Bedroom Therapy: A Hot Romantic Suspense Novel

by Rebecca York

  “We started off on the wrong foot,” he said. “I was focused on my job.”

  “You’re supposed to be focused on your job,” she said, finding herself defending him. “I told you, I don’t hold it against you.”

  “What about the kiss?”

  “I liked the kiss,” she whispered, because one thing she knew, being dishonest now would be a disaster.

  “I’m not the kind of guy who pushes women into stuff they’re not ready for.”

  “Good.”

  “But I can’t stop fantasizing about what I’d like to do with you.”

  Her breath caught. “What?”

  “You know, don’t you?”

  “Tell me.”

  “If I do, will you get angry about it?

  “No. I want to know,” she murmured.

  She heard him drag in a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. If you want to know, I’d like to come in there and take your clothes off. I want to lay you on the bed, naked. I want to look at you, then kiss you and touch you and make you as hot as I am now.”

  “Oh!”

  “Am I turning you on by saying stuff like that?” he asked.

  Chapter Six

  Amanda swallowed. The cautious woman she had been for so long told her she should call a halt to this conversation immediately.

  But she didn’t want to stop. The first time Zachary Grant had knocked on the door, she’d been in the bedroom alone—and close to orgasm. She’d been hot and bothered ever since then, and he had just turned up the heat.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Good.”

  “What about you? Is this making you . . . aroused?”

  He laughed softly. “What do you think?”

  She swallowed. “Well, I hope I’m not the only one intimately involved.”

  “You’re not.”

  “What are we going to do about it?” she heard herself ask. Lord, she’d never been this forward with a guy in her life. If she ended up in a sexual relationship, it was because the man went after her.

  She wasn’t prepared for his next words. “I’m going to show you how much pleasure we can give each other—over the phone.”

  She turned her head toward the hall. He was only a few yards from her. Was she really going to engage in activities that she wasn’t sure about? What she heard herself say was, “Let me close the bedroom door.”

  “Okay.”

  Her legs weren’t entirely steady as she made it to the door then back to the bed where she threw herself down with a little exclamation.

  Maybe he heard it because he said, “You are so damn sexy.”

  “Am I?”

  “Oh yes. You’re a very potent combination.”

  “Of?”

  “Very beautiful woman and no-nonsense professional. I was intimidated by you, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you write that column. Then when you opened the door, you looked like a vision out of my dreams. Only you were real—standing right there in front of me. You’re much prettier than that publicity photo Beth gave me.”

  “When I opened the door, I had been thinking about you,” she heard herself say, then could have bitten back the revealing comment.

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “You hadn’t met me,” he said carefully.

  “No, but Beth had left a voicemail telling me you were … coming.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Um hum.”

  “She told me about you. She described you . . .” she let her voice trail off.

  “What did she say?”

  “Now who’s fishing for compliments?”

  He laughed again. She loved that laugh. It was yummy. Like hot fudge on vanilla ice cream. But she wasn’t going to make another mistake and tell him that.

  He was right. Talking on the phone unleashed her inhibitions in a way she might have found shocking, if she’d had time to be shocked.

  “She said I’d like you.”

  “Oh?”

  “She knows me pretty well.”

  “Are you wearing the tee shirt and shorts you put on after I left this morning?” he asked suddenly.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I want to picture you as accurately as I can. You said you were aroused. Are your nipples standing up? If I were there in the bedroom with you, could I see them through your tee shirt?”

  “Tee shirt and bra!” She looked down and saw the twin points outlined by the soft fabric. The bra did nothing to hide them. She had dragged in a breath and let it out when he said, “Are they nice hard little points?”

  She managed to say, “Yes,”

  “Take your hands and just run them over those tips. Do that for me.”

  This was crazy. She should stop. But because she didn’t want to stop, she did as he asked and made a small sound of pleasure.

  “Ah, that’s nice,” he murmured. “Did you do that with the fronts of your fingers—or the backs?”

  “The backs,” she told him, hearing the catch in her voice, fighting embarrassment.

  He didn’t give her time for embarrassment. “Where are you?” he asked quickly.

  “Lying down.”

  “Are your legs together? Or spread apart?”

  “Together,” she whispered. Pressing them together was increasing her arousal.

  “Open them for me.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to picture you that way. Spread open for me.”

  “Oh! She did as he asked and found that it made her even hotter to follow his directions.

  “If I were there with you, I’d run my hands up the insides of your legs, up your thighs and find the nice, hot center of you. Would that feel good?”

  She couldn’t answer—only make a strangled exclamation.

  “Are you wet for me?”

  This time, against all odds, she managed to get out one syllable. “Yes.” But she was glad that he couldn’t see the red flush heating her cheeks.

  She was feeling like a blushing schoolgirl. Because she wanted to take back some control, she asked, “Are you still on the couch? I want to picture where you are.”

  “Yeah, I’m lying down now.”

