Wine, Tarts & Sex

by Susan Johnson

  “Anything you want.” His smile was benevolent. “Anything at all.”

  Oh my God! She could feel his sexy promise of anything pulse through her vagina, whisper over her nipples, drift across the heated surface of her skin, spike through her brain. “I’m really tempted,” she said on a small, caught breath. “I’ve never had a personal chef,” she murmured, or any of the other pleasures her brain was suddenly conjuring up just looking at God’s gift to women standing no more than six feet away.

  “There’s always a first time for everything,” he said softly.

  He obviously wasn’t talking about food. Nor was she actually thinking about food.

  “If it helps,” he added, moving toward her slowly, as though understanding her indecision required a certain degree of finesse, “I’m probably more tempted than you. I was planning on going to bed early and watching TV.” He lifted his shoulder slightly in a small renunciatory gesture as he reached her. “You changed my mind. I think it’s-” He caught himself before he said something outrageously stupid like the glow of your sun-kissed skin. Instead, he lightly touched her bottom lip with the pad of his index finger. “You know you’re beautiful. You hear it all the time, I expect. But you are.”

  She started to say, Thank you, but his mouth suddenly covered hers and swallowed up her words, his kiss hard, invasive.

  And a helluva lot more feverish than he would have liked.

  He abruptly jerked away. “Christ-I’m going to scare you off. Sorry.” Drawing in a deep breath, he flashed a boyish grin. “Maybe we should have another glass of wine and give me time to cool down.”

  “Let’s not.” Blatantly aware of his tantalizingly huge erection that had been very recently pressed against her stomach, her libido way past jazzed, she said in a tone of voice that could only be categorized as decisive, “I’m not really in the mood for more wine right now.” Reaching out, she ran her fingers over his rock-hard penis stretching the denim of his jeans. “And he doesn’t look like he is, either.”

  As his erection swelled larger, he murmured, “So I don’t have to worry about scaring you off.”

  She gazed up at him from under her lashes. “Not unless this gets too big for me to handle.”

  The implication in her statement set off a chain reaction of salacious possibilities; it took him a millisecond to restrain his baser instincts. “Why don’t I keep it under control, then.”

  “You can do that?”

  He wanted to say, Maybe, if you stop doing what you’re doing, but he wasn’t abstemious by nature, so he lied and said, “Sure I can.” No way was he going to equivocate at this point. Particularly when they were both in the same frame of mind. Mustering up what he hoped was a casual tone, when he was, in fact, seriously cautioning himself to restraint, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Care to go upstairs? ”

  She smiled. “Definitely.” Turning away, she moved toward the kitchen.

  Darling Livvi doesn’t play games. Nice, he thought as he followed her.

  “I can’t stay long,” Liv said as he caught up with her. “I really do have friends waiting.”

  He didn’t often hear the equivalent of Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am in reverse. In fact, he never had. Whether inspired by vanity or selfishness, he pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket and held it out. “Give your friends a call. No sense in rushing.” Although he didn’t know if he could give her any guarantees about the first time. He was fucking primed.

  “I’ll give them a heads-up at least,” she said, taking the phone from him. “Although you don’t have to make me any food, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about food.”

  She smiled. “Two minds with but a single thought. It must be karma.”

  “Damn right,” he said, grinning back, although his karma was pretty much self-motivated and action-oriented. “Tell your friends you’ll meet them later.” Much later-but he was polite enough not to say so.

  Stopping at the base of the stairs, Liv punched in a number and, leaning against the doorjamb, she smiled at Jake while she waited for someone to answer.

  “Something came up,” Liv said a moment later. “No, it’s not a man. Why would you say that?” She grimaced faintly. “I left my phone in my truck, okay? And for your information, that’s not true. It’s business. Yeah, yeah, cute. Look- I’ll be there before you anyway. You’re usually late. Yes, absolutely-it’s business. I swear.” And she flipped the phone shut while her friend was still talking.

  “Sounds like you were getting some static.”

