“Hello, I think there is a key here for me. Ursula Andress?” I felt silly just saying it and looked around to see if anyone had heard to compound my embarrassment. No one was paying me the slightest attention until I started staring at them, so I concentrated on the concierge. I realized, then, how suspicious I was looking and tried to relax and look less like I was about to rob a bank or engage in some other nefarious activity, like start an affair. The concierge looked completely unruffled and ignored my discomfort. This must be an everyday thing for him. How odd.
“Certainly, madam. Here is your key.”
I took it and scampered for the privacy of the lift.
Anders opened the door and kissed me on the cheek in greeting, waving me inside. His hair was shorter and neatly combed flat, which made it look darker. He wore a white T-shirt with blue horizontal stripes, dark blue fitted jeans, and no shoes, the warmer weather clothing changing him into someone younger, trendier, and faintly nautical. He looked like something out of a Ralph Lauren catalog. More than just clothing, it was selling a lifestyle. Was Anders the lifestyle choice I wanted to make now? I wondered.
The suite was tastefully opulent. Anders stood behind me as I looked around for a moment, not sure where to go. He moved out from behind me and placed his hand on the small of my back, intending to guide me toward the sofa. Wound up as tightly as I was, I started involuntarily. He dropped his hand, and awkwardness descended. He went and sat on the large three-seater couch at one end, and I took the other, folding my knees to the side, feeling prim and overdressed.
“I have some menus. Shall we order now? It will take a little while for the food to arrive.”
“That would be lovely,” I said as he handed me the menu. I could pick up no intimation from him that he expected anything. Maybe I had been too speedy in my assumption that he wanted to take up from where we were before. Even in my head, I couldn’t call it an affair. It was possible that it really was just catching up for lunch. I felt some chagrin that I hadn’t seriously entertained the possibility that I was just someone he knew in town and I was saving him from eating alone. How strange to try to be “friends” with him now! I really didn’t know him at all, even though I’d licked the most intimate parts of him.
Years ago, I was living in a flat in a row of apartment buildings, and a neighbor had caught sight of me naked through a bathroom window accidentally left open. There was only a gap of a few meters between our apartment buildings, so as I stood in the shower, I looked over to see him watching me as he did the washing up. Somehow, it was rather funny, more than a little uncomfortable, but less so after I caught him vacuuming and dancing in his boxer shorts shortly afterward. Bumping into him at the local shops or on the street, we nodded to each other in greeting, never actually speaking to each other beyond a casual hello. We had seen each other in unguarded and intimate moments that probably even our close friends would never see, and it led to a weird sort of intimacy, though we never knew each other’s name. The situation—“affair?” I wasn’t sure of the taste of that word—with Anders was like that, only much more.
I ordered a chicken salad, having the ridiculous notion that if I didn’t ruin my diet, then all else would be forgivable. Anders chose fish and a bottle of Australian white wine.
“To make you feel at home,” he said with a smile, and I was touched by the thoughtful gesture. It had been many years since Jack would have thought of something like that, if ever. He wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, so it would probably not have even occurred to him. Making a conscious decision then not to think of Jack, I looked over at Anders on the other end of couch. It felt odd to be sitting here alone with him again, but in completely different circumstances. He was so familiar, but not. Like an ex-boyfriend from years ago, but without the angst from breaking up lurking in the background. I felt nervous but excited too, a slight quivering in the stomach.
“So, how have you been?” I asked inquiringly.
“Good,” he said, his eyes focused on my face. “You?”
“Really well. My second book is selling well, and the TV show looks like it might be going ahead,” I said brightly. To stop myself from babbling on, I glanced around the room. It was hard to keep looking at him. He was staring at me so intently, but I didn’t know what exactly we were doing here. Did he want to be friends? Lovers? I just couldn’t tell, and it was starting to drive me nuts.
“What brings you to London?” I asked politely.
“Work, doing some publicity for the show,” he said dismissively. “Boring stuff. How is Jack?” he asked, his voice deepening slightly.
“Fine,” I said slowly, not sure where this was leading.
