by Lisa Wells
No. She didn’t need Charlie to tell her how to handle this. Ian was great as a sex partner, but he wasn’t life-partner material. And this arrangement had always been temporary. She might have been too weak to resist his final invitation to come back to the hotel with him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t leave him feeling a little bit unsure of her. Unsure of what she may or may not have been about to do. It would do his ego good to be knocked down a few notches.
“Ian?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been a great mentor. Heck, at the beginning of the week, I would have never considered leaving with a single guy from a sex party. I have you to thank for that type of confidence.”
His response was a grunt.
She hid a smile.
Their cab pulled up to the hotel.
When they walked into the hotel, Ian said, “Go on up to the room. I’ll be there in a minute,” in a drill sergeant tone. Like he was in complete dom mode.
“But—”
“Don’t argue.”
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t playing the part of a dom right now. Maybe he was just really pissed at her.
She might have been inclined to tell him the truth about the guy at the party if he hadn’t backtracked quicker than a politician after election day on the whole “what if I say I love you” comment when she’d asked him to expand on what he meant by it. Sweet Jesus, for a few seconds, while standing there in the light of the moon with Ian, hope had sprung flowers inside of her dismembered heart, filling in the cracks and holes with lilacs and daisies. And then they’d wilted.
Frustrated with the whole situation, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and trounced off to their suite. She should have stayed with her stripper. At least he liked to laugh. Damn Charlie and her whole leave-until-they-stop-chasing-you advice. All it had done for her was totally piss Ian off. And a pissed off dom wasn’t that much fun.
Inside the suite, she glanced around. Everything was a pristine white with black accents. Very modern. Very large. The kind of room a rich man reserves for a week at a conference. The kind of room a rich man can spend a week playing kinky games with a woman in and then walk away with no regrets. The kind of room she would have never seen the inside of if it hadn’t been for him.
Not that you would know he was rich by talking to him. He never mentioned money.
She poured herself a glass of wine. She thought again about Ian’s words as they stood outside in the lights of the cab.
“What if I said I’m in love with you?”
Was that his idea of a true declaration of love? She sighed. Of course it wasn’t.
He’d simply said what he thought he needed to say to get her to go home with him. If he’d meant it, he would have repeated it. Made sure she knew he was serious.
So what would happen if she told him she loved him? No. She couldn’t do that. They’d entered into a deal. He shouldn’t have to listen to her declare her love and then feel like a jerk for not loving her back. Besides, all she had left was her pride. She wasn’t giving that up on a whim.
No, if he loved her, he was going to have to make it very clear to her.
She didn’t have to wonder or worry for long what Ian’s plans were for the evening.
Within minutes, he came in carrying a bag from a gift shop in the hotel. He held the gold colored bag out to her. “Go take a shower and put this on. No makeup. If it’s not in the bag, don’t wear it.”
Her chin came up. “What if it doesn’t fit?”
“Wear it anyway.”
She swallowed her retort, grabbed the sack out of his hand, and stomped her way to the bathroom. She wasn’t sure who she was mad at—him, or herself. Or her dumb pride.
She opened the bag, and her heartbeat ratcheted up. Ian’s version of a schoolgirl uniform. Similar to the one she’d worn in high school.
Similar to the one she’d been wearing the day she asked him to take her virginity. She pulled the pieces out and laid them on the counter.
Well…maybe not that similar.
At her school, the black skirts were required to hit mid-knee. This skirt would hit her upper thighs. At her school they wore pristine, white, loose-fitting blouses. This form-fitting blouse had tiny buttons stretching from the high-collar to the hem—a size small. A pair of white, thigh-high stockings were included.
No shoes. No bra. A tiny pair of panties.
Her heart ached at the realization that they were going to end their week on a nostalgic note. Recreating the event that brought them to this point in their life.
Was this his idea of bringing closure to their relationship? Had this week just been about them getting each other out of their systems? Would it work? Would she be able to walk away a whole person?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ian had a drink in his hand when Kinley walked out of the bathroom. His heart fell to his toes and landed with a noisy splat. He set the glass on the counter and walked closer.
She had her hair pulled up in a ponytail. Her red-framed glasses perched on her cute nose.
Her breasts were straining to escape through the buttonholes of a white blouse that was buttoned up to her chin.
The skirt skimmed her thighs. A quarter of an inch shorter and he could see her bare pussy.
“So our last night is going to be about roleplaying?” She gave him a smile that wasn’t quite happy but not quite fake. Sort of sad.
“No. It’s going to be about you and me. About something that’s been ten years in the making.”
She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. “That sounds nice.”
“Turn around slowly,” he ordered.
White stockings encased the length of her legs, stopping at the hem of the skirt.
Her legs were shoulder-width apart.
He remembered the beauty of her ass after he’d spanked it the last time. Rosy and begging for attention. He wanted to see it that way again. But not tonight. Tonight was for other things.
“Go out in the hall; knock on the door. When I answer, I want you to ask me to take your virginity.”
She turned around slowly, her lips slightly parted. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly with her breathing. She nodded. Walked out in the hallway.
He waited for a knock. He didn’t answer.
A second knock. He didn’t answer.
A third knock. Loud.
He opened the door just as she raised her hand to knock the fourth time.
She lost her balance and fell into him. He placed his hands on her shoulders, pushed her back slightly, and steadied her. “Kinley, what a surprise. What are you doing here?”
She glanced up at him with large brown eyes. Innocent eyes saturated with lust. She raised her hands and wrapped them around his neck and kissed him.