  “Shelly always thinks everything’s about a man. It may be for her-she’s been dating a lot since her divorce-but it’s not for me.” Liv flashed Jake a rueful smile. “Present company excepted. You turn me on. What can I say?”

  “Lucky me.” Apparently darling Livvi’s criteria tonight was just basic cock. Not that he took issue.

  “Lucky us, I hope,” she murmured with a sidelong glance.

  He grinned. “Are you going to be demanding?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “I didn’t think it would.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means your reputation precedes you.” She smiled. “I know friends of friends of friends. Women always talk.” Like he was hung and knew how to use it. As for the National Enquirer story, she highly doubted it after feeling the size of his dick.

  “I’m at a disadvantage. I haven’t heard anything about you.”

  “There’s nothing to hear. I lead a simple life.”

  “You haven’t always.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Even in the L.A. scene?”

  “Even then. I’m careful in my friendships.”

  “Like now?”

  “Usually-I’m careful in my friendships.” That at least was true. “I must have been working too hard. And suddenly, you were here reminding me to take some time to play.” Lies, lies, lies; she hadn’t planned on touching Jake Chambers with a ten-foot pole.

  “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather play with,” he said with a grin. “After you.” He nodded at the stairs. “I’m living mostly out of my suitcase; forgive the mess.”

  She almost said: The mood I’m in, it doesn’t matter. But, opting for something less revealing, she said instead, “Not a problem.”

  Six

  Following her up the stairs, Jake took note of the flash of crimson soles on her spiky heels- Louboutin’s trademark. “Sexy shoes,” he said.

  “They’re my fuck-me shoes.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  She swiveled around enough to give him a grin. “I could say it’s just an expression, but under the circumstances, you might not buy it.”

  “Sure I would.” He knew how to be polite.

  “Let’s just say it’s part of the karma. I don’t feel like explaining. ” What could she have said, anyway? I don’t often do things like this. Like he was going to believe that.

  “Karma-whatever…” He didn’t need an explanation or a road map to anywhere. Darling Livvi was one hot number, from her fuck-me shoes to her no-nonsense take on sex, and whether it was karma or good old luck, he was going with it, no questions asked.

  Was there a note of equivocation in his whatever? Stopping on the step above him, Liv turned around. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Unless you’re going to tell me you’re a man,” he said with a grin, “I’m sure.”

  She smiled. “I thought I might have been too direct.”

  “No way. Everything’s good. Lead on.”

  Male certainty, she thought, resuming her ascent. Not that she was surprised. Nor would she have had even a moment of equivocation if any of this was even remotely normal.

  Au contraire.

  Her hots for Jake Chambers was unusual. She’d never been instantly turned on by a man-and she’d seen more than her share of handsome men on her world travels.

 
Although trying to figure out why this was happening wasn’t in the cards right now. Her carnal impulses were in charge.

  And whether cause or effect was driving her, the goal was the same.

  “Holy shit.” Arrested at the top of the stairs, she stared at a very large four-poster bed, its provenance India, if the voluptuous female nudes that figured as bedposts were any indication. The piece of furniture was set center stage in a large room that otherwise appeared to be a living room. “Some of Chaz’s usual subtlety, I see.” She shot a glance at Jake, who had come up beside her.

  “You got that right,” Jake said, drily. “Is it too much? We could go somewhere else.” He liked that she hadn’t seen it before, her surprise obvious. That it mattered that she hadn’t seen it before, he chose not to consider.

  She glanced at her watch, thinking, could she wait if they went somewhere else? Easy answer: no. Then her friends were waiting, too, so time was a factor.

  “Are you on a tight schedule?”

  “No,” she lied. “Sorry.” Although why was she even worrying about Shelly et al. at a time like this? Her mother’s courtesy-to-others mantra drilled into her in childhood was to blame.

  “So-do you wanna go somewhere else?”

  Back in the real, more selfish world, her gaze flicked down to his crotch, then up again. “I vote to stay here.” She smiled. “How’s that?”