  “Did you take off your shoes?”

  He laughed. “Worried about the furniture?”

  “No. I want you to be comfortable.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, then went a daring step further. “Very comfortable.”

  “Well I am.”

  The sound of his voice seemed to flow around her—warm and rich.

  She liked it a lot. But she could still hang up, she told herself. She should hang up, because there was something distinctly indecent about this very intimate conversation conducted over the phone—with a man who was just down the hall. Any woman with high moral standards would gently click off and get back to real life.

  She would have told one of her readers that this activity was only a fantasy. It was a substitute for reality, and it was no way to get into a relationship with a man she barely knew. Because it felt real, she didn’t take her own advice. Instead she gathered up her courage and said, “Are you hard?”

  Amanda hardly breathed as she waited for Zachary’s answer. He had turned her on, and she needed to know that she was doing the same thing to him. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She was sure he was aroused. But that wasn’t enough. She was sharing very intimate details with him, and she needed to hear him give her the same kind of trust. Otherwise, she’d know she was making a bad mistake.

  “You know I’m hard,” he said, his voice thick.

  She liked the way he said it, as though he were having trouble catching his breath.

  “If you can ask me to touch my breasts, can I ask you to press your hand against . . . against your penis?”

  “Oh yeah. You can do that.”

  She knew from his indrawn breath that he’d followed her directions.<
br />
  “Rock your hand back and forth,” she said. “The way I would if I were there,” she added, shocked that she’d gotten the sentence out. But what he’d told her had been correct. She could say things on the phone that she wouldn’t have been able to say in person.

  As she closed her eyes, picturing him lying on the couch, his hand moving over the front of his jeans, she felt her own arousal leap higher.

  “Did you like telling me what to do?” he asked, his voice silky but not quite steady.

  “Yes.”

  “Um. Good. Then it’s my turn. Take off your shirt and your bra,” he murmured. “Take them off for me.”

  She closed her eyes, thinking that never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought she could do any of this in a phone conversation.

  There was still time to back out. She could stop this any time she wanted. He wasn’t forcing her into anything. Maybe that was why she put down the phone in order to pull her shirt over her head. Then she unhooked her bra and tossed it onto the spread beside her before picking up the instrument again.

  “Did you do it?” he asked, his tone warm and sultry in her ear.

  “Yes.”

  “I know the shape of your breasts. I saw them last night.”

  “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “I know. And I appreciated the view. Your breasts aren’t too large. But they’re very nicely rounded. Just right for my hands.”

  “Ah . . .”

  “What color are your nipples?” he suddenly asked.

  “I . . . ”

  He spoke low, urgent words in her ear. “Sweetheart, don’t keep anything back from me. I’m greedy. I want everything you’re willing to give me.”

  “I . . .” she started again. “Peach? I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

  “Peach. That sounds so pretty. Are they very sensitive?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Tell me what feels good.”

  “Please, Zachary, I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. Don’t you advise your readers to communicate with their partners?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would you like me to do to those pretty peach nipples? Circle each of them with one finger? Would that make them harder? Tighter? Needier?”

  She answered with a little moan.

  “Now that they’re harder, do you want me to take them between my thumbs and fingers? Pull on them? Squeeze? How hard should I squeeze?”

  “Some . . .” she managed to say.

  “Do it for me.”

  She couldn’t help herself now. Laying the phone beside her head on the pillow, she used both hands to play with her nipples, touching them lightly, then harder, her breath coming faster as her arousal built.

  “Oh yeah, sweetheart. Oh yeah, that’s good, so good.”

  “Zachary, I need . . .” She broke off, embarrassed.

  “It’s all right to tell me. We’re communicating with each other. Do you want to come? Do you need to come?”

  “Yes,” the syllable hissed out of her.

  “Kick off your shorts and panties for me. Do that for me.”

  Arousal had taken over her body and her mind. She was too desperate now not to do as he asked.

  “Touch yourself for me. Down there, between your legs. You’re hot and wet, aren’t you? Stroke your finger through those sweet folds for me. If I were there, I’d find out what you like. Would you like me to dip my finger into your vagina? Just barely around the rim where you’re so very sensitive. Or deeper. Should I use one finger, or would two be better? How do you want me to do it?”

  She couldn’t answer. His description of what he could do to her was making her breath come in jagged gasps, and she knew she was close to climax.

  “Do it for me.”

  Helpless to disobey, she reached down with her own hand, finding the hot, swollen core of herself, pressing and stroking.

  “How do you like it? Long, slow strokes? From your vagina to your clit? Do that for me.”

  Her breath came in little pants. But there was something she had to say. ”You too,” she gasped. “I can’t do this unless you do it . . . too.”

  “Oh yeah, baby, I’m right here with you. All the way.”

  She heard the truth of his words in the uneven sound of his voice, in the ragged breaths that came over the phone line.

