by Leslie Wells
“Well, I’m honored to be in the Please Do Not Touch section,” he said with a wicked grin. He sauntered over and sat next to me, putting his glass on the table. “Actually, though … ”
He slid closer, his dark eyes seeming to glitter in the low light. “I’ve been really wanting you to touch.”
He took my hand, and a swift blue jolt shot up my arm. He pulled me toward him and his lips met mine; whiskers, whiskey, tongues slow. He kissed me again and then again, more urgently as I responded. God, his lips, his sensual tongue … I wound my fingers in his thick hair, his hands moving on me, flashes of lust darting through me like quicksilver.
“Julia, I’ve been waiting … so long for you,” he murmured. He moved his mouth down the nape of my neck, making my skin tingle and my insides melt. “Since your bed’s occupied by Mr. Collins,” he said, his lips brushing my ear, “let’s go to my place.” He kissed me once more, sending a pang of desire twanging through me.
“Okay,” I whispered. I reached for my sandals under the table. I could barely fasten them, my hands were shaking so much. I locked the door, and we flew down the stairs and into the waiting car.
“My place,” he said to Rick. “Fast as you can.”
We sat smashed together, tongues entwined. With a groan he pulled me onto his lap. I could feel him hard beneath me, his fingers stroking my nipples through my blouse, each caress a teasing bee sting. We pulled up at his place and tumbled into the elevator, kissing and grabbing each other as it rose.
Jack tore off his shirt the minute we got inside. I gave a nervous giggle, unable to tear my eyes away from his muscled chest, his hard abdomen, the dark line leading down from his navel.
“You’re next,” he said, taking my hand and leading me back to his bedroom. He pulled off his jeans, all of him springing out at me. My breath caught as I took in his gorgeous body. He slipped off my clothes, picked me up in his strong arms and lifted me onto his bed; the warmth of his weight, hot skin on skin.
“God, you’re beautiful.” He tongued my breasts, and my back arched in response. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to do this?” The length of his lean body, rock-hard against my slipperiness, his taut arms holding me. The line of his cheekbone above me, jaw tensed. Then he entered me, making me feel all of him, making me gasp. I splayed my hands on his back, sensing the coil and release of muscle as he glided in long, deep strokes. His breath started to come faster. He gripped me tightly and thrust, building until he exploded, throbbing inside me for a long time. I gazed at his dark eyelashes as he lay next to me, one arm flung across my chest. I could barely believe I was there with him, in his bed.
After a while Jack opened his eyes. He climbed on top of me and lavished my nipples with his tongue, then mouthed his way down to my belly, my inner thigh. When he pressed his face between my legs I propped up on my elbows, a little unsure about this.
“Relax, baby. I’m gonna make you feel great.” Jack went back to what he was doing, and I lay back on the pillow and tried to follow instructions. After a while I started to be less tense. A few minutes later, every iota of my being was focused on his lips. This feels amazing … but what if I make a loud noise? Maybe he wants me to … Ahh, I don’t care what I do …
I did make a lot of noise; it seemed to go on and on. What he did was so intensely pleasurable, I almost couldn’t bear it. My whole being was thrumming when he plunged into me again.
“Oh, Julia,” he said. “You feel ssooo good.”
I wrapped my legs around him and this time we went more slowly, his measured strokes creating ripples of my earlier rapture. He cried out as he filled me, face buried in my neck. The thumping of his chest gradually slowed to a regular beat. He fell asleep before I did, his arm twined around my waist.
In the morning I watched Jack slumber for a while, not wanting to wake him. I was still amazed that I was in his bed—not to mention the way he’d made love to me last night, which was a revelation. Now I got what the magazines and books were talking about; I’d always thought the descriptions were exaggerated, or maybe I was one of those women who didn’t get that much out of sex. Now I realized the fault didn’t lie with me.
I slipped into the bathroom. When I came out, Jack lay with arms behind his head, his handsome face framed by disheveled hair. His eyes followed my goose-bumped body across the floor. He lifted the sheet and I got in beside him. For a minute we lay smiling at each other on the pillow.
