Waking Up to You: Overexposed

by Leslie Kelly

  Not until he’d paid equal attention to her other rock-hard nipple did he continue his downward journey over her body. He licked a line straight down, tasting her inch by inch. He nibbled her belly, nipped at her hip bone, his lips grazing the hollow above her groin. His face brushed against the curls concealing her sex and she couldn’t stop her hips from thrusting up in welcome.

  He turned her to face him, then tugged one leg over his shoulder, opening her to his hungry gaze.

  “Oliver,” she whimpered as embarrassment warred with utter lust. The look on his face was so covetous, so admiring, she decided to go with the lust.

  “You are absolutely mouthwatering.” He traced his fingertip over her clit, then down, separating the lips of her sex, opening her for his most intimate perusal. “So pink and shiny. I love how wet you are.”

  She gulped. No lover had ever examined her so frankly, or spoken so bluntly. That thick note of hunger in his voice said he meant every word he said. This man knew how to use language, all right—he seduced her with every word he said. She’d bet he was wicked in the courtroom. And more wicked in the bedroom.

  “This is so pretty,” he mused as he thumbed her clit, rolling it around. He slipped a finger into her channel, drawing a low gasp from her. “And so is this. I can’t decide which I want to taste more.”

  He was apparently the decisive sort. Because not ten seconds had passed before he moved his head between her thighs and went down.

  When he buried his face in her sex and began to devour her, she saw stars. She clutched him, twining her fingers in his hair as he lifted her other leg and draped it over his shoulder. Her limbs were practically wrapped around his neck, but he didn’t seem interested in going anywhere else, so she left them there and focused on the incredible sensation of his mouth against her plump, swollen lips.

  He devoured her, licking into her, making love to her with his tongue. She was gasping as he moved up to her clit and gently sucked and stroked. Back and forth he went until she was arching, twisting, helpless against her body’s intense reaction.

  This time, when she came in a heated rush, he didn’t stop what he was doing. He went right on pleasuring her, focusing on her clit while he slid his fingers deep into her and worked some magic on a spot high inside. Tears formed in her eyes, and she was whimpering as another orgasm washed over her.

  Now he finally seemed satisfied. He gently lowered her legs and kissed his way back up her body. Still dazed, she only regained her senses when she realized he was pulling away to stand up and unfasten his jeans.

  This was worth her full, utmost attention.

  She caught her lip between her teeth and watched him, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning who was finally going to get to open her biggest present.

  “Wow,” she whispered when he peeled away his boxer briefs.

  Because big didn’t quite describe him. His cock could be described with three of her favorite adjectives: long, thick and rock-hard. It jutted out, proud and male and hot. That river between her legs threatened to turn into an ocean just at the sight of him.

  “I’ve been walking around like this since the night you slammed me with the frying pan.”

  “Feel free to get even by slamming me with that,” she whispered.

  He chuckled softly, but he soon stopped laughing. Because Candace wasn’t satisfied with just looking. She had to touch him, feel all that silk-encased steel.

  She sat up straight. Scooting to the very edge of the couch, she parted her thighs to make room for his legs and leaned close to his naked body. Close enough to cast warm breaths of air over him, her lips hovering an inch from all that luscious maleness. But she didn’t go further, not quite yet. She wanted him as out of his mind with desire as she’d been.

  Groaning, he twined his hands in her hair. Candace knew she was tormenting him, but knowing from very recent experience that anticipation was wonderful, she didn’t give him what he wanted. Instead, she reached up and traced her fingers over his cock, from the top down the long back, to the sacs beneath. She cupped them gently, hearing his gasp and feeling his hands tighten in her hair. The position was incredibly intimate. He was as physically vulnerable as a man could make himself, and she was conscious of the trust that must require. Obviously, given how men loved to be blown, the benefits had to outweigh the risk. And this time, she was finding herself truly looking forward to something she’d usually viewed as an item to check off a list during foreplay.

  Not with him. Him she wanted to taste. Oliver she wanted to please.

  She continued to breathe deeply, evenly, loving the musky scent of man that filled her nostrils. Wrapping her hand around as much of him as she could hold, she stroked him, up and down, squeezing lightly, knowing by the way his pulse pounded in his groin that his heart was racing.

  Needing to smooth the glide, she lifted her hand and traced her fingers across the top of his cock, moistening them with the arousal seeping from the tip. Curious, she drew a finger to her mouth and licked the moisture from it.

  “Jesus!”

  She heard pure desperation in his voice. Casting a look up through her bangs and seeing Oliver’s hungry expression, she knew she’d pushed him to his limits, and finally licked her lips and moved in for a deeper taste. He was definitely too big for her to take him all the way, but she did her best, taking the bulbous tip into her mouth and sucking gently.

  “Oh, God, yeah,” he groaned, pumping the tiniest bit, as if a slave to his body’s demands.

  She didn’t mind. He tasted delicious—warm, a little salty, ever-so-smooth. The act was incredibly intimate, and she loved hearing his groans of pleasure as she sucked him as far as she could, laving him so he could glide more easily.