“So, you’re still together?”
“As much as ever,” I answered somewhat cryptically, though it was the best possible description. I was starting to feel a bit warm and stood up to take off my jacket and hang it over a chair. It was also a convenient excuse to move away from the couch and have some space to think. I was puzzled. His look was intimate, too intense for a “just friends” lunch, but asking me about my husband was surely not going to be the start of anything. Reminding someone about their spouse was the last thing you’d do if you wanted to sleep with them.
“Why did you call me?” I asked softly, searching his face, just wanting the truth out there. I didn’t know how I was supposed to act, and it would be easier if I just knew what he wanted.
“Truly?” He stood, walked over to me, and reached down to pick up my hand. “I kept thinking about France. It was distracting.” Looking into my eyes, he brought my palm to his lips and kissed it gently. It sent a shock of desire down to my toes, and my lips parted in a soft exhalation. Such a simple thing and already I wanted to sleep with him again. But who was I kidding? I’d wanted to sleep with him again the moment I walked in the door. Or was it the moment I’d heard his voice on the phone?
“Oh?” I asked a little breathlessly. “What about it?”
“You. Naked. Me inside you.”
“Ohh…” It came out as a sigh. He was still only holding my hand, and I was already melting into a puddle of lust and need.
“I wanted to see you again to see if it was still the same…” He paused, seeming to drink me in with his eyes. “Yes, I am still on fire for you.” He raised his eyebrow questioningly and moved closer. “Have you thought about me?”
“Yes,” I whispered, feeling unaccountably exposed with that admission. Then there were no more words as we almost collided in our rush to each other. When our lips met, it wasn’t tentative, neither of us holding back. We kissed like teenagers, as if we were desperate and drowning. We were in bed again long before lunch arrived.
Afterward, we were facing each other, our legs entwined, my head on his shoulder as he gently stroked my back. The sex with Anders was simply mind-boggling, and this latest time was even better than before, if possible. We seemed to fit together; there was no other way of explaining it. My body was still thrumming as we lay there.
“Can I ask you a question?” he said.
“Sure.” I nuzzled his neck lazily. He smelled so good, clean and masculine with just a hint of aftershave.
“You said you’d never slept with anyone other than your husband.”
“Umm, well, yes, I have. I wasn’t a virgin when we married.”
“No, I mean after you were married.” He rolled his eyes, looking adorable.
“Okay, no, not since I met Jack.” I wondered why we were talking about this.
“So, why now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why with me?”
I sat up and looked at him, his eyes showed his concern about this. “I don’t know. I was attracted to you, and it just kind of happened. Thinking isn’t my strong suit around you.”
“You’re not some mad fan or anything?” he asked, anxiety tightening his eyes.
“Err, no. I like the show, and I admit that I did have a few fantasies about you.” He raised his eyebrows, an
d his smile was a little self-satisfied as I continued. “But I can distinguish reality from fiction. I’m not here because you’re some actor on TV. That’s awful of you to say.” I playfully whacked him on the arm.
“So, I’m not your screensaver or anything,” he said, pulling me on top of him and laughing up at me, looking relieved.
“No, that would be my children!” I said in mock indignation.
“I’m glad,” he said, serious again. He reached out and pulled me down for a deep kiss.
It gave me a moment to think about it, and there was an explanation of sorts. “They say you have to be looking to have an affair, and to be honest, if you hadn’t been someone I was aware of and fantasized about a bit before, I wouldn’t have seen you, if you know what I mean. But that wasn’t the reason I gave in to your roguish advances.” I gently pushed the hair back from his forehead.
“Then, why did you?”
“Because I found you interesting and funny, as well as gorgeous. Something seemed to click. It wasn’t a surface thing; it was more fundamental than that. It felt right, even though it was wrong.”
He nodded in agreement. “This is too good to have ignored.”
“Okay, well, what about you? Why me?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?” He tucked my hair back behind my ears.
