by Cari Quinn
“I didn’t miss it. You didn’t say it.” He shrugged and finished off his champagne.
“Fine. Consider it said. I like everything about younger men. Their outlook, their enthusiasm.” Her gaze sharpened on his mouth. “Their staying power in bed.”
“Not hearing the downside here.”
Her lips twitched. “I like control. Out of bed and in it.”
Difficult for him to argue with that statement. “Okay. I’m open-minded.” He wasn’t sure what she meant exactly, but he didn’t have a problem with finding out. “I have a California King bed. Lots of room for whatever…you prefer.”
She gaped at him, her full damp lips parted with surprise. Or dismay. “No wonder you weren’t interested in Asteroid Eater. You’re from outer space yourself.”
“Why? Because I’m honest?”
“No one is this honest.” She set her empty glass on the hearth. “Look, Michael, I realize you think you’ve got the world by the tail what with all this.” She waved her glittery copper fingernails at his living room. “You figure you just snap and boom, women fall in your lap.”
“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who waited for me after class? I’m pretty sure you didn’t want to offer me tips on how to pose.”
Moose, his gray and white Maine Coon cat, picked that moment to slink into the room. Noticing the newcomer, he sniffed the air for a moment then proceeded to plop down at Kim’s feet. Kim bent to pick him up, only to have Moose dart away. Typical. The cat took forever to warm up to people. Not that there were all that many around for him to get close to anyway.
Kim sighed and rose. “Maybe I was looking for a friend.”
“Me too,” he countered, driven to touch her hair. “Why are you making this so complicated?”
“Me?” Her indignation nearly made him grin. “Sorry, I’m not feeling this whole pseudo-seduction of yours. Does this routine usually work for you? Unfortunately, I’m not the usual female.” She caught his hand in mid-air and gave him a warning look that could’ve frozen lava. “What happened to your diner speech? You telling me you have condoms is not platonic behavior.”
“Sure it is. Buddies share latex. Isn’t that a thing?”
“You are completely weird. Why am I even attracted to you?”
He didn’t even bother trying not to smile. “So you aren’t offended. I didn’t think so.” He curled his fingers around her hand, still gripping his. “I thought you might appreciate someone on the same page as you. You probably confuse some of those guys. I bet they don’t get what you’re all about. You want a good time and they dare to fall in love with you and fuck up your no-strings affair. Isn’t that right?”
From her quick glance away, he’d nailed her problem in one. “Why do you say that?”
“You’d be very easy to fall for,” he said softly. Back when he’d still been idealistic about love and relationships and thought give and take truly existed.
Not anymore. He was fine with the taking part of the equation. But giving—other than during sex—was off-limits.
“See?” As the question burst out of her, her sweet breath blew over his mouth. His cock stirred, eager to be set free from its restrictive confines. Eager to be gripped in those long, agile fingers still trapped in his. “You pretend to be so candid about how different you are yet you basically admitted you’re the same as everyone else.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” He placed a finger over her lips and he could tell she was tempted to bite it. “You’d be very easy to fall for—for any man who wasn’t me.”
Chapter Four
Kim blinked. Okay, she hadn’t expected him to say that.
Her ego wasn’t throbbing either. Because why should she care if he didn’t have any interest in falling in love with her? She should be jumping for hormone-fueled joy. Instead she felt…hurt.
Clearly she’d been out of the dating game a few brain cells too long.
“I need another drink.” She snatched the bottle of Cristal and decided to forego her glass for the oh-so-classy choice of drinking premium champagne from the bottle. And then, if that wasn’t enough, dribbling approximately one-eighth of the bottle on her top. “Christ.” She fumbled the bottle, nearly dropping it, her sluggish brain centering on the curious reaction of her nipples.
The one that had gotten soaked in bubbly pebbling up made sense. But the other deciding to play twinsie was disheartening, to say the least.
“Hey there. Easy.” Michael wrapped his long fingers around the neck of the bottle and damn if her traitorous clit didn’t send up a warning throb.