  He didn’t allow it to go on too long, not nearly as long as he’d pleasured her. Within a few minutes, he’d gently pushed her away.

  “I want in.”

  The blunt demand made her shiver with excitement. He reached for her, drawing her to her feet, and she wasn’t quite sure where they were going. When he lifted one of her legs so she could rest her foot on the arm of the couch, she got the picture.

  He paused to tear open the condom packet and slide it on—it was a wonder the thing fit. When he was sheathed, he drew her into his arms, covering her mouth and kissing her deeply. His erection was a powerful ridge between their bodies, and she arched toward it, needing him desperately.

  “Please, Oliver,” she insisted.

  He gave her what she wanted, tilting her toward him and nudging into her curls. She was slick with want, her body opening in welcome. He eased into her, bringing ecstasy with him. Candace began to breathe in shallow little gasps as he filled her, inch by delicious inch. He was so thick, hard and hot that she felt every bit of him as he possessed her.

  As if he realized that her whole body was melting, he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, allowing herself to sink fully onto him. As he impaled her, she threw her head back and let out a low, guttural cry of pleasure.

  He began to thrust slowly, sinking deep, then drawing away. The man’s strength surprised her. He seemed completely comfortable bearing her weight as they gave and took. She answered every stroke, clenching him deep inside, knowing by his shudders that he felt and enjoyed every squeeze.

  Soon, the frenzy built. He drove faster; she cried louder. She clung to his shoulders, and he backed her against the wall. The leverage made things deeper, hotter, and he drove into her again and again, losing himself to the passion.

  She was lost to it, too. Lost to everything but this moment, this man, this act, and giving all she had to bring them both to the pinnacle of delight. When she reached that peak, climaxing yet again, she held on tight and let him drive deep to attain his own.

  * * *

  WAKING UP THE next morning and seeing his bedside clock flashing, Oliver realized the power had come back on at some point during the night. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered if it had
remained off. He and Candace had created plenty of heat on their own, both down in front of the fireplace, and again later in this bed.

  This small bed.

  He had never been more aware of its size until now, when he felt her curled up against him, one slim leg entwined with his, her arm draped across his waist, her head on his shoulder.

  He liked small beds, he decided.

  He liked them a lot.

  And he especially liked waking up to find her in bed with him, twined around him like she needed to touch as much of him as she could while she slept.

  The light sifting in through the window said the storm had passed and the day appeared sunny and bright. There were a million things he could work on, but he had the feeling he was going to want to skip them in favor of making love to this beautiful woman again.

  He had her for one week and one week only. He had no idea why those had been her terms, or what the secret was that she hadn’t wanted to share. Last night, in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t given a damn. Now though, he couldn’t deny he was curious. But not curious enough to push her and risk losing out on what time he had left with her.

  It was going to be a week he would never forget. And one she would never forget. He’d make absolutely certain of that.

  “Mmm...good morning,” she murmured.

  He glanced down to see her looking up at him, yawning and blinking against the bright sunlight.

  “Hi.”

  She curled her arm tighter, tucking her leg a little more intimately, and cuddled close. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a man who’d run a marathon,” he admitted. “Something zapped all my strength last night.”

  “I think that was me.” She might have been a cat for the satisfied purr in her tone.

  “I told you the night we met that you should come with a warning label.”

  “What would it say?”

  “Caution: combustible female. Approach only when wearing protective gear.”

  She giggled against his chest and traced a lazy hand down his stomach. “You wore protective gear last night.”

  True, though he wished he hadn’t had to. The very idea of being buried inside her, skin to skin, was incredibly appealing. Unfortunately, he might never get that chance. Their relationship was very new, and short-term, and that kind of trust and intimacy usually didn’t happen right away.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He had to be honest, so he told her the truth.

  She quivered delicately and he saw a warm flush suffuse her cheeks. “Mind reader.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I’m all for being responsible, but the truth is, I’m on the pill and I thought about throwing those condoms into the fireplace last night.”

  “It was probably best for us to talk about it first. I’d never put you at risk—you know that, right? I’m as healthy as a horse.”

  “After last night, didn’t I prove I trust you?”

  Oh, she definitely had, lowering her guard and surrendering herself to him in every way a woman could. Of course, he’d done the same. It was the most intimate he had ever been with anyone, which made the idea of him only having her for another week all the more untenable.

  No strings. No emotions. That was the deal. And really, it was for the best.

  Somehow, though, it was getting harder to remember that.

  “And for what it’s worth, I haven’t been around the block a whole lot myself. In fact, before last night, it had been over a year since I was with anyone.”

  “Have men in Los Angeles gone blind, deaf and lost their sense of smell, taste and touch since I was away?”

  She giggled, the sound cute and unusual for her. “Well, I don’t usually go around asking guys to sniff me, and when I tell them to bite me, it’s not a genuine invitation.”

  He couldn’t resist sliding down and nibbling her neck.