“Well,” he said, trailing his thumb down the curve of my hip, “I thought that would never happen.”
“Neither did I.” I reached up and traced the lines near the corner of his mouth, like I’d wanted to all along.
“I’ve been grinding away so hard at the album. I decided you were going to be my reward for all the blood and sweat. I’d get home at the end of a long session and lay here all night, imagining what it would be like …”
God, he’s a good kisser.
“Then I’d get up in the morning and think about it some more,” he continued, his growly just-awakened voice sounding even more deeply British. “To tell the truth, it was early afternoon that I got up. Morning sounds more romantic though, doesn’t it?”
I laughed. “I guess so.” I put my arms around his neck and rubbed my face against the roughness of his cheek. His hands went to my breasts, sending twinges of yearning through me.
“So were you thinking about me?” he asked, pulling back to look at me.
“Maybe once in a while. When I had nothing better to do.”
“I’ll get it out of you.” Jack turned me over so he was behind me, one hand teasing my nipple. His long fingers parted me and dipped inside, then he began to stroke me, dipping again, stroking.
“You feel nice and ready,” he whispered in my ear. I was so immersed in the luxurious brimming sensation that I couldn’t reply. I heard myself starting to pant like an animal being pursued. My hips were moving in rhythm with his hand; I was mounting, peaking. Suddenly Jack thrust into me, and I burst.
As my cries subsided, he rolled me onto my stomach and began to move faster and harder. He bit my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. Inexplicably he slowed down.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped.
“You want me?” he asked, holding still.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes!”
“Good, because I really want you.” Afterwards, he showed me the indentations of my teeth on his fingers.
We got up eventually and showered, exploring each other’s bodies with lips and tongues until the hot water ran cold. The steam was so thick, we went into his room to towel off. The wide-open sex made me feel kind of exposed, but Jack acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. He must be used to women totally losing it in his bed.
“Hmm, I never would have guessed,” he said as we sat side-by-side on the edge of his mattress. He licked a drop of water off my shoulder.
“Never guessed what?”
“That you wanted me too.” Wet hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it back.
“Who says I did?” I crossed my arms over my nipples, which were giving me away.
Jack raised his eyebrow. “Baby, you can’t tell me that. You were squeezing me like a glove.”
I blushed. “Okay, I admit it.”
“But you have to tell me when you first did. You were so inscrutable.”
I laughed and shook my head.
“See, you’ve got me using big words now. You’re rubbing off on me.” He put his hand on my bare thigh and smiled. “I have to confess, when I saw you in that black dress before the party, I felt like a schoolboy with his first wood. I had to put on my jacket to cover it up. I was looking out the window trying to think of something depressing so I wouldn’t offend you walking around all stiff.”
So that’s what he was doing. “I wondered why you suddenly took an interest in the view.”
“Well, now you know. Let me go clean up a little befo
re you get whisker burn.” Jack went whistling into the bathroom to shave, and I got up to borrow his brush. I stopped short, seeing several long blonde hairs trailing from the bristles. The heat of my passion dissipated. I wondered who’d used the brush, and how long ago. From what he’d just said, I thought maybe he wasn’t seeing anyone else; a dumb thing to presume about someone like him. I stared at the tendrils for a minute and then laid the brush down. I guess I have a lot more to learn about Jack Kipling.
I looked around the room, so large that even the king-sized bed didn’t diminish it. There were two guitars on armchairs, and a big dresser littered with change, rolling papers, and a few pictures of him with groups of people. One photo caught my attention; Jack kneeling next to an adorable little boy with sparkling brown eyes and dark hair standing straight up from his head. So he must have a son, I realized with a sinking feeling. I wonder how involved with the mother he is. Maybe I can ask him about it if we keep seeing each other. Which doesn’t seem too likely, given the leftovers in his brush.