She was about to do something stupid unless she somehow managed to get hold of herself before she grabbed hold of him.
So…yeah, stupid was her best guess.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, shutting her eyes. Perhaps if she blocked him from view she would lessen her chances of acting in a way not befitting a newly self-aware woman of almost forty who didn’t want to remember that she knew better. “I owe you a bottle of champagne.”
“Why? Because you spilled a little bit?” He ran his fingertip along the V-neck of her sweater to blot up the liquid and she sucked in a breath. “Or because you drank straight from the bottle?” He tugged it out of her now boneless hand and tipped it to his own mouth, taking a long swig that caused his throat to ripple. Then he licked his lips and smiled. “I consider that a bonus. Tastes even sweeter now with your lipstick on the rim.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” She shifted, intending to turn away, but he snagged his finger in her neckline and pulled her closer. Her gaze lifted warily to his. Already the champagne was starting to do its job. If she kept drinking, she’d leapfrog from “questionable decision” straight to “regret this tomorrow” territory.
And it was getting harder to recall why.
Speaking of hard, the thick length against her belly also qualified. All she had to do was reach down and free all that gorgeous flesh and they’d have a party for two. He’d distract her from her thoughts about his disturbing draw on her and what was going on with Brad and Sara. When he was inside her, she couldn’t obsess about finding a new place to live and all the ways her perfectly comfortable—if occasionally itchy—life was probably going to change.
Not sleeping with him didn’t make sense. He tempted her in more ways than she could explain. After all, that’s why she had originally waited for him after class. Besides, no one had to know. Not her teacher. Not Brad or Sara or Gary or any of her exes who would shake their head at how little she’d learned.
“I have an idea.” He continued to rub the V of her sweater, indirectly touching her skin. She tried not to shudder but every movement tightened the fabric over her breasts. “Do you trust me?”
She swallowed. “If I say no, can I take the bottle of bubbly with me to bed in the guest room?”
Rather than looking chagrined, he set aside the champagne and laughed. “You can do whatever you like. I don’t expect anything.”
“No? Well, there’s a first.”
“I can’t say I won’t be disappointed but that’s not the same as expecting sex.”
“So what’s the trusting-you thing about if you’re cool with me heading off to bed?”
His laughter dimmed into a sober expression that increased the sensation of locusts swarming in her abdomen. Big, buzzing ones. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“You can’t be serious. Besides, I already saw yours.” She’d even drawn it to scale in charcoal.
His smile sent warmth curling through her midsection, quieting the crazed locusts. “But I haven’t seen you.”
She couldn’t help snorting her disbelief at this conversation. Who was this guy? Since when did a man settle for mutual stripteases instead of—
“You’re right. I made a promise. No sex, but that doesn’t mean you can’t show me what you like,” he said gently, running his fingertip over the lips she’d yet to close after his request. “And maybe, if you’re interested, I coul
d do the same. In case you ever change your mind about the no-sex thing.”
The questions fell away. His suggestion had invoked a weird humming in her blood, one that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the earnestness in those midnight eyes.
She stepped back and tugged her sweater over her head, following it with her bra. His swift intake of breath made her fingers falter as she finished getting completely undressed. She studiously avoided glancing Michael’s way until she couldn’t stifle her curiosity any longer.
When she took in the naked desire in his expression, her heart stalled out.
“You are—” he began, his tone awed.
“Don’t.” His flattery seemed uncalled-for, unnecessary even. Bodies were meant to be used and enjoyed and she enjoyed hers often. Words were superfluous. It was so much easier to cup his face to taste them still hovering on his lips, caught there like a wish he’d yet to make.
Wordlessly, he undid his shirt buttons, not moving to kiss her fully, not moving away until his undressing separated their mouths. When he finally stood naked in front of her, she let her gaze travel over him from his freckle-dusted shoulders—funny how those golden specks stood out so much in the low light—to his ridiculously ripped chest and abs, right on down to his hard cock, curving up his stomach.
