He'd written a long email dissecting all the ideas she'd presented him for the trio of windows. She wanted to make a mural. A sea mural. She'd done a lot of birds and forest scenes, this time she wanted fish and blue water.
At the end, he'd typed, "You're amazing. The concept is perfect. I ran it by the Hendersons, and they thought it was great, too. They want you to bring some glass samples so they can pick out the colors they want."
She'd made up several wooden holders with a series of square glass pieces so she didn't have to cart around the raw samples. Of course, each piece of glass was like choosing a different dye lot of wool or material. That was the beauty; why each suncatcher or full frame was different even if she used the same pattern. She wasn't an artist, couldn't draw worth a darn, but she could outline off a picture or meld different patterns into one scene.
"I'll call them and set up an appointment." She held her breath; then added, "Do you want to meet me there?"
He replied quite quickly. "Not sure of my schedule this week. Better have the meeting without me."
Emotions swamped her, disappointment and relief and a slight dizziness like the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush. She wouldn't lie to herself, asking to meet him had nothing to do with her business or her glasswork. She wanted to meet Stephen the man. His inability to attend was a good thing, though. She'd already added one huge complication to her life. Right now, adding another wasn't a great idea.
* * * *
He'd wanted to say yes so freaking badly. Only he needed this Friday night desperately. He needed one more night with her. He wasn't sure what she'd do when he finally revealed himself.
The decision to tell her came sometime last Saturday. He didn't want a quick fuck; not even a long night of fucking, if he couldn't wake up beside her in the morning. Every morning. He couldn't sneak off to meet her. He wouldn't share her.
But he had to have one more night to show her how good he could make her feel, how good he could be for her, to make her see what she'd be giving up.
Afterward, he could only hope she didn't hate him for making her choose.
And that he wouldn't hate her if she didn't choose him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Desiree called ahead and reserved a private room at the club. She'd started thinking of herself as Desiree sometime on Tuesday. She had her hair cut and highlighted Wednesday, something she hadn't done in ages, and her nails done on Thursday, choosing Chili Pepper Red. On Friday during her lunch hour, she bought black stockings, a lacy red thong, and matching bra and garter belt.
Soaking for an hour in a scented tub, she prepared her body for his pleasure. Once she'd dressed, the panties caressed her pussy, and the bra sensitized her nipples. She was hot and ready for her lover before she even closed the front door.
Driving away from the house, she didn't care what her husband thought, didn't carry his image in her mind, and had wiped his gentle kiss from her cheek. No guilt, no shame, only a slight anticipatory rush of moisture between her legs. She focused only on the night to come, her lover's kisses, his touch, and his cock deep inside her. Such was the nature of obsession. Only the goal had importance, only what she wanted.
Desiree was obsessed.
* * * *
Stephen waited for her at the head of the stairs, no hiding, no following this time. He wanted everyone to know she was his from the moment she stepped through the door.
His heart skipped several beats when she entered. It skipped another as she handed her invitation to the hostess and accepted a small item which she deftly slipped into her bra. Snaring a glass of champagne, she turned to search for him. Her gaze locked with his; then her lips curved in a sweet, luscious, sensual smile that hardened his cock and captured his heart.
Her red jacket, unzipped to well below her breasts, revealed a slender column of tantalizing flesh. He ached to run his tongue from the edge of that zipper to the hollow of her throat. The slit in her long black skirt rose to the top of her thigh-high black stocking, giving him a glimpse of creamy skin as she raised a spike-heeled shoe to the first step. She was the perfect combination of lady and whore. Class and elegance wrapped in a seductively wanton package.
People flowed around her, coming up, going down, touching her with their eyes, undressing her, wanting her. She blinked, a slow sultry dip of her lashes; then raised her champagne to her lips. First a sip; then the tip of her tongue licked a drop from the edge of the glass. Savoring. Just as she'd savored a bead of come from the head of his cock. She glided toward him, her hips in a gentle sway that made him want to guide himself inside her. Every movement, every glance, tied him in knots. She seduced him with a hand stroking her cheek, a gentle bite on her lower lip, the stem of her glass caressing her thigh. In each spot she touched herself, he wanted to follow.
