by Fox, Sylvie
“You’re beautiful. There’s no need to hide yourself from me,” Ryan said, lifting her arm away from her chest.
Sophie’s face warmed and she was glad that he couldn’t see her blush in the darkness. “But I take after my father, up top. My boobs are too small and my nipples too large…” she said, trailing off.
Ryan laughed. He propped up on an elbow staring down at her. “In negotiation there’s something called not talking after the close.” He smoothed his hand along her collarbone, down her thin arm, and captured her small hand in his. “I’m here because I want to be here and I’m very attracted to you. You are not going to be able to talk me out of wanting you, Sophie. I’ve been thinking about this far too long for that to happen.”
When his head came closer she felt her body vibrate, waiting for one of those bone melting kisses, but was taken aback when he kissed her breasts, his lips teasing everywhere with little butterfly kisses before taking one dusky nipple then the other deep into his warm mouth. When she thought she would not be able to take any more, Ryan’s fingers smoothed over her slightly convex stomach and parted her nether lips below. He slowly stroked her clit already slick with her arousal. It went on like that, Ryan alternating between lavishing attention on both breasts and sipping at her lips as if she were the finest champagne.
Her arms felt like dead fish at her sides. It was times like this her inexperience showed. Should she touch him—touch him there—where men most craved? Unsure, she tentatively stroked his hair again, the curve of his jaw, retracing ground that was now becoming familiar. She skated her hand down his arm, marveling at the springy hairs that gently tickled the pads of her fingers. More uncertain than ever, she stroked his hip.
Only when he paused in his own ministrations, expectant, did she touch the soft skin of his erection. It jumped of its own accord, seeming to enjoy the tactile stimulation. Emboldened, if only slightly, she traced the contours of his penis with her fingertips. It was like smooth velvet over hardened steel. Ryan pulled her away from his organ and grasped her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Can we…are you ready?”
Sophie nodded, still mute. Ryan found the condom under her head and sheathed himself. He rose over her, bracing his forearms on both sides of her head and kissed her deeply, easing her legs apart with one knee. He made sure she was ready for him and guided himself toward her center. She gasped, tensing when he was only in halfway.
Sophie’s body gripped him like a fist. He didn’t know if he would be able to last long like this. He liked to pride himself on making it a good experience for the woman he was with, and didn’t want his first time—or any time—with Sophie to be a quick wham bam. He tried to slow his breathing. “You okay?” he asked when he regained the ability to speak.
“I’m okay,” she let out with a hiss, releasing the breath she had been holding. “I just need you to go slow.”
Ryan pulled out almost the entire way. Then, holding himself as steady as possible, he eased his cock back in and out several times very slowly, a little farther each time, until he’d buried himself up to the root. He blew out a breath, closed his eyes, and turned his head. Ryan tried to think about baseball, politics, or anything that wouldn’t excite him. He didn’t want to slam into her as if he was a piston rod that could not stop.
When he was back under control again, he began to move slowly, insinuating his hand between them and caressing the small nubbin that he knew would bring her pleasure. Whether it was two minutes or twenty, he couldn’t say, but while Sophie’s breathing quickened and her nipples were hard, he didn’t think she was any closer to an orgasm than she had been minutes ago. He strongly believed in “ladies first,” but knew he could not endure the mind-bending pleasure of being inside her much longer.
“Sophie.” He paused mid stroke, looking down at her closed eyes. Her serene face revealed nothing. “I can’t hold out much longer.” It had been a long time for him and his body was ready to go no matter what his brain wanted or she needed. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “I promise to make you feel this good.” The next downward stroke obliterated any coherent thought. It all boiled down to sensation for Ryan. When it came, his orgasm was deep and long.
Concern tinged the glow of pleasure when reality surfaced. He came back from a quick trip to the bathroom to take care of essentials and laid down next to her on the cool cotton sheet.
Ryan pulled the thin summer blanket over their bodies. “Sophie, I’m sorry about that, but I promise there won’t be a repeat performance.” He caressed her arm, bare above the covers, and then slowly pulled the cover from her breasts, feeling himself harden just looking at her. She made him feel like he was twenty all over again.
She pulled the covers back up, covering herself, and halting his roaming hands. “It’s okay, Ryan. I don’t…” Unexpectedly, she darted from the bed and pulled on a t-shirt and sweats from a shelf in the closet.
“Where are you going?”
Sophie glanced meaningfully at the combination alarm clock/compact disc player on her bedside table.
“It’s past seven and Sasha has to go for her evening walk now,” she said, practically dashing from the room.
She had Sasha leashed up and her running shoes laced when Ryan hopped into the room, still trying to get the second leg into his paint-splattered jeans. “I’ll come with you. Just give me a moment.”
Sophie looked put out waiting for Ryan, but she didn’t open the front door, despite the dog’s whining and licking of the doorjamb, until his shoes were properly on his feet.
Ryan hadn’t paid much attention to the street when he’d been driving her home—his mind had been on other things—but he looked around now, keenly observant. He had never spent much time in this part of the San Fernando Valley, except for business meetings at the various studios.
