Exposed to You

by BETH KERY

  “Yeah,” Everett said thoughtfully. “Almost as if he thinks there’s something significant to worry about.”

  She paused in the action of rubbing the lotion on her arm. She met his gaze in the mirror.

  “He’s like a father and brother to me. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t worry if Katie got sick.”

  He said nothing. Joy resumed applying the lotion, working her way up to her shoulder. She felt his sharp observation the entire time.

  “Let me,” he said after a moment. He pumped some of the lotion into his hand. “Lower your straps.”

  A shiver coursed down her neck at the sound of his low, rough voice. She brushed the straps off her shoulders, watching him in the mirror as he lifted his hands. He began to massage the lotion into her shoulders and upper back, squeezing her muscles, using his fingers to knead away the tension that had grown there over the course of the evening.

  “Feel good?” he asked when she gave a muffled groan of appreciation.

  “Fantastic,” she said, letting her eyelids flutter closed. His hands felt warm and strong; her flesh seemed to melt beneath them. He touched the side of her neck with a long, questing finger. Her eyes opened. She met his stare in the mirror.

  “Sore?” he asked.

  She nodded. He moved his fingers in a gentle quest, watching himself touch her.

  “Your glands are swollen,” he murmured.

  She nodded. “Yes. The doctor noticed.”

  He looked at her again in the mirror. Joy stared back at him unblinkingly. Slowly, his massaging hands moved back to the slope of her shoulders.

  “How do you feel right now?”

  “I feel fine, now that the Tylenol has taken down the fever.”

  He nodded. His thumbs dug pleasurably around her shoulder blades, loosening tense muscles. Suddenly, he put his hands on the drooping straps on her black negligee and slid them down her arms, lowering the garment. The fitted silk dragged across the upper slope of her breasts until her nipples popped out from beneath the fabric. She lifted her hands free of the straps. Everett pushed the gown several inches beneath her breasts.

  Her nipples stiffened as she watched him pump more lotion and rub the emollient between his hands, warming it. Liquid warmth surged between her thighs when he cupped her breasts and tenderly began to rub the lotion into her skin.

  “It’s hard to believe that skin can be this soft,” he murmured from behind her. He cradled both breasts in his hand, lifting them, gliding his warm fingers along the lower swell of flesh. Her nipples darkened to the color of ripened raspberries. His fingertips touched the reddened crests. She stifled a whimper as he circled the beading tips. “Look at that,” he muttered, a hint of awe in his tone. “So amazing. So beautiful.”

  Something volatile tightened in her throat. For a panicked moment, she thought she was going to burst into tears like she had earlier with Seth. Instead, she spun around, facing him.

  “I want to be the one to touch you.”

  He blinked. Joy realized she’d sounded quite fierce. His small shrug and slightly stunned expression seemed to say, By all means, don’t let me stop you. She smiled when she saw it.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her head down as she pumped some of the lotion into her hands. “I just meant—you’re always making love to me, taking control of the situation.” She put her palms together in preparation to warm the lotion and looked up at him, her hands in a partial praying position. “I want to make love to you tonight.”

  She laid her hands flat on his abdomen. His muscles leapt beneath her touch. She paused, feeling all the life and vibrancy contained in his flesh. She’d never seen a more beautiful man in her life.

  She never would again.

  Slowly, meticulously, she made a study of his body, rubbing the lotion into his narrow, lean waist and his ribs, feeling his chest rise and fall more erratically beneath her palms as she stimulated his small, erect nipples with her fingertips. Her arms rose as she moved to his shoulders. She glanced up into his face as she massaged dense deltoid muscles. His lips parted when their gazes met. He moved forward, as if to kiss her, but she moved her head back slightly and continued her exploration, rubbing the cords between his shoulders and neck. His nostrils flared slightly, his expression telling her loud and clear he did not like to be deprived when he saw what he wanted.

