The alarm on his electronic pad began to chime. He turned it off and stood with a rueful smile. “Break’s over. Time to get back to the door.” He tucked his pad and ear buds inside the jacket pocket of his dark well-cut suit. The “uniforms” at Eleven consisted of dark suits and white shirts. Ties for the men. No gaudy gold-braided epaulettes for Eleven’s doorman. Everything here was discreet elegance.
“Have fun,” she said with a smile. It was nearly impossible to be down in Kennedy’s presence.
Regardless of whether she was done with her marriage, if her feet hurt, or if Kennedy was one hot guy, life steamrollered on.
* * *
“Stand up,” he instructed.
Arden considered him a little on the dictatorial side, but following his instructions had worked out well enough for her thus far. She stood.
He smoothed his hands along her waist, moving to the zipper on the back of her skirt. The slow slide of the zipper followed by the rush of air against her heated flesh upped the erotic factor. He hooked his fingers in the waist of her skirt and skimmed it down her hips, leaving her standing in heels, hose, garter belt, panties, bra, and a sheer blouse unbuttoned down the front.
He trailed his finger over the swell of her breast. “I know it’s your birthday, but I’m pretty damn sure it must be mine, too.”
Arden laughed. She should have felt intensely vulnerable, but Janice knew this stranger and something about his sense of humor put her at ease…it turned her on, as well. Actually, it all turned her on.
“I think you’re still overdressed.” She sipped from her champagne, cautious at first but then more comfortable that she wasn’t going to spill it all down the front of her. She found a boldness that wasn’t normally hers—of course, the whole situation required a boldness that wasn’t normally hers. She didn’t meet strange men in hotel rooms and parade around this way before she hopped into bed with them. But in for a penny of boldness…well, she might as well be in for a pound. “I believe I need to unwrap my birthday present.”
A husky, faintly wicked, note threaded through his chuckle. “I second that…as soon as we get you to the bedroom. Put your champagne on the table. I’ll come back for it.”
She automatically put it down, but was totally unprepared for him putting his arms beneath her knees and her shoulders and sweeping her right off of her feet. She landed against the solid wall of his chest and belly.
He crossed the room, his shoes echoing against the marble floor. She knew the moment he crossed the bedroom threshold because carpet muffled his steps. He stopped a few feet in and slid her down his body to stand on her feet.
“The bed is to your right,” he said.
“And my present is right in front of me. Stand still.” It was her turn to set the pace. She wasn’t sure if he would do as she instructed simply because she was instructing. However, he did.
She reached out until she felt his shirt-covered chest beneath her hands. Slowly, using her fingertips as scouts, she made her way up his chest, traversing his shoulders to his head. He chuckled. “Wrong direction if you’re looking to undress me.”
She grinned, relaxing into the moment. “I like to see if I can figure out what’s inside before I unwrap.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Ah, but I can’t…so I have to feel.”
“Feel away, darlin’.”
Arden did. His hair was medium length—no hair gel. His jaw was slightly square, a hint of a beard rasped beneath her fingertips. His mouth was well-shaped, not too full, not too thin. There was a faint bump to his nose as if it had been broken before. It was a thoroughly masculine face which suited her just fine.
The steady rhythm of his heart thrummed against her fingertips as she trailed down the column of his neck. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and then came back to center, unbuttoning his shirt. Hair-roughed skin, but not gorilla man…warm with ridges of hard muscle. She was all the more excited by touching him and smelling him.
She unbuckled his belt, worked free the tab on his slacks and slid down the zipper, being careful around the erection straining against her knuckles and the backs of her fingers.
“You want to help me out here?” she said.
“Of course.” She heard the thud of shoes, the rustle of clothes.
She felt his heat, inhaled his scent. The culmination of a year’s abstinence and him, her, and now meant she was wet and more than ready. She didn’t want or need any of the niceties she’d have to go through if this was a date or something along those lines. She was eager…and ready.
