew what she meant. She hadn't been the one exposed. "Don't worry. I come here a lot late at night. No one's ever around. I'm always alone."
"Why do you come here by yourself?"
To think. About her. About what he wanted in his life. And what he could actually have. "Just thinking."
They stopped a few feet from the water, where the grass would still be dry except for the dew. She stared at the opposite shore, and he was almost sure she was debating with herself whether to ask more questions.
In the end, she didn't ask him anything. He ached with her choice, though at least he wouldn't have to lie. He sat, pulled her down beside him; then flopped onto his back to gaze at the stars.
She lay down beside him, curling her body into his. "What do you see up there?"
Her. In his bed. At his kitchen table. In the morning light. "Stars. I see millions of stars."
"Make me see stars, Stephen."
When she said his name, he'd do anything for her. "Get on top of me."
She straddled his hips, her movement tugging at his open zipper. Settling her skirt around her, she slid her hands up his chest, leaning down to rub her breasts against him. The tip of his cock touched her warm, wet pussy. He ran his hands up beneath her skirt and closed his eyes.
"You feel so good," he whispered. So fucking good that his body ached. He'd never had this before in his life. Without her, he'd never experience the same heights of passion again.
She moved her hips a fraction, teasing him, bathing him with her juices. "You feel good, too"
"Undo your blouse for me."
She sat up, adjusted. His cock slipped deeper between her folds, nudging her clit
. She sucked in a breath, gathered her hair in her hands and did a slow, sinuous stretch. His cock pulsed as she moaned softly.
Her nipples peaked against the sheer material. With a sultry look, she loosened the button at her cleavage. Then the next. Then all of them until a creamy strip of flesh showed from throat to abdomen. He tugged on the bottom, pulling the opening apart. The edges clung to her nipples a moment; then slid free.
"Your breasts are so beautiful." Small, yet perfectly shaped, perfectly pert.
"Do you want me to touch them, Stephen?"
He almost grabbed her hips to shove himself inside her. He was sure he'd come the next time she said his name. "Yes. Please."
"So polite." She cupped her breasts, held them out to him.
This was the way he wanted her, sure of herself, sure of her beauty, her passion, her attraction. If all he ever had was tonight, he wanted to believe that she'd never forget how utterly desirable she was. "I'll probably come before I ever get inside you, but I want to see you play with your nipples."
She smiled a seductive, knowing smile.
He never wanted her to lose that sense of power. "Please, baby, do it, you're driving me crazy."
Licking first one index finger; then the other, she dropped her hands back to her breasts and circled each nipple. Tipping her head back, she rubbed with her palms.
"Does it feel good?"
"Yes, Stephen. When I close my eyes, it's as if you're doing it."
"Do you like to touch yourself, touch your clit?"
She bit her lip, moaned; then said, "You know I do."
His cock felt like solid steel. He wanted to bring her pleasure so badly that his whole body ached with the need. Even more, he wanted to give her acceptance, a sense of freedom, unconditional approval.
"Then put your hand there now, I wanna watch." Even if he died with the pleasure.
She faltered when she looked at him. Her hands dropped away from her breasts. She blinked; then swallowed. Her lips parted as if she had to tell him something, but she stopped. He didn't know what he'd reminded her of--Friday night at the club, her husband? He only knew he'd lost her. And he'd do anything to get her back.
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