  “So you’re saying?” he asked as he moved lower to kiss her chest, delighting in those perky, pouty nipples that cried out for attention.

  She groaned and wrapped her legs around him. “I’m saying I want you inside me. Right now. Unless that’s a problem for you.”

  It wasn’t.

  He immediately moved between her parted thighs and tested her readiness with his fully engorged cock. She was wet and warm, soft and yielding. So ready.

  “Absolutely not a problem,” he muttered as he buried himself to the hilt.

  The sensation was blissful, all sweet heat and moisture, and he closed his eyes, giving in to the pleasure. Then they began to rock together, bathed in the morning light, connected in every way possible.

  And not for the first time, he began to wonder how on earth he was ever going to let her go.

  9

  OVER THE NEXT couple of days, Candace found herself falling into a routine. She would get up early, and spend the morning with Grandpa, cheering him on with his rehab. Then she would come back to the house, have lunch with Oliver, have sex with Oliver, have orgasms with Oliver, do a little drawing, then go back to have dinner with Grandpa. Often Oliver accompanied her for dinner, though they left the sex and the orgasms at home.

  She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier. Oh, she was still very worried about her grandfather, and was now busy dealing with her newest assignment. The studio had called, saying they loved her sketches and wanted her for the project. She knew as well as anyone that this could be the film that got her some major attention. Aside from that, she was also busy talking to appraisers and auctioneers about the wine collection. And surrounding all that business and activity, a happy glow of personal contentment swirled around her just about every minute of the day.

  She and Oliver did more than just have the most amazing sex. They cooked together, walked together, laughed together. She’d gotten him to open up a little more about his savaged career, and even got him to admit that, with his change in lifestyle, he probably could afford to put out a shingle and take on only the clients he truly believed were innocent.

  Only one thing could pierce her glow of contentment: thinking about what awaited her back in L.A.

  “Hey, chickie, whatcha doing?” Tommy asked when she’d answered the phone late one afternoon.

  She hadn’t told him about Oliver. The only person she’d even hinted to about her relationship with him was Madison, to whom she talked every other day or so. Her sister had been her other half since birth. They had the kind of bond few people ever experienced with a sibling. Madison knew how to keep a secret, so they usually told each other everything. But even Madison didn’t know the whole story. Candace had kept some things from her, the most intimate things. She’d protected the relationship, wanting to keep it private for as long as it lasted. But the fact that it couldn’t last much longer was crushing her.

  “I’m shopping,” she admitted. “I’ve got to buy a new dress.”

  “For?”

  “There’s a big winery owner’s ball tomorrow night,” she said, still wondering if she’d made the right decision in saying she would attend with Oliver.

  Their relationship so far had been mostly about sex. Drinking wine, talking about Grandpa and him teaching her what he’d learned so far about the wine business had taken up some time, too. But other than that one dinner/dessert they’d shared at Wilhelm’s, they’d never actually gone on a date. So last night, when her grandfather had told them he wanted the two of them to go to the event, since he had already RSVP’d for himself and Oliver, her first instinct was to refuse. Then she’d met Oliver’s eye from across the hospital room and had seen the gleam of interest there.

  She couldn’t deny being curious. She’d gotten to know him as a working man. This formal, black-tie event might be her only chance to catch a glimpse of the man Oliver had been before his life imploded. Not that she didn’t adore the man who’d taught her things about her body she’d never even known, but she wanted to learn as much about him as she could, while she could. She wanted to discov
er all his facets and imprint them on her memory, to tide her over for the long and lonely years that stretched ahead.

  It was getting harder to think about those years, harder to envision the life she’d chosen for herself. Even the sound of Tommy’s voice, which usually made her happy, twisted the knife in the wound. For a few days, she’d been able to pretend she was at the start of a relationship that could change her life.

  Maybe it still would. Maybe she’d change from a normal, happy woman to a heartbroken, never-able-to-love-again sad case.

  Love? What the hell are you thinking, girl?

  “Sounds fancy.”

  She was still too busy tripping over the word love in her mind to respond.

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  She finally shook her head, forcing away thoughts she wasn’t ready to deal with, and replied, “At a hotel in San Francisco.”

  “Nice. I love that city.”

  A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Do you think anyone would notice if I walked in the parade? I could blend in with the crowd.”

  “Maybe...if you covered yourself with gold body paint from head to toe and wore a rubber gorilla mask on your face.”

  “Party pooper.”

  She shrugged as she walked around the square in Sonoma, eyeing the windows of various boutiques. “Have you been behaving?”

  “Define behaving.”

  “Staying out of the news?”

  “Babe, I’m always in the news. I can’t take a piss in a restaurant bathroom without some jackass trying to snap a picture he can sell to the tabs.”

  “That really sucks, Tommy,” she said, hearing the note of sad resignation he couldn’t disguise.

  “Yeah, poor, poor me,” he said, his dark mood lifting quickly, as always. “Remind me of that next time I get a contract for a ten-mill picture.”