  He would have been happy fucking her on the dining room table downstairs, but ever courteous, he said, “I second the vote. Come on.” He took her hand. “Let’s see if this Kama Sutra bed has any good vibes.”

  The magenta satin duvet cover and pillow shams had the same over-the-top bawdiness as the bed, the fabric not only embroidered in gold but befringed and betasseled with reckless abandon.

  “I feel as though I should charge you,” Liv teased as they reached the bed. “Is this from a bordello, or is it some decorator ’s idea of camp?”

  “Let’s hope it’s camp. Although in my current lustful mood, I want you to know, money’s no object.”

  “Cute.” She smiled. “Not that I wouldn’t be willing to open my checkbook at the moment if I had to.” She glanced at his erection. “For that.”

  They were both experienced enough and past gorgeous enough to know that neither of them had ever had to pay for anything when it came to sex. They didn’t belabor the point.

  “Sit down.” He kicked off his sandals. “Let me help you with your shoes-and don’t look at me like that. I don’t have a fetish. I’m just being polite.”

  “In that case”-Liv smiled as she sat on the shockingly pink satin-“I’d be delighted.”

  “Louboutin has the sexiest shoes on the market.” Kneeling at her feet, unbuckling one black ankle strap, he glanced up and winked. “Merely an objective observation. I won’t ask to lick your toes.”

  She laughed. “I’m relieved. As for Louboutin, the man knows women. I have a closet full of his shoes; they make me feel good.” Like the touch of your hands, Liv thought, her senses on full alert, superheightened, as if she’d inhaled an aphrodisiac, and the love potion was kicking in big time.

  Any talk of feeling good definitely struck a chord, although Jake’s feel-good senses had nothing to do with shoes or Christian Louboutin’s expertise in interpreting female psyches. He didn’t even believe in karma, although an experience like this could make him a convert. It wasn’t every day a sexy woman like Liv Bell walked into his kitchen. He’d give fate a nod on this one.

  And maybe an obeisance or two as well.

  Or ten or twenty, he decided, deeply appreciative of the scene unfolding before his eyes.

  Once sans shoes, Liv had tumbled back onto the bed and was in the process of stripping off her lacy panties, her silken thighs and blonde pussy a damned inspiring sight.

  Quick to take his cue, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it.

  A second later, green silk panties joined his T-shirt on the floor.

  He unsnapped his jeans.

  She looked up, her dress half off. “This is sooo bizarre,” she murmured, the sound of the snap having buzzed her back from her jazzed-up, take-me-I’m-yours trance.

  “Don’t knock it. Karma’s karma.”

  “You think?”

  He shrugged. “Absolutely.” No way was he stopping. Not with her dress down around her waist and her lush boobs scorching his retinas.

  “Okay,” she said, as though maybe she’d needed permission. Then he slid his jeans down his hips and legs, stepped out of them, and any hesitation she might have had instantly vanished. She wanted what was under his boxers with or without karma or reason or practicality. Someday, she’d question her obsession. But. Not. Right. Now.

  Back on track, she slid her dress downward, slipped her legs out, and tossed the bright yellow silk aside. Kicking the duvet down to the foot of the bed, she figured she’d worry about whatever there was to worry about later-like tomorrow or never. “Yesss, normal sheets,” she exclaimed. “Chaz has not gone completely Bollywood.” Falling back in a languorous pose that was second nature to her after ten thousand photo shoots, she lay on Chaz’s six-hundred-count lavender cotton sheets and said with a smile, “As you may have noticed, I’m in a slam-bang mood.”

  He grinned. “Are you on speed, or something better?”

  “I wish I had that excuse. I’m straight and sober, and have no idea why I’m suddenly so impatient. Maybe it’s your eyes; they’re gorgeous. Although your splendid hard-on can’t be discounted, either,” she added, her gaze flicking to his crotch. “Oh, yeah, definitely a factor…”

  “Speaking of factors,” he murmured, his dark gaze focused on her pussy, prominently on display as she lay with one leg slightly bent at the knee and tipped to one side. A tantalizing glimpse of her pink labia commanded his attention, her soft, plump flesh glistening wet, as in ready for action.