  She pictured him lying on the couch, his fly unzipped, his penis standing up red and hard as his hand moved up and down the shaft, propelling himself toward climax.

  Her own fingers were busy, making her body vibrate like a tuning fork, the pleasure building to flash point.

  “Amanda,” he gasped out, just as orgasm took her over the edge, and she moaned into the phone that was still lying beside her head.

  She lay there for long seconds, breathing hard, little ripples of pleasure still tingling through her.

  It took several moments before she drifted back to earth. But when she finally felt the firmness of the mattress beneath her shoulders, reality slammed back into her.

  Zachary was out there in the living room. And she wondered how in the world she was ever going to face him now.

  “Amanda,” he murmured, as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had landed now that the fires sweeping across her body had been put out.

  “What?” she asked, knowing that the question had come out high and sharp as she reached for the shorts and panties she’d discarded and dragged them on.

  “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  “Why not?” She fumbled across the bed for her tee shirt and bra. Laying down the phone, she quickly got herself dressed again—because she was going to make damn sure that he didn’t come down the hall and find her naked.

  Her head swung to the door. He wouldn’t come in here? Not now, when she was feeling totally exposed and vulnerable.

  Never in her life would she have imagined making herself come when someone else knew what she was doing. And certainly not with a man who was right in the same house with her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she snapped.

  “Amanda, that was very, very pleasurable—for both of us.”

  When she didn’t answer, he pressed, “Wasn’t it?”

  Honesty made her answer, “Yes.”

  “Then there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’d tell that to your readers, wouldn’t you? That what we just did is only another expression of your sexuality. Of our relationship.”

  She laughed. “Who’s the advice columnist here?”

  “You are. And now you have a better understanding of a very . . . stimulating aspect of man/woman sexuality.”

  She closed her eyes, letting the words and the soft tone of his voice sink in. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to hang up, now.”

  Her eyes blinked open. She wanted to shout, “No,” because the phone had become a necessary extension of her body—a connection to Zachary. But the connection snapped, and she lay back against the bed. Reaching over she laid the phone on the bedside table.

  She’d wanted him to keep talking, wanted him to convince her that he didn’t think less of her after what they’d just done. Now, she stared at a crack in the ceiling, thinking that it would be impossible to face the man in the living room.

  She still had his phone number. Maybe she should just call him up and ask him to leave. That idea had some appeal. But it made her angry with herself. She was no coward, and she wasn’t going to take the easy way out here.

  She hadn’t been the only one who reached orgasm a few minutes ago. Zachary had done it, too. And if she asked him to leave, she would never find out what that extraordinary phone call had meant to him.

  Was he just having some fun with her? It certainly hadn’t sounded that way. It had sounded like he’d been totally involved in what they were doing. It sounded like he’d enjoyed himself as much as she had. But she knew from personal experience that men were perfectly capable of tak
ing advantage of women.

  She thought about Bob Burns and squeezed her hands into fists. He’d started off making her trust him, and then he’d used his intimate knowledge of her to start rumors about her on campus.

  He’d used her, and she hadn’t even known what was happening until it was too late. Could Zachary Grant be the same kind of guy?

  She didn’t think so. But there was no way to be sure—except by getting to know him better. And he’d just made that a whole lot harder.

  On the other hand, she knew he was inviting her to come out of the bedroom when the rich aroma of fresh brewed coffee drifted down the hall and wafted under the door.

  She dragged in a deep breath. He’d put on a pot of some blend that smelled very, very good.

  Getting up, she walked stiffly to the bathroom and ran a comb through her hair. Telling herself she couldn’t hide forever, she walked slowly down the hall to the kitchen.

  Apparently he’d stopped to do some shopping. The coffee machine on the counter was almost full of dark liquid. Beside the pot sat a mug, a bottle of caramel syrup and a carton of heavy cream.

  ###

  Zachary sat at the kitchen table, trying to look relaxed. He had his back to the living room, but he’d heard Amanda moving around in the back of the house. And now she was walking slowly down the hall as though she were being invited to her own execution.

  He knew she was nervous about facing him. And he probably wasn’t any calmer, cooler, and collected about their phone session than she was.

  When he heard her bare footsteps on the living room floor, he stiffened, then made a concerted effort not to show the tension in his shoulders.

  As far as he was concerned, what had happened a few minutes ago was a small miracle. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. Maybe never.

  He wanted to shout, say something, Amanda. But he kept his lips pressed together as she walked directly to the counter, poured coffee into the mug he’d set out, then added cream and caramel syrup.

  It took all his resolve to keep from jumping up and crossing the room, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her toward him. But he stayed where he was, gripping his own ceramic mug, feeling the warmth from the fresh brew seep into his hands.

  Eons passed. Finally he heard her clear her throat. “How did you know I like caramel in my coffee?”

  “I didn’t. But I saw the bottle, and I thought about how good it would taste.”