“Absolutely!” I laughed. “But seriously, you’re so good looking and have all these women who follow your every move and comment about it on the Internet, as well as the screaming fans at those events. How can I possibly compete with that adulation, let alone the amazingly beautiful women you meet every day for work?”
“First of all, I don’t consider how I look to be particularly important. Women find anyone on television attractive and a sex symbol. I don’t think I’m particularly good looking, and I find the whole thing slightly baffling. It’s not like girls found me irresistible before I was famous. Quite the opposite, really.” He laughed self-depreciatively. “I had to work pretty hard to get a girlfriend then, so I don’t think of it as being real now. It’s just something that’s part of the job. I liked that you obviously wanted me but tried to deny it. You saw the man, not just the man on television.”
“Oh. That makes sense on one level, but I can’t imagine anyone not thinking you were incredibly sexy. Every time I see you, I just want to rip your clothes off.”
“Even now?” he asked as his lips found my neck and started kissing in a downward direction.
“Ah…Really? Well, I would, but we’re both still naked.” I had the feeling I was being side-tracked, but I couldn’t remember what we were talking about when he looked at me with that hot, hooded look in his eyes.
“So we are…” His smile turned slightly predatory, and his gaze fixed on my breasts. “How could I not want you? You are all woman, so soft and responsive.” Lust lit his eyes. “I love your breasts.” And then he showed me how much.
Chapter Fourteen
AND SO IT STARTED. We met as often as we could whenever he was in London. Every few weeks, he’d fly in for a day or two, and we would meet. It was exciting, and I was inexpressibly happy to see him. It felt like the sun had come out again after a long winter. I thought everyone would be able to see my joy. I started to miss him when I didn’t see him for a few weeks, but the anticipation and the time we had together made it worthwhile.
I loved that it was uncomplicated, just the two of us enjoying each other, laughing, having sex. There were no everyday irritations to dampen it, or familiarity to dim the excitement of seeing each other. I felt free to be myself, the self I had been years ago, and I realized I liked the version of me that Anders saw: someone who wasn’t needy and resentful and a little bit angry.
The sex was great because I could just let myself go—I wasn’t holding back, on guard and protecting myself from being hurt. I wasn’t worried that he would reject me, turning away with a thin excuse about being tired. He made me feel like I was the most desirable woman in the world and that he couldn’t get enough of me. It was a miracle cure for my self-esteem as a woman, which had been running low for an impossibly long time. We’re surrounded by so many images of teenagers who are held up as the paragons of beauty, and any woman over the age of twenty-five is past her use-by date. By her late-thirties, forget it. Bring on the wise old crone.
“You’re supposed to be this amazing cook. When do I get to taste something that you’ve made?” We hadn’t made it to the bed and were lying side by side on the carpet in the lounge room of the hotel suite, catching our breath.
“That’s a fairly random request!” I said, laughing. “I can’t even think yet.”
“Well, one appetite is sated, so I can start thinking about the others. For a little while anyway.” He smiled as he started running his hands over my bottom.
“Well, if I keep all your appetites satisfied, you’ll keep me satisfied?” I grinned at him.
“Deal,” he said, giving me a light smack.
“Cheeky,” I muttered at him.
I started baking for Anders. Every time we would meet, I would bring something, and we would eat it together, usually still naked in bed. The first time I brought him a chocolate brownie. It was a beautiful recipe, simple and easy, all the ingredients together in a bowl, a rich mixture of butter, chocolate, and eggs, still soft and luscious in the middle but crispy and caramelized on the outside.
Anders sat up against the headboard in the white-sheeted bed, eating and groaning in delight. Dark crumbs dotted his abs and thighs, and I leaned over and licked them off. He held the brownie over the curve of my hip and sprinkled the last of the cake on me. He then pounced, tickling me with his lips as he enthusiastically cleaned me off, pinning me down until I was nearly crying with laughter.
“More,” he laughed. “That was nowhere near enough. How could you torture me by only bringing one?”
Next I brought a small raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake. Anders wolfed it down, laughingly refusing me any but the smallest bite and licking his fingers with relish.
