This Changes Everything

by Gretchen Galway

  Nibbling her lip, where the hint of a smile threatened, she put her hands on his chest, splayed her fingers, and went still. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have any moves.”

  “I’m very patient.”

  She licked her lips. The smile was gone. “Thank God.” She went up on tiptoe and kissed him like a grandmother at church. Closed lips, no tongue, tipping forward at the waist.

  “Come on,” he said.

  “Hey, I warned you.”

  “Kiss me like you did in the limo.”

  “I was kidding.” She cleared her throat. “And, yes, a little drunk.”

  “Do it or I’m out of here.”

  She stepped closer. “You couldn’t bear to leave me. You want me too much.”

  “That was good. Now say it without laughing.”

  “I can’t.”

  In spite of himself, he thought about opening the champagne. “How about if I close my eyes? One little kiss, like you mean it, and then I’ll give you what you want.”

  “A pony?”

  He made a growling sound in the back of his throat.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she said, throwing her head back and inhaling like a woman about to sing the national anthem at opening day of the World Series without a mic. “OK. Ready. Close ’em.”

  He closed his eyes.

  ♢ ♡ ♤

  Cleo waited a moment before stepping close and lifting her hand to Sly’s cheek. His jaw felt warm and firm, very real. Alive. It wasn’t a fantasy or a dream. She was awake. She dragged her thumb across his lower lip, enchanted with the way he sucked in a breath but didn’t move to take over. With growing confidence, she leaned in and dropped kisses along his neck, breathing heavily along his skin, licking the shadow of his jawline while her hands splayed out on his stomach and began to explore.

  Being a virgin would’ve been worse, she told herself. Much worse. Until the miserable discovery of Dylan’s cheating, she would’ve said they’d had a good sex life. If she could just forget how painfully she’d learned otherwise, she could enjoy this night with Sly. If she could just forget how Dylan had faked his satisfaction, his pleasure, his desire…

  She moved her hand down over the bulge in Sly’s pants. He shuddered.

  “You want this?” she asked, hating herself for needing to hear it again but unable to resist.

  Before she took her next breath, he captured her face in his hands. His nose brushed hers, but he didn’t kiss her. Hot current snapped between them.

  Then he released her. “Last chance,” he said in a low voice, staring at her.

  She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his, sloppy but heartfelt, just wanting to feel and taste him. Her heart was beating too fast, and the lack of oxygen going to her brain made her dizzy, but she gave the kiss everything she had, fondness and desire, love and lust, and knocked him off-balance so badly he fell against the wall.

  Not stopping then, even though he had to throw his arms out to either side to keep himself from hitting the floor, she gripped his face in her hands and kissed him deeper. Openmouthed, with tongue, breasts pressing against his chest. Everything she had.

  He staggered a little and then put his arms around her, encouraging her, taking it all and demanding more. She felt his hands at her waist, stroking her curves, exploring her belly and her hips and the small of her back. And then he spun her around and pushed her back against the wall. His knee forced her legs apart. Now she was the one off-balance, reaching for support, trying not to fall.

  “Cleo,” he said in her ear, his voice giving her shivers. “Cleo.”

  “Don’t say my name.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Pretend I’m someone else,” she said. “Then I can too.”

  He reached around and pulled the zipper down her back. Fabric slid down her torso, exposing her upper body. She felt chilly air-conditioned air, then his warm hands. “And who am I?”

  Her thoughts were too splintered to understand. “Hmm?”

  “Are you imagining I’m somebody else, too?”

  Shaking her head, she unbuttoned his shirt from top to bottom, exposing his chest so she could bury her face in him, inhale his scent, and kiss his skin. There was nobody else she wanted to think about.

  “Are you sure?”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. “Very.”

  “What about”—he shoved her dress to the floor—“the pizza guy? With the tattoo?”

  His own clothes were harder to remove, but she was a piano player and had agile fingers. In three seconds, his pants were around his ankles and his shirt rested on the floor. She admired his erection pushing through his boxers. “Take off your shoes.”

  With a grin, he kicked them off. “I like your bossy side.”

  “Same here.”

  “Really?”

  She traced a circle around his nipple, loving the way it hardened under her touch. “Ah. Yeah.”

  His fingers came around her wrist in an iron grip. He brought her hand to his mouth, isolated a finger, and sucked it between his lips. The sensation of teeth and suction and tongue made her knees weak.

  “Good,” he said. Still holding her wrist, he pulled her with him into the suite, past the doorway to the bedroom, down the steps into the living room, and then over to the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking Las Vegas. There he stopped to kiss her hard on the mouth before opening the sliding doors and pushing her onto the balcony.

  She turned back to the interior, suddenly aware of what he was doing. At the moment she was still wearing a bra and panties, but that wasn’t going to last long.

  He moved quickly, blocking the doorway. “Nobody will be able to see you. We’re on the top floor.”

  “They can see me right now.” She flung out her arms. It was hard to care if anyone could see her in a bra that was more modest than most bikinis, but soon she’d be completely exposed… doing things with this unbelievably gorgeous guy…

  Oh, God. The thought was making her hot.