She stopped a stair below him, her chin raised, the swell of her breasts beckoning, a heated pulse at her throat. Then she lowered her head, her gaze traveling to the hard ridge filling out his jeans. She licked her lips; then trailed a finger along his cock from base to crown. If she had stroked him with her tongue, he'd have come with that single caress.
"I have plans for you, Stephen."
He was sure he'd explode before she executed them. This was the way he wanted her, sure of herself, sure of her allure, sure of his desire. There wasn't a thing he wouldn't do for her, wouldn't let her do to him.
He held out his hand. She placed hers in his palm; then he pulled her up that last step to stand beside him. "Maybe you should tell me all about them."
She smiled, that same delicious sensual curve of her mouth. "Maybe I should show you."
"Even better."
She pivoted, pulled his hand close, almost tucking it into the crease of her gorgeous ass, and led him up the stairs to the third floor. The private rooms. Interested in no one but Desiree and knowing she wouldn't be there, he hadn't ventured to the third level. Now, he didn't care where she took him. As long as he could bury himself inside her endlessly.
He let his fingers caress her backside as she swayed against him. At the top of the stairs, she set her half-empty champagne glass on a small table. He tugged gently, stopping her; then leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You look so fuckable, you're driving me insane."
She nestled her back to his chest. "I want you insane. Totally."
Though the hall was dimly lit and sparsely populated, he pulled her into an alcove. Reaching around, he unerringly found the slit in her skirt and the lacy panties beneath. He cupped her mound, sliding his finger along her cleft, and pulled her ass to his cock.
She purred and rubbed sinuously. "Careful. I might come right here."
Kissing her neck, her ear, her hair, he continued the assault on her clit. Her breath came faster, and she arched her head into his shoulder.
Then she pulled away, turning, her back to the alcove wall, her pupils wide, her skin flushed. "Not yet. I want us both to be insane the first time."
Her jacket's zipper parted with each breath, offering him a tantalizing view of breast and tight nipple. She wore nothing beneath it but an enticing lace bra. "I could make you insane, right here, right now." He slipped a finger through the opening, circled a nipple. "I could put my tongue here and tease you with my teeth. Little love bites." Leaning in, he drew on her scent, exhaled against her neck. "Just a sweet little suction and I could make you come."
Her body vibrated, her breath puffed against his ear, and she moaned softly. "Yes, you could. But then you'd spoil my little surprise."
"I want to make you come as many times as you can. Once out here wouldn't spoil anything."
She licked his cheek. "It's more intense when you've made yourself wait, when you've gotten so close you thought you couldn't stop the orgasm from hitting; then you pull back and let the excitement build all over again."
He tightened painfully. There was something to be said for that. "All right. We'll do it your way this time." He sucked her earlobe. "And my way, next time."
"That sounds fair." She dashed a quick kiss across his lips, tempting him to grab her for a longer taste. Pushing him back, she ran a hand down his arm, trailing electricity; then grabbed his hand and pulled him with her. "I can't decide whether to go in alone and get everything ready. Or to let you watch."
"Let me watch."
She whirled, leaning back, tugging on his hand, trusting that he wouldn't let her fall. She laughed like a playful child. Any number of personalities lived inside her. He wanted to plumb her depths; discover each one.
"Do you like red?"
"Yes." He loved her red jacket, the red panties he'd glimpsed, her lipstick, the polish on her fingers.
Like the pied piper, she continued to lead him down the hall. "I asked for the red room. It sounded very bordelloish."
Which meant she wanted to play the whore. Every man wants his woman to be a whore for him. Wants her to give him every dirty, nasty, hot, and delicious act. Though few men had the confidence to admit the truth. There was always that terrifying thought that if she acted the whore for him, what would stop her from acting the whore for someone else?