“Fuck me.”
“Now that sounds like a woman who knows what she wants.”
She reached between them and wrapped her hand around his prominent erection. He was like steel sheathed in warm satin. He pulsed against her palm. “Now.”
He laughed, yanked down the cover—at least that’s what it sounded like—wrapped his warm hands around her waist and in a flash had her on the bed, on her back. She sank into the feather topper covered in exquisitely soft sheets. The linens were cool against her heated skin.
He teased his finger beneath the edge of her panties and along her wet slit. “Your pussy is so wet.” He kissed her neck. “You’re hot and sexy.”
He inserted a finger and she arched up against him. She moaned. She was dying inside for more than his finger inside her. “What part of fuck me now isn’t getting through to you?”
Another one of those wicked laughs and then she heard the rip of cellophane. “Spread your legs. Keep your panties on but pull them to one side.”
The backs of her fingers bore the slick wet between her legs. She was dripping for him.
He inched into her and she gasped. Oh. Yes. Yes. And yes. He felt good. Actually, better than good. It was hot and erotic to still have on all of her underwear and the blindfold and to feel his nice big cock inside her.
He set up a rhythm of slow, all the way to the hilt, and then back out, then in again. He reached between them and found her clit and she bucked up at the contact. “Oh, yes,” she said.
“Baby, you are so wet and tight.”
“You feel so good.” And he did. He was thick and long, and it felt as if he was reaching a new place inside her. She wrapped her hands around his hips, feeling the play of his ass beneath her fingertips.
He stroked in and out, and while he didn’t go faster, keeping the same deliberate pace, he went harder…and harder still.
Arden hovered on the brink, her body beginning to tighten…and he stopped. He pulled out of her. She wanted to howl. She reached for her blindfold. He caught her wrist in his hand. “No.”
“What—”
He wrapped his big palm around her hip and rolled her to her side. He slipped his cock into her from behind in a spooning position, and she drew in a shallow, shuddering breath. She pushed back onto him, and they set up a rhythm of thrust and retreat.
The sound of their breathing, the slap of his thighs against her ass, the squelch of her wet pussy as he plunged in and out of her all filled the room, her head.
She fisted her hands in the sheets and rocked back harder and harder on his cock, meeting each plunge with her own. Once again, she climbed closer to that pinnacle, her body tightened in anticipation…and he stopped.
If he didn’t…
He didn’t say anything. Instead he turned her the rest of the way to her belly and hauled her up onto her knees. She thrust herself back toward him, feeling the rush of cool air against her hot, wet slit.
He entered her from behind, the blindfold intensifying the experience. He reached around her hip and found her clit with his finger. It was as if fireworks and electrical currents and the freaking hallelujah chorus all converged at once into an orgasm of fantastic proportions.
He followed her with his own climax.
Arden collapsed against the bed, totally spent, boneless with satisfaction. She lay there, dazed. She thought about pulling off her blindfold but in a minute…later…when
she could actually move.
He got off of her and she heard him moving in the bathroom. Maybe it was the aftereffects of a fairly sleepless night of anticipation, the glass of champagne, a bed made with divine linens, and really satisfying sex, but Arden drifted off into that place between sleep and wakefulness.
She was aware of him moving around but didn’t really snap to until she heard his shoes echoing on the marble. She bolted up on the bed, pulling off the blindfold. However, it took her eyes a moment to adjust and she simply caught a blur.
“Hey—”
“That was incredible,” he said. “Happy birthday.”
The door clicked closed behind him, and she flopped back onto the bed. What the…he was gone…just like that? She hadn’t even seen his face. She didn’t even know his name.
She settled back against the pillow and pulled up the sheet and down comforter, sinking into the most scrumptious bed she’d ever been in. She hadn’t expected him to just up and leave but, in a way, it was perfect. She’d wanted stranger sex and that was precisely what she’d gotten. Her itch had been thoroughly scratched and rather than finding herself in an awkward aftermath, his departure had been neat and clean without any of the entanglements she’d been so eager to avoid. Yes, really, altogether satisfactory.