  She arched her eyebrows and gave him a small smile. Tonight she would not be hurried in the process of touching him . . . of loving him. She massaged his rigid arm muscles, feeling his gaze on her movements the entire time. Looking down, she saw the pillar of his stiffened penis pressing against the cotton fabric of his pants. When she’d finished his arms, she gently urged him closer to the mirror so that he was watching her touch him. She moved behind him, one arm snaking around his waist where she touched his ridged belly, the other massaging corded back muscles. Little lotion remained, but she didn’t want to stop touching him. The skin covering his shoulder blades was so smooth, so thick, that she gave in to an urge to feel it against her cheek, and then against her lips. She pressed her naked breasts against his back.

  He started to turn to take her into his arms.

  “Don’t move.” She spoke softly next to his skin. She reached around and pulled on the drawstring of his pants. He froze. Both of her hands slipped beneath the waistband, her palms sliding against the sides of his firm, powerful buttocks. She released the fabric and it gathered around his thighs.

  Joy moved her head around his arm and gazed in the mirror. His cock hung like some type of glorious, fertile fruit between his thighs, the tapering, fat head pinker than the light gold, straight shaft. Holding her breath, she reached around his hip and took the heavy member into her palm, wrapping her fingers around the stalk. He throbbed into her hand, the weight of the firm flesh thrilling her. She moved her fist, stroking him. When she reached the head, she squeezed it between the constricted ring of her fingers.

  “Joy,” Everett groaned.

  Her gaze flashed up to meet his in the mirror. He wasn’t watching her hand on his cock, but her face as she touched him. Keeping his penis in her hand, she moved to the side of him. She ran her hand along his length to the base, where she cupped his heavy balls and gave them a gentle squeeze.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he said roughly.

  “Wait,” she whispered, her hold on him making her demand difficult to ignore. She fisted him again and gave a good jerk. She recalled how forceful he’d been when he’d stroked his cock while she sucked on the head last night. It had been exciting to see him treat his own flesh almost aggressively. She gave him a few more lusty yanks. His guttural moan told her she’d been right. Everett didn’t like his cock to be treated with kid gloves. She beat at the tumescent member for a taut moment, watching in fascination as the veins popped on the surface and the shapely head took on a purple hue.

  “I think they call that abuse,” Everett mumbled. She glanced up at him, pausing with her fist at midstaff. His jaw was rigid.

  “What do you call it?”

  “Heaven.”

  She smiled. He grunted in irritation when she released her hold, but held his tongue when she grabbed the vanity stool beneath the countertop and pulled it toward him. She sat, her profile to the mirror. Without any preamble, she put her hands on his hips and turned him toward her. She wanted him to be able to watch in the mirror, if doing so would bring him pleasure. His pants slid to his knees. She took his penis into her hand, and for a moment just stared, absorbing the sight. She wanted to be mindful. She wanted to remember this moment.

  Everett hissed something unintelligible when she lifted his cock and slid the head into her mouth. The firm, warm flesh stretched her lips. His flavor spread on her tongue. She closed her eyes and sucked. His musky, salty taste filled her consciousness; his turgid penis became her whole world. Her jaw ached and her lips screamed for a reprieve, but she wouldn’t stop. It was as if his pleasure had been mainlined into her veins, as if his gratification had
become her own. When the head of his cock slid into her throat and her body jerked in a reflex to expel him, she overcame even that, sacrificing herself to his bliss.

  “Joy,” he said sharply.

  She blinked open her eyes dazedly. Had he been calling her name repeatedly, and only the last exclamation had fractured her focus? Tears were running down her cheeks. She leaned back, Everett’s stiff member sliding from her mouth. She looked up the length of his naked body and froze when she saw his expression. His nostrils flared; his eyes looked wild.

  “How can you give yourself like that and claim this thing between us is meaningless?”

  She swallowed thickly. Her throat hurt badly. Perhaps he noticed her grimace, because his intense, almost angry expression softened. He kicked off the pants that had pooled around his ankles and grabbed her hand. He led her to the bedside table where he picked up a bottle of water.

  “Drink some,” he said.

  The cool water felt delicious sliding down her tender, raw throat.