Yep, it was as amazing this close as it had been at a slight distance. No optical illusions either time.
“Please, sit.” Voice rough, he gestured toward the sofa before taking the leather armchair opposite her. “Let me look at you.”
That should’ve sounded creepy. Why didn’t it? She sat at his command and even spread her legs to allow him better visual access.
He didn’t speak but his body shifted, thighs opening to mirror her pose. Testing him, she cupped her breast, toying with the nipple, her head falling back at the sharp tug in her groin. The champagne had lowered her limited inhibitions and damn, she was already wet. Slipping her other hand down, she slid her finger over her trimmed patch of hair, skating down to her swollen lower lips. Wetness coated them and her finger as she circled her clit, incapable of even lifting her head to watch him take his own pleasure. But she heard his soft grunts, and the slick sounds his hand made as it shuttled up and down his shaft.
Had he spit in his palm? God, that was hot. She wanted to see. Wanted to taste. Just…wanted.
Her own fingers traveled in lazy patterns, building her need. Until she plunged inside her tightening pussy and realized that she’d self-foreplayed up to the crisis point. A few more slides and circles and she’d give him the show he’d asked for.
First she needed to watch him.
She raised her head and gasped at the sight of him stretched back in the chair, long legs out, massive cock in his hand while he pumped nice and slow. The image imprinted itself in her mind, to be replayed at every future solo-sex opportunity. Sweat glistened on his defined chest, the droplets gleaming in the firelight. A dab of pre-come topped his erection, the whipped cream to her banana split. He wiped it off carelessly and she moaned, regretting the loss. His mouth flattened, the lines of his face going taut the longer he stared at her, seemingly riveted by what she was doing.
As if hypnotized, she started working her finger in and out of her drenched channel. He groaned at the loud wet sound of her thrusts, shoulders hunching, legs tensing. Hand a blur.
“Come,” he demanded in a gravelly tone that wouldn’t have done it alone. She wasn’t a sex bot, much as she wished she were that easily instructed in matters of climax. But when he fumbled for his balls, pulling on them in a clumsy, artless way that had to hurt, and his mouth fell open on a silent shout, she gave in to the contractions that twisted through her and left her sobbing for breath.
Freaking A.
She’d just made herself come in front of a man she barely knew while he did the same. Somehow they’d been together even in their separateness. She’d never experienced anything like this before and yet the moment felt familiar, as if they weren’t strangers at all. His eyes were wide open and on hers, his look of gratitude—for what, she didn’t know—as physical as a hug.
Regret didn’t follow the moments of ecstasy. She also didn’t feel a blinding desire to leave. Her only response was to smile and lift her sticky fingers to her mouth.
“Was it good for you?” she purred, taking her first lick to his rumbling laughter.
Kim woke to a still-roaring fire, dim lights and a pine-smelling blanket tucked around her chin. A comfortable pillow cradled her head, not one from the sofa. The sofa? She shot up on one elbow and glanced around, orienting herself to her surroundings. Where the hell was she?
The pounding behind her left eye brought home the reality right quick. Randall’s class. Meeting Michael, after meeting Michael’s handsome penis. Diner dinner, sticker shock at Michael’s digs, confusion about whether she should jump him or run. Downing way too much champagne.
Then…oh then. So many bad decisions in such a short time.
She groaned softly and rubbed her grainy eyes. Her mouth tasted like a bucket of rust. Charming. She didn’t have her toothbrush or her hairbrush or even clean panties. This sleepover sucked.
Like she’d sucked her own fingers. More accurately, licked.
Oh fuck, there went her clit again. She pressed her thighs together and wondered if she could legitimately blame her hormones for her questionable choices.
She swung her legs over the side and sat up, pleased to note the room didn’t revolve. Progress. It was a pity she was such a lightweight drinker. She looked at her watch. Four a.m. She’d been out for a while, which meant she’d had time to sober up. Other than her vague headache, she definitely didn’t feel like she’d been drinking. Any hint of a buzz was so long gone she barely remembered it.