“Amazing,” was all he said before kissing me deeply, the smooth taste of sweet vanilla-laced cheese still in his mouth.
“You are amazing. Lie back,” I said.
Raising one eyebrow, he complied, lacing his hands behind his head, making his biceps bulge. I climbed on top of him, resting back on his thighs. My gaze roamed hungrily over his spectacular body, laid out like a gift in front of me. I ran my hands down the muscles of his chest with its umbrella of springy dark blond hair, tracing its path down. His stomach muscles jerked as I moved closer, his cock starting to swell again. I ran my fingers lightly down his length and lower, testing a weight of his balls, making him groan.
“Don’t move,” I cautioned before lowering myself between his legs. He watched me with hungry eyes as I reached out with my tongue to lick him. I started at the wide base of him, holding him firmly as he grew larger. He had to be nine magnificent solid inches, his cock completely in proportion with the rest of him. He was so hard under the surface of soft skin, the engorged purple head as soft as velvet.
I swirled my tongue over the top, keeping eye contact with him until his head rolled back as I lowered my mouth to take as much of him in as I could. I could only get half way before I had to come back up. I licked both my palms to lubricate them and wrapped them around the lower half as one hand was not enough to encase him and used my hands, together with my mouth, to pleasure him. I reached a rhythm of sucking and massaging until he quivered with the need to move.
Breaking finally, his hands dove into my hair, wrapping his fingers in the strands as he rolled us sideways so he could use his hips to thrust into my mouth. His wild groans and incoherent words turned me on, and I sucked harder and opened my mouth wider to take more of him in. Just when he reached the point where it was almost too much, he was too big and his movements too forceful, he started shaking and came hard with a loud yell, the cream of his come bursting into my mouth. I swallowed hurriedly as more ca
me pouring out, taking all of him and licking him to the finish. He fell back onto the bed, still moaning. I moved up beside him on the pillow, grinning at the boneless mass I had turned him into. He reached over and pulled me to him in a tight hug, still panting. I gave him a few moments.
“Fuck me,” he swore.
“Yes, I think I did.” I laughed quietly at him.
“Thank you.” His mouth found mine and, through his lips and tongue, showed me his gratitude.
“I assure you, it was my pleasure.” I smiled.
I started planning the food with more thought than my outfit. After all, it’s not like I was wearing clothes for very long. As soon as the door closed, we started fumbling for buttons and zippers in our haste to be together. It is only surprising that I never gave in to the temptation to just wear elasticized clothing. Anders, being already in the room, was often already naked, just wrapped in a towel like a big gorgeous present. I loved the way he became aroused so quickly at the mere sight of me. There is nothing better for the female libido than being desired so openly. So many months and our appetite for each other was still as strong as when we met. After sating ourselves, we would eat whatever treat I’d brought with me: tiny vanilla cakes topped with sweet decorations, brown ale chocolate cake with tangy cream cheese icing, spiced biscuits with zesty lemon filling, yeasty cinnamon buns still warm from the oven, creamy vanilla tarts with light flaky pastry topped with luscious berries, chocolate truffles boozy with whisky.
“Come here.” He beckoned me from the bed where he sat naked, legs outstretched, polishing off a cinnamon-sugar-coated baked doughnut. I sauntered over, intrigued by the twinkle in his eye. He rose to attention as I climbed up the bed toward him.
“I want to eat you then the last bun as I fuck you.”
“Really?” I laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Multitasking?”
“Two sins for the price of one.” He licked the sugar crystals off his fingers and, grasping my hips, pulled me up as he slid under and between my thighs. His tongue connected with my clit and danced enticingly around it. Working his hands underneath me, he held my lips apart so he could torment me more easily. Floods of pleasure flowed through me, peaking again and again until I was unable to stand it. I tried to get away, but he held me there easily, fingers digging firmly into my electrified flesh as the pleasure and pain combined to make me scream my final orgasm. He let me go, and exhausted, I went to climb off him, but before I could collapse in a heap, he moved up the bed. Gripping the base of his erection with one hand, he held it straight up.
Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking Page 12