  “Your cheeks are flushed again.” He touched her forehead. “I think your fever is back,” he said grimly. He tossed back the comforter and sheet. “Go on. Get into bed,” he said when she just stood there. He sighed and drew up her negligee over her breasts. “You need to sleep. I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. My cheeks aren’t flushed because of a fever,” she rasped.

  “It sounds like you’ve swallowed sandpaper,” he said, his brow furrowed with worry. “Get into bed, Joy. Please?”

  Instead of following his demand, however, she opened the bedside table. She’d observed that Everett kept some condoms in there. She withdrew one and tore it open.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, grabbing her wrist when she moved to roll it on his penis.

  “I told you. I want to make love to you,” she said, glancing up. “Please.”

  She saw his throat convulse. His hold on her loosened. Joy rolled on the prophylactic. When she’d finished, she waved toward the bed. “Sit down with your back against the headboard. Please,” she added softly when he gave her a blazing glance. He said nothing, but did as she asked.

  “What are you planning on doing?” he asked when she lifted her gown and straddled his thighs. She took his cock into her hand and arrowed it into her pussy. She was wet—very wet—but at first, her vagina seemed to resist the intrusion of a thick, hard cock. She gritted her teeth and clung on to Everett’s shoulders. He grasped her hips. Her cry segued to a shaky whimper as she applied a solid pressure and his cock carved into her body.

  “Jesus, Joy,” Everett mumbled. His head fell back against the padded headboard. He looked as if he’d just had a workout at the gym. Every muscle on his torso was defined, tensed and glazed with a sheen of sweat. She sat in his lap, her body harboring the length of his penis.

  “Do you remember that night of the premiere, when we made love and you said you’d wanted to connect to me?” she whispered throatily.

  “Of course.”

  “I want to do something similar now. Let’s talk.”

  “Talk?” he asked, looking disbelieving.

  “Yes. That’s a tantric sex thing, isn’t it? We’re supposed to keep ourselves on the edge of arousal for as long as possible. Talk. Commune. Share ourselves, and when . . .”

  She swallowed thickly when her voice broke.

  “Joy?”

  She continued more firmly. “When the end finally comes, it will be all that much more special.”

  She met Everett’s stare determinedly. “It’s what I want. I’m not afraid to feel close to you, like I was on that night. I’m not afraid of your honesty.”

  “You said I overwhelmed you.”

  “Tonight, I want to be overwhelmed.”

  He moved his hands on her hips. His cock swelled inside her.

  “What should we talk about?”

  “Anything. What was the happiest day of your life?”

  He blinked. “I’d like to think it hasn’t happened yet,” he said slowly. He gripped her hips and moved them in a subtle circular motion. She gasped. He grimaced. “This isn’t going to work, Joy. Your fever—it’s making you so hot. It’s like being buried in a tight fire.”

  “Focus,” she whispered. His gaze flickered over her face.

  “Well, if it weren’t for you getting upset about Jenny and getting sick, I’d say today was pretty damn awesome.”

  She smiled.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes briefly, willfully resisting an almost overwhelming urge to ground her pussy down in his lap to get pressure on her throbbing clit.

  “When I got my full scholarship to art school, that was pretty special. For a while there, I was concerned I wasn’t going to be able to go to VCU’s program. It was my first choice for art school, and it’s not easy to get in. My mother was so happy I’d been accepted, but she died not realizing we really wouldn’t have been able to cover the finances. When I found out about the scholarship, it was like someone lifted the door on my cage,” she said.

  “And the dove flew free.”

  She gave him a shaky smile. “What’s your favorite movie of all time?”

  He grimaced and clutched at her hips, tilting her forward slightly on his cock.

  “Everett?” she gasped, feeling him press erotically against the front wall of her vagina.

  “Hard to say,” he said tightly. “Probably On the Waterfront.”

  “I can see that,” she murmured. “You have all the ragged passion of Brando, somehow stabilized.”

  He grimaced, and she knew it had nothing to do with what she’d said. “What’s yours?”