She checked the time. She had another forty minutes until check out—just enough time to shower. Or not. She still bore the scent of his cologne on her skin and while the bathroom was tempting, the bed was even better.
She called the front desk, requested a wake-up call in half an hour, rolled over, and promptly fell asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
“He what?” Arden said the following evening, not quite sure she’d heard Janice right. The music and the happy hour crowd on a Friday night made for a noisy background in the popular Mexican restaurant.
“He wants to see you again,” Janice repeated as she loaded up a tortilla chip with thick salsa.
Apparently Arden had heard her correctly, despite the noise level. Janice had a quirky sense of humor. “Yeah, right. That’s very funny.”
“You think so? Because he wasn’t laughing. He said the two of you have unfinished business and he wants to meet you there again next week.”
Deborah, the quiet one in their trifecta, crunched into her chip, her eyes big and watchful. Janice had a piece of cilantro stuck between her two front teeth, and Arden motioned it to her. Janice pushed her tongue against her teeth and then flashed her pearly whites. The cilantro was gone. Deborah and Arden nodded in unison.
Tooth booger dispensed with, Arden returned to the important matter. “You’re serious? You really are serious?”
“As a heart attack.” She washed down her chip with a swallow of prickly pear margarita. “Next week. Same time. Same room.”
Arden had had a great time and was flattered he’d like to do it again. However, it had been so good a second time could never live up to it. So, no, she wouldn’t wreck a perfect encounter with a sub-standard follow-up. Plus that had been part of it—the not wondering or worrying about whether he’d want to see her again. Knowing it was a one-time thing had made it so much easier to enjoy the moment without any expectations.
“Tell him thanks, but no thanks.”
Janice smiled, reaching for her cell phone. “Okay, I’ll let him know you’ll—” She stopped, a stunned look wiping away her smug smile, a frown furrowing her brow. Well, it would furrow if her forehead hadn’t been botoxed into submission. “Wait…what…did you say, no thanks?” Funny how Janice still managed to transmit disapproval despite her pharmaceutically frozen forehead.
Arden nodded. “I did. I’ll pass.”
Janice stared at her across the table, a mixture of awe, consternation, and concern reflected in her gaze. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“I agree,” Deborah said.
Arden traced the rim of her glass with one finger. “Thanks for that vote of confidence. I have my reasons.”
“Well, now’s not the time to decide you want to be all private,” Janice said. “For God’s sake, help us understand.”
Arden explained her rationale.
Janice simply shook her head. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. Okay, well maybe not the dumbest, but pretty close to it.” Hector, their regular waiter, delivered another round of prickly pears and another bowl of salsa. And that’s why they all tipped generously at the end of the night—excellent service and alcohol always translated to a healthy tip. “That’s like saying you had a really great meal at a restaurant so that’s why you never want to go back and eat there again.”
Deborah chimed in. “Or like you got a new pair of shoes and they were so comfortable the first time you wore them that you aren’t going to wear them again because they might not be as comfortable the next time.” Deborah had a shoe fixation. Crazy as it sounded, that’s why her second husband had left her.
Arden pursed her lips and thought about it. She hated it when Janice and Deborah turned things around like that. “It does sound like faulty rationale or almost downright crazy when you guys put it that way.”
“So, you’ll go?” Janice said.
“Let me think about it for a bit.” It had totally taken her off-guard. He’d walked out and she’d thought that that was that. She hadn’t anticipated hearing from him again.
“Arden, I swear. Drink your prickly pear,” Janice said. “Maybe the alcohol will help you think more clearly.”
“I think it usually goes the opposite way, as in the alcohol blurs things.”
Janice grinned unrepentantly. “Usually it does work that way, but considering how flawed your perspective is at this point, I’m thinking exercise, alcohol, a lobotomy…could only bring clarity.”