I heard a dryer going for a minute, and then Jack came out of the bathroom. He plucked my discarded blouse from the floor. “I’ll give you something to wear. This one’s seen better days.” He went to his closet, disappeared inside, and emerged with one of his silky shirts.
“That might be a little fancy for Saturday morning,” I said. “Unless I was headed over to Tenth Avenue. What else is in there?”
“In here? It’s a bit of a mess.”
Curious, I went over to the door.
“Go on and take a look. You’ll see it sooner or later.”
I followed him inside the expansive walk-in closet … Wow. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, in baskets, on shelves, partially draped over hangers; men’s clothes, women’s clothes, all in a big jumble. Several of his jackets were thrown over hooks in the back. He picked up a shirt from the floor, sniffed it, then dropped it and picked up another. “I think this one’s okay,” he said, handing me a ruffled pink blouse.
“I don’t want to put on some floozy’s clothes,” I teased.
“You calling me a floozy?”
“Where did you get that?” I pointed to a frowsy blonde wig tossed on a high shelf.
“I dunno. Once in a while I have to go into deep undercover.”
“Which stuff is yours? It’s kind of a hodgepodge.” I picked through a pile; shirts of all colors, draw-string pants, patched jeans, spangled trousers, scarves, belts, black leather, brown leather … “Is it a rule that everyone who comes over has to leave one item of clothing behind?”
“Most of this stuff is mine. It’s me look; I wear what I like. I don’t care if it’s meant for women or guys.” I loved the way he slid back and forth between Cockney and American, especially when he used me instead of my.
“Uh-huh. I don’t know that this would fit you.” I held up a red bra that had to be a D cup.
“That was one of Sammy’s friends’.” He grabbed it and threw it into a corner. “You giving me a hard time about my wardrobe?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips. He was still naked, so the effect was intriguing. “I just need to get it organized.”
“I like your wardrobe. It’s an embarrassment of riches.” I picked up one of his cotton shirts and slipped my arms into the sleeves.
“Leave it unbuttoned so I can see the girls while I make breakfast.”
“Here you go; if you’re cooking, you’ll need this.” I untangled a lacy maid’s apron from a snarl of stockings and tied it around his waist. “Now you look ready for the kitchen.” The frothy fabric made quite a contrast with his black stubble and muscled chest.
“This would do wonders for my public image. Let me call for a few supplies.” He went to the phone and ordered some groceries. When they came, I answered the door since he was unpresentable.
“What time do you need to go to the studio?” I asked as he unpacked the bag on the counter.
“I dunno, Sammy said he’d call. I’ll drop you at your place so you can do some work, then I’ll pick you up once I’m done.”
He wants to see me again tonight! I didn’t bother trying to hide my smile.
Jack poked around in his cabinet and found a cast-iron frying pan. He put a little oil in it and cracked several eggs while I dropped bread slices into his gleaming eight-piece toaster. Then he got the sausages sizzling. “You have some nice equipment here,” I said, picking up a copper spatula.
“I noticed you like my equipment.” He turned the heat down on the eggs and came over to me. “Don’t stop,” he whispered.
“Now you’re embarrassing me.” I looked at the floor.
Jack gave my waist a squeeze. “Don’t worry, that made me feel great. Whoops.”
He rushed back to the pan and shoveled the eggs onto plates. I poured some juice and we ate our fill, then we loaded the dishwasher that looked like it had rarely been used. Jack put on Billie Holiday at my request. He seemed to have forgotten that he was wearing the apron, which was no longer centered.
“I still can’t believe it,” he said as we sat on the sofa. “I was starting to think you didn’t like me.”
“I liked you. I just didn’t want trouble.”
“But I busted you out, huh? I’m irresistible, aren’t I?” he asked with a grin.
“I’m sure you’ve been told you are.”
“Well, I was starting to feel like I was very resistible. You coming over here bringing a book. ‘In case I get bored,’” he said in a high-pitched voice. “‘I might get bored around you, Jack Kipling, so I’ll just bring my Flannery or my what-have-you. I prefer their company to yours anyway. I’m just here for the records.’”