  “Casablanca.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Why?” she asked, finding it difficult to focus. The pressure in her genitals was becoming unbearable.

  “You and Ilsa both have that elusive thing going on that drives a guy crazy,” he mumbled, referring to Ingrid Bergman’s character.

  “I do not!”

  “Have you ever been in love?” he asked her, abruptly changing the topic.

  She couldn’t resist any longer. She pressed down in his lap, getting friction on her clit. A ripple of pleasure shuddered through her. “I . . . don’t know,” she gasped.

  “How can you not know?”

  “I can’t be sure.” She nervously licked at the perspiration gathering on her upper lip. “Have you?”

  His fingers dug into her hips. He seemed to realize what he was doing and smoothed the silk over her skin as if to apologize for his forcefulness.

  “Yeah.” Was that uncertainty she heard in his tone or some other emotion?

  “But you don’t know for sure?” she whispered, scanning his features.

  “No. I know,” he said grimly after a moment.

  Her heart throbbed against her breastbone. Her vaginal muscles tightened around him without conscious instruction on her part. Change the subject, she thought desperately.

  “When I was talking to Errol down in the diner earlier today, he said something about Katie being related to Howard Hughes. Is that true?”

  “What?” Everett said, his gaze narrowed on her.

  “Are you related to Howard Hughes?” she asked.

  “Oh. Um . . . yeah,” he said as if he were trying to dredge for inconsequential information in a murky area of his brain. “He’s some kind of sixteenth cousin removed on my father’s side or something.”

  His hands shifted. He lowered her nightgown back down beneath her breasts. She felt his cock lurch inside her as he stared at her chest.

  “How much longer do we have to do this?” he asked, his gaze glittering . . . ravenous.

  “Much longer.”

  He exhaled exasperatedly. “Why did I know you were going to say that?” He stroked the tender skin at the sides of her body, making her shiver and her nipples tighten. Again, her vagina tightened around him. She shot him a repressive glance. He
knew how sensitive she was there. “Okay, how about the worst day of your life?” he asked.

  “The day my mother died,” she said without thinking. He caressed her bare back with warm hands. This time, she found his touch comforting as well as arousing. “I had thought for sure when the end came, when her suffering finally ceased, I would be relieved . . . glad that her pain was finally over. I was wrong. It was exponentially worse, knowing I’d never hear her speak again, never feel her touch,” she whispered. He regarded her silently for a moment. “What about you?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “I’d rather not say.”

  “Why?”

  “Because compared to your worst day, I’d sound like a spoiled, shallow jerk.”

  “Don’t say that, Everett,” she said, caressing his shoulders. She had to move. She must. She lifted herself a few inches off his cock and settled again. They both gave restrained groans.

  “One person’s suffering doesn’t compare to another’s,” she said once she’d caught her breath. “We’re not in a contest. It’s a completely private, personal experience. What you would say is your worst day is about you, no one else.”

  He hesitated, his gaze lowering to her breasts. She held her breath when he ran the tip of his forefinger along the sensitive skin on the lower swell of flesh.

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. It might have been when I took my parents to the director’s screening for Stardust. Maybe you saw it—it was my first major motion picture and a colossal flop. When I looked at the expression on my father’s face when he saw me on that screen wearing tight silver pants and spouting the most moronic lines ever spoken by a human being, including during the Neolithic era, I thought I’d die of humiliation. I knew the screenplay was bad, and had a pretty good idea it was going to tank, but until I saw myself up there through my parents’ eyes, I didn’t get just how horrible it was. I was too young to tell my agent to go screw herself when she insisted the project was revolutionary and cutting-edge. I was too stupid to understand that the magic fairy dust of filmmaking is completely ineffective on a crap screenplay.” Her heart squeezed in compassion when she saw the vivid discomfort on his face. It still bothered him, even now. “After that experience, I didn’t act for nine months. I was twenty-three years old and totally pissed at myself for agreeing to be a part of such a shit project. I was convinced I was a total sellout.”