He wanted Desiree the whore. Desiree the laughing child. Desiree the sensuous, mysterious woman. Desiree with his cock in her mouth and his heart in the palm of her hand. He wanted all of her. "Yeah. I think red will do just fine."
She glanced at each of the doors, finding the one she wanted at the end of the hall. Reaching into her bra, slowly, touching herself, touching him with her gaze as she did so, she pulled out the small item the hostess had given her. A gold-filigreed key. Unlocking the door and throwing it open, she gasped on the threshold. "It's outrageously tacky."
He closed the gap between them, their bodies touching full length, and glanced over her shoulder. Shades of deep blue-red covered everything, silk wall hangings, the velvet curtains surrounding the bed, the spread shot through with black threads. The gilt furniture looked like something Marie Antoinette would have sat on. Which certainly fit the bordello theme.
He pushed inside, closed the door and leaned against it. She turned in circles, the heels of her shoes sinking into the plush carpeting. Then she put her hands to her mouth, giggling. "It's terrible, isn't it?"
"It's perfect. I can fuck you on the floor, on the bed, or against the wall in perfect comfort." He eyed the chairs. "But I think the furniture would break."
She laughed; then plucked at a lapel. "Does my jacket clash? I don't think it's the right red."
An orange-red, it was gorgeous against her skin. He knew she wasn't looking for compliments right now. He raised a brow; then shook his head.
"Then I'd better take it off." She slowly unzipped, watching him all the while; then slid the garment down her arms and threw it across a corner chair.
Red lace bra, thin little straps, and all that dazzling creamy flesh. He'd taken one step toward her when she held out her hand.
"No. You can't touch me yet." She pointed at a dainty sofa. "Sit there."
A bottle of champagne, iced, lay in a bucket beside the delicate piece of furniture. Next to that sat a small round table with two champagne flutes. He popped the cork, filled the glasses, beckoning her closer with one as he sat. She took it, tapping the edge to his; then sipped the sparkling liquid.
"Do you know how close I am to throwing you on that bed and fucking the hell out of you?" He returned his glass to the small table and reached for her.
She sucked in a breath, her nipples burgeoning against the lace. He wanted to give her everything, the words, the passion, the fire she craved. "You have to wait."
"I don't think I can."
She leaned forward, her hand on the sofa's arm, eyes glittering like the bubbles in her champagne glass. "I promise you'll like what I've got planned better."
He would cherish whatever she chose to give. He'd die for every touch. Running a hand beneath her skirt, he palmed her already damp panties. "I think you're going to like it just as much."
"Take them off," she whispered.
He slipped a finger under the elastic on either side of her hips and slid the panties down slowly. They clung to her pussy for a moment before coming free. When he reached her ankles, his mouth close to her apex, he blew on her.
She clutched his shoulder. "Oh God, Stephen."
His gut clenched with need. "Step out of them."
She lifted first one foot; then the other. He slipped the delicate lace into his back pocket. "Souvenir," he whispered, when she tipped her head.
So close, so sweet smelling. He wanted to taste her flesh, the swell of her breasts, the gentle curve of her belly, her inner thigh, the back of her knee. He wanted to hear her moan and feel her writhe beneath him. He waited, letting her lead.
She swallowed half the champagne, then set the glass next to his on the table. Her fingers trembled as she touched his shoulders. Bracing herself, she straddled him, then settled onto his lap. He eased back against the sofa, his hands on her hips.
"I want to kiss you, Stephen."
"You can do anything you want to me."
She leaned against him, cupping the back of his head, and put her lips to his. He let her control, let her show him when she wanted his tongue, let her taste him, let her deepen the kiss. His fingers flexed against her hips as she took him with her mouth. Soft, gentle, wet and warm. She nibbled his lower lip, sucked his tongue; then fully opened to him, inviting him in. He angled his head, followed her; then retreated. She gave him the sweetest, hottest kiss he'd ever known. Her fingers played his face, her body moved against him, her breasts caressed, and her thighs hugged him close. She kissed with every part of her body, with total concentration.