“That wasn’t it,” I said, laughing.
Jack leaned back and crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you want to come out with me at first? It was like pulling teeth.”
His hair was sticking up in all directions, earring askew, dark shadow on his face. His apron had slipped to the side, totally defeating the point. But even in the silly outfit, he was unbelievably sexy. “Now if you’d worn that little number, I would have rushed over right off the bat. Anyway, I thought maybe we were just going to be friends.”
“I was afraid if I tried anything, you’d run off and never come back,” he said. “You seemed so … untouchable. And a little prissy at first, when you didn’t want to smoke a joint with me. I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to hang out. Besides, it ain’t me style to go after women. They usually make the first moves.”
“Hmm, I’ll bet they do.” I’m sure all you have to do is snap your finger, and the whole pack comes bounding over.
“I wanted to snatch you up off my couch and take you to bed, but I thought you’d just give me one of your cold looks and say, ‘Don’t disturb me, I’m listening to Leadbelly’ or something.” He considered me for a moment. “When did my charms start to work on you?”
“I’m not telling. That’s my business.” I wasn’t about to say it was when he showed up on my stoop.
“Well, I know when I wanted you,” he said in a low voice. “I was sitting on this filthy couch in a lounge, surrounded by all these loud, nasty people, drunk, stoned. I look up and out on the wall is this projection of an angel. And she’s dancing. She’s just so beautiful, I thought somebody’d slipped something into my drink. I watched you move, and you were so sensuous. But it was obvious you were just dancing for yourself; the guy kept trying to film you, and you kept turning away. That’s when I first wanted you.” He kissed me lightly, and then not-lightly. “And you were so very hard to get,” he continued. “Sammy kept telling me it was an act; that you were playing hard to get. Then I realized you really were hard to get.”
Surprised by his comment, I met his eyes. “I’m fine being alone. Sometimes it’s just easier.”
“I know what you mean. What’s even worse is when you’re with someone, and you still feel alone.”
The phone began ringing insistently, but Jack made no move to answer it. It continued for a
few minutes until he went over, lifted the receiver and dropped it. “That’s no one I want to talk to.” He went to the kitchen for a beer, and on his way back the phone rang once, stopped, and immediately rang again. This time, Jack picked it up.
“Yeah, I can get there by two. Uh-huh. No comment. See you later.” He turned to me. “That was Sammy; they’re all going to the studio in a while. I’ll drop you at your place on the way. You’re going to be home all afternoon? Not going for a thirty-mile run?”
I wondered why he was asking. “I’ll be there. I can barely walk, much less go running. Thanks to you.” I hesitated. “That’s a signal of some sort, isn’t it?”
Jack had a funny look on his face. “What?”
“The phone, ringing once like that.”
“Yeah… it is. I’ve got too many people calling, wanting stuff from me. I don’t even remember who half of them are.” I guess he means women, I thought. “People I want to talk to know to ring once, then hang up and call right back,” he continued. “What else have you noticed?”
“You favor your index finger on your right hand when you strum.”
“What else?”
I thought for a second. “You don’t order from the menu.”
“That’s true, I guess.”
“You wince a little when you hear a high-pitched tone of voice.”
“Do I really? I never knew that. Very observant. Listen, I’m gonna call Mary Jo real quick, there’s something I forgot to do.” He turned up the volume on the stereo and mumbled into the phone. “Yeah, three. All right. Thanks.” He came back over. “I’ll give you a little break and then we can pick up where we left off.”
I can’t wait to do that. “Sure. I need to get Mr. Collins off my bed and start pulling him together this afternoon.”
“I don’t wanna hear about you pullin’ no other man,” Jack said in a deep voice. “You get in the sheets with Collins, I’ma have to put a hurt on him.” He seemed to reconsider. “Actually your assignment is to move that stuff off your futon so we can get into it later. I’m gonna be thinking about that while I’m at the studio. Sex up my playin’, if you know what I mean.” He gave a little twist of his hips, making me laugh.