Her street, like the one he’d grown up on, was full of small tract houses built in the postwar fifties. But that’s where the similarities ended. Where his mother’s street had remained the same for over fifty years, Sophie’s had evolved. Developers had torn down or substantially renovated most of the houses. A foreign or luxury car graced every driveway.
Sophie and Sasha were off like a shot. She walked toward the Studio City Golf and Tennis Club, following the path along the back of the golf course, the dog sniffing and meandering. He watched them meander along the tree lawn for what felt like an eternity before he trotted down the sidewalk and caught up with them.
One day Sophie wanted to have an orgasm that she didn’t initiate and complete herself. Her handheld showerhead had stood in for her boyfriend for years and she was damned tired of it. Ryan had tried, she knew he had. And it had felt good, really good, until it hadn’t. She’d been right on the edge. It had been better than the past, but it just wasn’t enough. She’d wanted nothing more than to let go, but it hadn’t come. It never did.
Sophie heard Ryan coming up behind her. The tightness in the pit of her stomach grew. She was dreading their post-coital conversation because she knew how it was going to end. He would say they were different, that she was unusually inhibited and unresponsive, and plain just not sexy. It wasn’t going to work. No matter how he put it, the bottom line was that he was leaving. They always did, sooner or later. This would be sooner than most. She took a deep breath and got ready to let him off the hook.
“You don’t have to say anything. It didn’t work out, but…” Sophie petered out before she could finish her speech. The older she got, the harder this was. She looked down, suddenly fascinated by the dog’s every movement. Now that she had a dog, she could happily die a spinster. Why were all these old-fashioned words ringing in her head? As long as she didn’t become a crazy cat lady, she thought she could live a very long and satisfying life without male companionship. Maybe she was just not meant to have a fulfilling sex life with any man. Happily ever after—or happy for now wasn’t for everyone. It was time she acknowledged that and moved on.
Ryan squatted and scratched the dog
behind her ears. Sasha was easy. She wagged her tail and licked his hand in response. Damn dog sold her out.
“Do you really hate sex?” he asked, looking up at her, his gorgeous face anguished. “I would never have…if I thought you were remotely serious.” He raked his hand through his already mussed golden hair. “It was so good for me. I just want to make you feel as good as I did.”
Ryan stood and they walked back to the house in silence. She let the dog off the leash and Sasha immediately ran to her water dish, the lapping sounds the only noise in the otherwise quiet house. The room went from darkness to light when Sophie flipped on the sole torchiere lamp. She kept moving through the house, turning on the lights in the dining room and kitchen and the family room. She kicked off her shoes and padded back to the kitchen in her bare feet, her blue toenails peeking out from under her long knit pants.
“I’m going to make something to eat. Remind me to tell Holly that bagels and sandwiches aren’t enough for hardworking volunteers. You want anything or are you going home?”
“Sophie, I’m not leaving with things like this.” His voice rang with distress, but when he spoke again his tone was softer. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Ryan pulled himself up onto one of the barstools that abutted the kitchen’s large pass-through, and watched Sophie gather food from the refrigerator. It looked like he was in for breakfast at dinner. He wasn’t complaining.
“Are you ever going to answer me?” he asked. He stacked his elbows on the cool black granite counter and leaned on his clasped hands. She paused her chopping of tomatoes and peppers, and looked directly at him, her gray eyes coolly assessing him.
“It’s your lucky day,” she said, quirking one studded eyebrow. “I’ll answer only one, so choose carefully.”
Ryan thought carefully. There was so much he wanted to know about this complex woman. He was pretty sure that he had a good idea about her real hair color. It had been dark in her bedroom, but not that dark. He didn’t think it was wise to broach the topic of lawyers. There was no reason to give her an excuse not to see him, so he decided to skip that hot button issue for now. What really bothered him was why an attractive, responsive woman like her didn’t enjoy sex. So he took the plunge and asked the hardest question. “What can I do to make sex better for you?” he asked softly. “You were with me when I kissed you. I loved feeling your nipples get hard in my mouth. You got so very wet when I touched you. Why did I lose you? Did I do something you didn’t like?”
The only indication that Sophie heard him was the very short pause she took while adding grated cheese to the frying eggs. She deftly flipped the omelet over and simultaneously pulled toast from the toaster. A woman’s ability to multitask always amazed him. After she poured them both orange juice and buttered their white toast, she answered him.
“Nothing,” she said with such finality he thought that was the end of it. She paused for a long time, immobile. “You saw what happened earlier, Ryan. It has always been like that for me. A lot of wine, a lot of awkwardness followed by the huge letdown,” she said quietly. After serving up the eggs, she came around and claimed the stool next to his, avoiding his eyes.
Ryan put down his fork, his omelet forgotten for a moment. “You’ve never had an orgasm with a man?”
Sophie stopped eating and shifted on the stool, visibly uncomfortable with the frank discussion. “When I was younger and lost my virginity, it didn’t happen, but I just chalked it up to being young and inexperienced. It never got better, though.”
Ryan cursed under his breath. “What were you feeling back there when we were…?”
Sophie took a deep breath. “It’s like being on a roller coaster. Your stomach does belly flops and you have this very exhilarating feeling, then nothing. The ride’s over before you really begin to enjoy it.”