  “I’ve got a plan.” He kissed her shoulder before jogging back inside, grabbing the back cushions on the sofa, hauling them out onto the balcony, and flinging them down.

  “But—”

  He knelt at her feet, stroked her through the panties, then hooked his fingers over the waistband and jerked them down her hips. With a cry, she looked wildly around for spectators, seeing millions of potential eyes in the windows of other hotels, the open streets below, the balconies to either side.

  And then she pushed aside the rest of the world.

  There was only him.

  She leaned back against the solid balcony railing, about hip-height, and concentrated on keeping her legs from buckling beneath her as he buried his face between her legs.

  He was good. Maybe he hadn’t spent any effort on practicing the piano, but he’d clearly put a few hours into this lovely skill. She didn’t want to think about how many hours, or with whom.

  “Oh, God,” she said, her throat tightening.

  His strong fingers spread her wider. She tried not to think of all the times she’d seen those same fingers holding his phone, pushing the buttons on the TV remote, driving a car. Because now they were touching her, in her, claiming her in a way she’d never let herself imagine. Every one of her nerves sang with erotic, forbidden excitement.

  Sly, her old friend, was licking her between her legs. And she wanted him to do it.

  She’d die if he stopped.

  His tongue slid deeper. Breathing heavily, with her elbows braced on the railing, she looked wildly over her shoulder at the city. Its energy poured into her, pushing her higher.

  His hair tickled the skin of her inner thighs. When she put her hand on the top of his head to encourage him—to make sure he didn’t stop—he grabbed her ass with both hands and rewarded her with another long, hard stroke of his tongue.

  Was it wrong to compare his technique to her ex-husband’s? Was there some ethica
l or psychological reason she shouldn’t acknowledge how much more she was enjoying this than she’d ever enjoyed it before?

  His head lifted. Cool air brushed her wet flesh.

  “Let go,” Sly said in a low voice as his hands continued to stroke her ass, her thighs. “Cleo. I’ve got you. Let go.”

  “I’m really,” she gasped, “enjoying this. You’re very talented.”

  “You’re delicious. And so beautiful. Stop thinking.” He trailed kisses along her inner thighs, blowing air across the moist flesh—which had excited her a moment earlier but now was painfully inadequate.

  She arched her hips to show him where she wanted him to be. “Stop talking.”

  With a low rumble of laughter, he lowered his face again into the aching spot between her legs and got back to work.

  Now she let herself think about all their mundane, ordinary moments together. It excited her to imagine him wanting her all this time, to think about how this handsome, high-profile friend of hers was now on his knees before her, worshipping her body, both of them primal and exposed.

  One of his fingers drove between her folds and touched her somewhere deep and unexpected. With a strangled cry, she shattered and rocketed up into the stars. The dark night and bright lights pushed and pulled at her, spinning her senseless out of herself. She hadn’t expected to come so quickly but here she was, broken and soaring.

  Just as she hit the sky, she had a moment of perfect clarity. She saw herself, she saw Sly, she saw the universe and their place in it. They were nobody important, but they were in the heart of the world.

  21

  Cleo had never been alive like this before.

  And then he was there, holding her shoulders and guiding her down onto the cushions. Legs trembling, she let him help her. They faced each other on their knees, gazing into each other’s eyes. Still dazed from her climax, she clung to him and waited for her pulse to return to a manageable rate.

  “Christ, Cleo,” he said roughly. “Or whoever you are. You’re beautiful when you come.”

  Not wasting time on words, she caught the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down his hips.

  Oh, my. Her pulse never had a chance.

  As a general principle, she always tried to avoid judging another person’s body, especially their most intimate parts, but…

  Lord, he was beautiful. All over. And there was a lot of all over.

  “Hello,” she said, reaching out to feel him. Never looking away from his face, she wrapped her fingers around him. His nostrils flared. High on power, she slowly tightened her grip. With a groan, he tilted his head back, exposing the muscles of his neck. It reminded her of when he’d fall asleep on her couch in front of the TV, except now he was throbbing in her hand.

  She had to kiss him. “Sly,” she whispered, burying her face in his chest and inhaling as she stroked. His hair was springy under her tongue, thick the way she liked it, damp with sweat. She nibbled a strand between her teeth and heard him suck in a sudden, pained breath.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked, drawing back.

  “You’re killing me.” He pushed her away and onto the cushions. “I can’t wait any longer. God knows I’ve been patient.” He slid an arm under her legs and tipped her onto her back. The padded fabric was soft under her bottom and shoulders, reminding her she was naked. He climbed on top of her, ducking his head to kiss her hard on the mouth. “God knows,” he growled against her lips.

  Fresh desire exploded inside her. All at once, she felt the years of deprivation, the nights alone. All at once, she recognized the longing she’d had for him when she’d sat at his side, laughed with him, enjoyed his company. Now she let the lust engulf her. She spread her legs and hooked her ankles around his hips, drinking in the feel of his bare skin sliding along hers. She explored the contours of his lean, muscled body with both hands. Licking his nipple until it hardened under her mouth, she knew she was losing control and didn’t care. “I want you inside me,” she said. “Sly. I want you.”