  “Do you need help undressing?”

  His gaze came up, and he grinned. “Can’t wait?”

  “No. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t a clue.”

  “Give me a second to find a condom,” he said with a smile, quickly stripping off his blue boxers, “and I’ll be right with you. Knowing Chaz, I’m guessing there’s some around.” Jerking open the drawer on the bedside table, he lifted out a string of foil packets. “Score.”

  “Thank God. I was about to panic.” His engorged, waist-high erection was making her even hotter. With a suffocated groan, she cautioned herself to patience while every feverish nerve in her body screamed its dissent.

  In the act of tearing open a foil packet, he paused at the sound of her muffled groan and glanced over. “You are on a real short fuse, aren’t you, babe?”

  “Sorta,” she whispered. “I apologize.”

  “Hey, don’t apologize. I’m counting my blessings.”

  She watched him roll the latex down his stiff prick with swift precision, her cunt pulsing and throbbing in anticipation, all her senses primed and aching to feel that huge dick slide inside her.

  The condom in place, he leaned over the bed, setting his hands on either side of her shoulders, and dropped between her legs in a supple flow of muscled strength. “Time to get this show on the road?” His voice was soft, his smile close.

  “If you don’t mind.” There it was; courtesy even in extremity.

  “Do I look like I mind?”

  She smiled. “You have my eternal thanks, believe me.”

  He almost said, Who would have nailed you if I hadn’t asked? But seconds away from sinking his dick into her cunt, he whispered, “My pleasure, babe.”

  He didn’t even have to use his hands.

  She shifted her hips slightly, adjusting her wet-with-longing cleft over the head of his penis… until she was right on target.

  He pressed forward, entered her, and gave it up to whatever was making him feel this good.

  Everything proceeded in perfect harmony-faultless to a fault, as Robert Browning would say-the quintessential fit of slick cun
t and hard cock, of time and circumstance, of uncomplicated desire.

  She gasped softly as her G-spot nerve endings made contact with his hard, rigid penis.

  He heard her gasp but neither paused nor stopped, single-mindedly intent on sinking hilt-deep into her silky warmth. Slowly forcing his way in, he felt her flesh gradually yield to his size and length, and when he eventually reached bottom, he grunted in satisfaction.

  That low, guttural sound triggered every primal nerve in her body; all the complexities of civilization vanished, and she became incarnate female to virile maleness. Not necessarily a completely tractable female with her twenty-first-century mind-set, but definitely and certifiably receptive.

  Even as she took note of her peculiar reaction, her body shamelessly contrived to further advance the act of mating, flooding her vaginal tissue to allow better access, making her more available, easier to fuck.

  Acknowledging the added lubrication, Jake shifted his tempo marginally, moving with less caution now, sliding in and out more forcefully, no longer concerned with curbing his forward motion in order not to hurt her.

  She responded, accommodating his rhythm, her hands clutching his shoulders, her feet braced on Chaz’s lavender sheets to better meet the power of his downstrokes. Each time he was completely submerged, she’d arch upward to experience that exquisite, fierce ecstasy, holding her breath as the flame-hot rapture flooded her senses. As he’d withdraw, she’d whimper, reluctant to relinquish the intoxicating pleasure, pleading. “Stay, stay, stay…”

  He never did-knowing better, intent on the ultimate sensation-and after a millisecond suspended at the extremity of his withdrawal, he’d plunge in once again and smile faintly at her gasp of pleasure.

  Her orgasm wasn’t long in coming.

  Not that he’d thought it would be in her self-described slam-bang mood.

  She quietly climaxed on one of his downstrokes, dying away on a sigh and a wave of molten bliss.

  He was surprised at her constraint, having expected something more violent and vocal from a woman who approached sex with such dispatch. As he rested in her, waiting for her last ripple to fade away, she lay motionless and silent.