Kim pulled up the blanket and considered her options. Wait and deal with a potentially awkward morning after? She really didn’t see how it could be anything but awkward in light of the previous night’s events. Her plan had been a light friendly dinner and somehow, thanks to her brother, she’d ended up bunking in a mansion with a dick model who liked to play dirty show ’n’ tell.
She ran her hand down the soft navy blue blanket Michael had draped over her. Vaguely, she remembered him whispering instructions. Half bath down the hall, off the study. Extra pillows and blankets in the linen closet in the bathroom at the top of the stairs. Fresh fruit and filtered water in the fridge. She glanced at the table beside the couch. Aspirin bottle and a glass of juice waiting.
God, the guy really was too good to be true.
She should stay and face him. That would be polite. Before she got the hell out of the forest and returned to civilization, she should thank him and offer him friendship. A phone and text relationship only because anything more would lead them right into sex. And she had a sneaking suspicion it would not be the casual, no-strings affair that he’d implied it would be.
Decision made, she smiled and reached for the aspirin and juice. She took two and emptied the glass before deciding a visit to the powder room was in order. Too much bubbly. She tossed aside the blanket, blinking at the object on the floor next to the chair across from her. A men’s wallet. Definitely not hers. Her purse was…somewhere. Michael must’ve lost his wallet while mucho distracted.
She shuddered. Not that she could blame him.
After she’d placed his wallet on the side table, she frowned. It likely contained his driver’s license. She could allay her concerns about his age at the very least. What would it harm?
Before she could talk herself out of it, she popped open the billfold, quickly locating Michael’s identification. Michael Matthew Montgomery. Three M’s. That made her smile until her gaze lasered in on the birthdate and she did some quick math.
The fucker was twenty-five. Not thirty as he’d claimed, but twenty-five. Making him fourteen years younger than she was, AKA almost in oh-fucking-shit territory.
The almost was mostly for show.
She blew out a breath and tossed the wallet back onto the table. Yeah, she needed to get gone. She wasn’t friends with liars. Liars she’d enjoyed thoroughly even without having sex.
Should she feel skeezy? He could practically be her son. A little bit of a stretch though not that much. She’d dated plenty of younger men, all within ten years of her own age. More than that was definitely iffy to her way of thinking.
Brad and Sara were almost fifteen years apart but he was thirty. Thirty seemed so much older than twenty-five. Besides, they’d known each other for years. This felt like she’d perved on Michael’s peen before she’d gotten a chance to perv on the total package.
Or it would feel like that if she didn’t stop making rationalizations and thinking about how mature Michael seemed for his age, even more mature than she was in some ways. A number didn’t mean more than they let it.
Bah. Who was she kidding? This particular number meant plenty, since he’d lied to her. That was an even more salient point. He’d already knocked her way off balance with his bearing and his wealth and his desire to watch her pleasure herself brainless rather than fuck her that way. The lie tipped the scales firmly in the negative.
Time to go.
She jerked to her feet and folded up the blanket she’d cuddled with all night. She looked around, making sure the place wasn’t a mess. Nice and tidy as far as the eye could see.
Should she leave a note? A simple thank you would suffice. He didn’t have her phone number but he probably had Randall’s since he worked with him at the rec center. If he wanted to connect with her, he could.
No, no note. She’d lose some politeness points but she needed to send a message. Sneaking out before dawn should do the trick.
She found her purse in the foyer and took a quick detour to the bathroom on her way out. All she wanted was to go home and sleep in her own bed. If she encountered Brad and Sara and their late-night party on the way to her own room, she’d apologize profusely.
When she opened the door to a fucking blizzard, she decided Mother Nature clearly wanted to screw with her. Too bad she refused to be deterred. She marched out into the snow, cursing her thin-soled ballet flats and the slush slipping inside her shoes. This night was getting better and better.