  “I’m working on it, beautiful,” he said, pushing away from her. A foil packet appeared in his hands. He fumbled with it, breathing heavily. “Stupid thing won’t open.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Got it.” He tossed the foil aside. “My hands were shaking. Good thing I’m not a surgeon.”

  “You can play doctor on me anytime.”

  Anytime.

  He looked at her in surprise, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She wouldn’t think about the implied lack of an expiration date on her offer. From now on, she was saying, I’m yours.

  City lights shimmered across his dark, muscled torso as he put on the condom. She reached up and caressed the trail of hair dusting his abdomen. How could somebody so perfect ever…?

  She wouldn’t think about it. I don’t care about what happens after tonight, she told herself, so long as I can have him right now.

  Dropping her hand, she leaned back and watched him stroke himself as his gaze slid up and down her body. Heat blasted through her. What did he see? Heart pounding, she let her legs fall open and waited, letting go of the last of her fear.

  His eyes were hungry but gentle. Loving. They’d cared about each other for a long time, but this…

  He climbed on top of her and pressed his mouth against hers in a hard, openmouthed kiss. Their tongues came together, rushed and tangled, as his hands explored her body. One hand claimed her breast, the other dove between her legs. Kissing his way down her neck to nuzzle and lick her other breast, he forced her legs wider apart and settled between them.

  Her back arched, inviting him, wanting him, demanding him. “Now, Sly, do it.”

  His hand stroked her wetness. “You want me?” His voice was low and ragged.

  She nodded her head, unable to breathe.

  “I want you,” he said. “I want you really bad.”

  “Take me. For God’s sake, take me.”

  Bracing himself on one elbow, he positioned himself and looked into her eyes. “Say my name.”

  She slid her hands up and down his muscled back, frantic for him to enter her. “Sly,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Closing his eyes, he thrust into her with a loud exhale. She cried out, not expecting so much pressure all at once, but the pain quickly turned into intense, sweet heaven.

  “Cleo, God, Cleo,” he moaned, pulling out, thrusting again harder. She rose up to meet him and take him deeper, and they fell into a frenzied rhythm, perfectly in sync, their cheeks pressed against each other, then their lips, their tongues, matching the pace of their hips.

  He came with a shout. She held his face in her hands and watched him wonderingly for a second before she felt her own body join him.

  22

  She was gone.

  The curtains were open, and the dawn light shining into the suite left Sly no doubt that he was alone.

  He fell back on the bed, a wave of unease washing over him.

  Last night, after the first spike of triumph he’d felt after finally having her, another feeling had crept up on him and taken hold in the front of his thoughts. Well, after he’d had his fill of her and he’d had any thoughts worthy of the name.

  Fear. Where was this going to go? Were they dating, like he and Teresa had—a few months or a year of shared meals, social events, and a bed and then, finally, a breakup?

  Or were they just friends with benefits, just great pals who got naked and had great sex while the rest of their life happened elsewhere, later?

  Were they even friends at all?

  He’d pursued her because that’s what he always did after setting his sights on something. He was a goal-oriented guy. Because of his persistence, he’d made a fortune and a name for himself by his early thirties. He’d never been the type to give up just because it was hard or even question the decision to go for something in the first place. During the pursuit, you couldn’t question yourself or you’d make excuses
and succumb to failure. He’d decided he was going to prove to Cleo that this attraction lurked between them and he had.

  Now what?

  Now he couldn’t breathe. He felt like Frank Sinatra himself was standing on his chest, using him as a stage, grinding him into the empty bed with his well-shined shoes. He should be relieved that she’d probably run away to the other room, maybe even to the airport, and saved them both from an agonizingly awkward morning after.

  But he wasn’t relieved. He was having a panic attack. She couldn’t leave him again. He had to—

  “Look what I found.” Cleo stood in the bedroom doorway with a wheeled cart laden with covered plates, a white vase with a single red rose, coffeepot and cups, various cutlery, and the paper. “They left it at our front door. I could get used to this.” She lifted a strawberry as big as a plum and admired it for a moment before sliding it between her lips.

  The air rushed back into his lungs. He sat up to drink in the sight of her in a hotel robe, barefoot, with her blond hair cascading down her shoulders and her cheeks flushed.

  Thank God. His relief made him dizzy.

  And then another emotion struck him: lust.

  He jumped out of bed and strode over to her, catching her in a kiss before she’d swallowed the strawberry. With a choked laugh, then a gulp, she returned the kiss, a little more cautiously than he’d hoped.

  She tasted better than a ripe berry. “Morning,” he said, then kissed her again while he unfastened the belt of her robe and pulled her against him, reuniting their bodies, skin against skin.

  “Did you order this?” she asked.

  He made a show of looking down at her body. Cupping her breast in his palm, he smiled and nodded. “I did, but I wasn’t sure it would come.”

  “Oh, she came all right.” Smiling, she flushed and tried to pull away.

  He held her. Her bottom was soft and yielding under his roving hands. When she sighed, high-pitched and erotic, he moved his hands up to her shoulders and pushed the robe down, making her as naked as he was but far more beautiful.