They returned to eating. Ryan considered her words. When they were almost done, the silence was broken by the blare of a Snoop Dogg song.
“Oh, my phone,” Sophie said, looking around the kitchen and dining room for the cell. “Hello,” she said answering the call. “Mmmm, now? Really, at Hannah’s place?” She squinted at the blue LED clock on the microwave. “Cool, I’ll be over in a little bit. I’ll need to…uhh…wrap up what I’m doing here, and shower. See you later, then.”
Ryan didn’t pretend he hadn’t heard her side of the conversation. “Going out?”
Sophie’s head was somewhere else, their conversation already a thing of the past. She headed into the bedroom, pulling a skimpy looking top and mini skirt from her closet along the way. When he cleared his throat, she looked up, feigning surprise that he was still there.
“You’re leaving? Just like that?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“I didn’t plan it this way.” She pulled a towel from the bathroom door, ready to shower. “But with early calls, it’s rare that all of us from work can get together at an adult hour.”
Ryan needed to be alone. He needed time to think. He could not bully Sophie into being with him. A few hours with a yellow pad and he would put together a plan. Plus, he didn’t think he could watch her leave the house scantily clad knowing some other horny guy was going to be looking at her. He pulled his Blackberry from his pants and turned on the electronic gadget with a beep.
“Eight one eight…” he started.
“You want my number?” She appeared genuinely incredulous. “You want to see me again?”
Ryan sighed. “Yes, Miss Sophie Reid, I would like that very much.”
She dropped the towel, flustered. She quickly gave him her number and picked up the towel. “So, you’ll call?” she asked in a hushed voice.
His heart melted. She was so brash on the outside, but clearly vulnerable underneath all the smoke and mirrors.
He strode across the room and kissed her hard. Ryan schooled himself not to look down at her unfettered breasts as they bobbed gently under her t-shirt. He wanted to smooth his hands along her lithe little body until she cried out in ecstasy—he was half hard thinking about ways he could bring them indescribable pleasure. Instead, he practiced restraint. He tipped up her chin and pecked her on her freckled nose. “Yes, I’ll call.”
Sophie walked through the courtyard, past the dry pool and empty fountain that lent Hannah’s apartment building an air of faded glory. She’d had far too much wine to drive and had walked the mile or so to the party. Following the beat of the music, she made her way to the door of her friend’s apartment. It was slightly ajar, and she walked right in without invitation. Though the music was loud, the gathering was mellow. Everyone was sitting grouped in various conversations. She was hoping for more of a celebratory atmosphere from the impromptu get together to help her forget about this evening’s disaster. But this was cool too. Sam and Alyssa, her assistants from her show, waved her over to their group around the dining room table.
“What took you so long to get over here?” Alyssa asked. Before Sophie could answer, she peppered her with another question. “Do you want a beer?”
“I’ve already had too much to drink today,” she said waving away the alcoholic beverage.
“Were you drinking alone?” Alyssa asked salaciously. She was the drama queen of the group.
“Um, not exactly,” Sophie admitted, trying not to look shifty eyed under her friends’ scrutiny.
“Shit,” Alyssa said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I think our fearless leader got laid tonight.”
A whoop went up from the small group assembled at the table. Sophie wished fervently she wasn’t blushing red to the roots of her blue hair.
“Oh my God, Alyssa’s right,” Sam said, observing her very closely. “Give me the who, what, where, why, and when, honey. Dish.”
“It’s nothing, and whatever it was is not going to happen again, so we can cut the discussion right now,” she said, slicing her hand across her throat.
“Why?” Sam wailed plaintively. He sounded like he’d been personally kicked to the curb.
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“Long story short,” Sophie started, knowing that not saying anything would yield minutes, if not hours of water torture-like interrogation from her friends. “He was a lawyer. And a lousy lay,” Sophie finished, hoping she wouldn’t be caught in her bald-faced lie.
The diversion worked. Sophie cringed inwardly at her public disparagement of Ryan. Since they would never meet him, it wouldn’t make any difference. It was gracious of him to ask for her number, but he would never call. When she tuned back into the conversation, they were on to a new topic.
“Speaking of lawyers,” Sam dished, “Have you heard the rumors? There’s talk that the union’s going to strike.” The makeup artists and hair dressers who worked on movie and television productions were members of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, Local 706.
But this was the first Sophie had heard of a strike. With everything else that was happening in her life, this was the last thing she needed.
Chapter Six
On day one, she could excuse him. It was Sunday. No one called on Sunday. He was probably doing the same things she was—cleaning the house, doing the laundry, finishing last-minute errands before the work week started. If he was anything like her father, he was probably working today as well. Lawyers never knew when to turn it off. Though she thought Ryan had a better handle on it. He didn’t seem like the workaholic type.
She was pulled away from her reflection and self-pity when her ringer blared Sunday afternoon. Her disappointment that it wasn’t Ryan was quickly replaced by rabid curiosity.
“Nick?” she queried, pulling away from the phone and looking at her caller ID. “What’s up?” She could not remember Nick calling her in the last five years. “Is Holly okay?”