“Ha, ha,” Arden said. “Very funny.” It was rather.
Deborah laughed, a bit too long and loud. She was already half way through her second drink and two was definitely her limit. She leaned in. “If Arden doesn’t want another go at him, I’ll be glad to take her place.”
Not only was it time to cut Deb off from the booze, her comment struck a chord in Arden. It was one thing to pass and simply not know what was going on with her one-time encounter, to leave him shrouded in mystery. It was a different thing altogether to know that Deborah would be walking into that room, slowly being undressed, slowly undressing him, feeling the heat of his breath, the rasp of his beard, the thrust of him inside her.
Janice laughed. “Deb! You know girlfriends don’t do their friends exes.”
“He’s not an ex. He was just a one-timer and if she’s not into it, well, I think I could be.”
Forget a drink. Arden had just decided. “Okay, okay. I’ll see him there next week.”
Janice’s smile was nothing short of smug. “Do you want his name, his number?”
“No.” She didn’t have to think about it. The anonymity had been a large part of the turn-on factor.
“Do you want me to give him your number?”
It was the same deal as not wanting his. “No. Do you mind being the go-between?”
“Are you kidding? It’s cool. I feel like some matchmaker.”
“Pimp is more like it,” Deb said, sucking the last of her second drink through the straw.
“Pimp this, sister.” Janice pushed Deb’s untouched glass of water towards her.
“What about me?” Deborah said.
“I told you Harold’s been begging for months.” Harold was Janice’s neighbor and he’d had a thing for Deb from the moment he’d set eyes on her.
Deb propped her elbow on the table, planting her chin in her palm, a morose expression on her face. “And that’s the problem. Harold would never rent a room by the hour.”
“How do you know?” Janice said.
“I just know.”
“Then why don’t you rent the room and invite him and see what happens? It’s not as if you can’t afford it.” Deb had married well…and divorced even better. Her cash flow was rather mind-boggli
ng.
Arden zoned out, anticipation chasing through her. The waiting in the elegant room…his touch…the heat…the explosion inside her…the excitement….
Again.
She was going to do it again.
* * *
Georgina hesitated outside the nightclub entrance. She’d changed her mind a dozen times along the way. She’d gotten dressed, called a cab, and taken the ride across town. It’d be dumb to get right back in a cab and go home now. She would go in. Have a drink. Listen to one set. Then, she’d head back home.
People did this all the time. So, she was twenty-eight and had never been in a club before which just meant she was overdue. No big deal.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped inside. It was like stepping into a movie set. The room was fairly small. Jazz notes and cigarette smoke hung in the air. She wasn’t a fan of smoking, but it seemed to fit the atmosphere. It was an intimate place.
Kennedy, along with three other guys, stood on the small raised stage at the other end of the room. He was definitely the youngest in the quartet.
Georgina settled at a small table tucked over in the right corner in the shadows. She nodded her head and drummed her fingers against the table in time with the music. Within a minute a waitress approached, and Georgina ordered a gin and tonic. She liked the music, the atmosphere. The lights were low, the music sultry and seductive, all imparting a sense of intimacy. The place wasn’t crowded with the customers scattered at about half a dozen tables. Georgina had thought she might feel a bit self-conscious about going into a club alone, but it was so laid back in here, she felt perfectly comfortable. It was a nice change-up from watching TV with her cat, which was nonetheless an improvement over spending the evening with her estranged husband.
The waitress reappeared. “Here ya go, one G&T with a twist of lime.”
“How much do I owe you?” She didn’t want to run a tab. Since she’d moved out she was on a pretty tight budget. She’d pay as she went.
“The gentleman on the saxophone covered you.”
“But how?” She hadn’t even known if Kennedy had seen her come in. Apparently he had, but he’d been up there playing.
BY THE HOUR, ATLANTA, Book 1 Page 2