He didn't know how much more he could stand.
She pulled back. His lips followed hers until forced to part. Rising up, she lifted her long skirt over her hips, allowing room to straddle him completely. Hot arousal scented the air. His. Hers.
She licked her lips, held his gaze. "I want to touch myself for you, Stephen. I want you to watch."
He gripped her thighs, squeezed, his fingers flirting with the tops of her stockings. "Jesus, God, please."
CHAPTER TWELVE
I want to touch myself for you, Stephen.
The thought made her heart race with fear and self-consciousness. His hot dark eyes and hoarse voice were the reward. Debbie had planned this. Desiree wanted to execute the plan. If she didn't, she'd never forgive herself.
She cupped her breasts, traced the nipples through the lace bra. Unease made her fingers tremble, but still she pushed the material aside and circled each nipple with the tip of her finger.
"Lick your finger and make them wet." His low, rough command coated her pussy with cream.
She trailed a finger down her abdomen and dipped inside her pussy for the moisture; then rubbed it into her nipple, first one, then the other.
His hips bucked beneath hers, and his fingers dug into her ass.
"Isn't that better than just my mouth?"
"God, yes, and you damn well know it. Give me more."
She leaned forward, holding his head, and put her nipple to his mouth. "Taste me."
His lips closed around her, suckled. Fire raced down to her clitoris, and she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, relishing. Then she pushed him. "That's enough." It wasn't, by far, but she wanted to tease him, drive him wild. In the process, she'd tease herself as well. "No more touching by anyone but me."
He leaned in for one more quick swipe, sending another jolt of electricity between her legs. "Then do it, now. Put your hot little finger in your pussy and make yourself come before I die."
"Don't rush me. We have to build up to it."
He groaned and squeezed her backside. His need was exactly what she wanted. She let it drive her higher until her body seemed to hum.
"Please, baby."
"Well, since you're begging so sweetly." And because her clitoris ached.
She palmed herself, her moisture drenching her hand. Stephen breathed deep
ly, his eyes closing as he sampled her aroma. Then he raised his lids once more to watch.
"I'm so wet, Stephen. That's what you do to me." She parted the folds and teased her clitoris. A sigh fell from her lips, and her body arched. "You see how good this feels. I can't control myself."
She needed the touch, needed his eyes on her. His gaze was everything. Her hips seemed to move on their own, pushing against him. She circled her clit, tormenting it to a hard little bead. She raised herself, riding her fingers as if they were a cock deep inside her. Bracing herself on his shoulder, she threw back her head and let go. Rising and falling, rubbing between her pussy lips, then sliding back to her clit, her fingers flying.
"Oh God, Stephen, that feels so good." She moaned, clenched her teeth, bit her lip.
He held her butt, helped her find that perfect rhythm. "I've never seen anything so beautiful." Then he stopped her. "Get on the bed. I want you on the bed without the skirt."
She was so close, so on the edge, one more nudge of her finger and she'd fly over. Which was the perfect time to stop. When she couldn't breathe. When she wanted to come so badly she thought she would die. He held her body, held her gaze. "Yes, on the bed," she whispered.
"With your legs spread and your pussy glistening like a delectable meal set out just for me."
He helped her stand. She was sure she would have fallen. He reached behind and unzipped her skirt, letting it drop to her feet. Without using his voice, he told her to lift her feet by tapping behind one knee, then the other. He tossed the garment aside. His arm went around her waist to hold her close while he kissed her belly. She trembled. He licked along the garter belt. She shivered. When he put one finger to the seam of her pussy lips, gathering moisture, she almost came. He looked up at her, holding her to his nose, then took her clit with his tongue.
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