It was an awful kiss. All closed mouth and inexperienced. Exactly the way she’d kissed him ten years ago.
Her body collapsed against him.
His hands went around her, trying to steady them both, and they landed on her ass. She jumped. Pulled back. Out of his arms. “I want you to take my virginity,” she said in a breathless voice. The same breathless voice she’d used ten years ago.
Only this time she was all woman. His for the taking.
He shut the door and pulled her into the hotel room. Past the living area and into the bedroom. He left her standing at the bedroom door, and he sat down on the bed. “I can’t take your virginity. You’re a good girl.”
A small smile tugged the corners of her lips. “You’re wrong. I’m not a good girl. I’m a very bad girl.” She walked halfway in and stopped.
He spread his feet. His cock was hard. He adjusted himself while she watched. “I don’t believe you’re bad. I would never forgive myself if I took what you’re offering.”
Her eyes grew stormy. “But I want you to. I’ve dreamt of this for years.”
“I’m too old for you. You need someone your own age.”
She raised her hands
to the buttons on her blouse. “What if I change your mind? Then will you take my virginity?”
He swallowed the desire to get up and strip her naked. “If you can change my mind. But you won’t.” God, it was their arrangement, all over again. Only this time, the stakes were so much higher. This game meant so much more. At least to him, it did. He wasn’t sure about her.
She unbuttoned her shirt—one tiny button at a time. Her nipples were so erect he could easily see their rosy color through the thin material. She stopped about midway, pulled the shirt apart, and let her tits pop out.
The breath swooshed out of him. He closed his eyes. Counted to ten.
“Open your eyes,” she husked. “Touch yourself.”
He did both.
She watched his hands. Licked her lips—slowly. “I don’t have any panties on.”
“You don’t?” His voice was deep and laden with yearning. Ten years worth of yearning. Ten years of imagining this scene.
“Do you want me to prove it?” She opened her lips, and he could see the tip of her tongue between her teeth.
He nodded.
She slowly turned. Spread her legs past shoulder-width. Leaned forward. Very…very…slowly.
Ian watched the skirt inch its way up until he could see her ass. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever watched a woman do in his life. He wanted to film her so he could watch it over and over again.
She reached a hand behind and lifted her skirt all the way up.
Unable to resist, with her legs wide apart, dressed in white stockings, and her skirt flipped up, he grabbed his phone and took a picture. For his eyes only.
“Put your hands on the floor and balance yourself,” he ordered.
Their eyes locked. She blinked several times. Then she nodded.
He walked up behind her. Placed one hand on the small of her back. Placed the other between her legs. “Are you sure you want me to be your first?” His finger caressed her clitoris as he spoke.
She moaned. “I’ve always wanted you to be my first.”
He went down on his knees. Kissed the cheeks of her ass. “I can smell your arousal.”
“I’ve been wet all week for you.”
“Hearing that is intoxicating. Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”
“I feel like I’m back in time and something wonderful is about to happen.”
“Touch yourself.”
She left one hand on the floor and brought the other between her legs.
God, she was flexible. “When a girl loses her virginity. She should choose a man who is worthy of the gift.”
“How does she know who is worthy?”
“He’ll be a man who will respect her. Who won’t brag to his friends about what they did.”
She put her fingers between her legs. “I like it when I rub up and down right here. Is that normal?”
“It’s completely normal. In fact, a man who is preparing to deflower you, will rub you there himself. He’ll rub you there with his fingers. Or his cock. Or his tongue.”
She groaned.
“Slip your finger inside yourself and tell me what happens?”
She did. Slowly. Very slowly. “I’m so wet. And tight. Very, very tight. How big is a man’s aroused cock?”
“I could tell you. But it would be better if I showed you.” Ian kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his slacks. He pushed them down and kicked them out of the way.
She raised and turned around.
He stood there completely naked from the waist down. He was still wearing a jacket and shirt and tie.
“Wow. That is so big. I don’t think it will fit.”
“That’s why a guy makes sure you’re very wet before he slips inside of you.”
“Can I touch you?”
“I’m hoping you will.”
Her hand reached out, and she gently slid her palm up and down. “You feel hot. Why is the tip wet?”
“It’s because you excite me.”
“If you took my virginity would you brag about it to your friends tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Would you respect me in the morning?”
“Absolutely.”
Kinley grabbed his tie and lead him to the bed. She slipped off her blouse. Unbuttoned and dropped her skirt. Left her stockings on and climbed into the center of the bed.
He came to her. Climbed on top. “In the morning, if I forget to say you were wonderful. That our fantasy week together was the best I’ve ever—”
She leaned up and kissed him, silencing his words, frying his brain.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kinley stood in the middle of Ian’s hotel suite wearing her chucks, her jeans and her new What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas T-shirt. Her party dress was stuffed inside her suitcase. Her Catholic school girl uniform was on the bedroom floor.
She blew her nose and checked her mascara in the mirror hanging over the couch. Damn tears.
They’d enjoyed hot sex. Incredibly hot breakup/good-bye sex.
But not once, during or after the sex, did he repeat his declaration of love.
It was as if the words had never crossed his lips while they were standing in the headlights of a cab.
They’d probably been blurted because his pride wouldn’t allow him to lose his woman to another man, and that was the only thing he could think to say that might keep her by his side.
Charlie’s words came back to her.
Keep leaving until he stops chasing you or catches you.
Truth be told, that was the real reason she’d left the sex party: to see if he’d chase. But that wasn’t why she was leaving this time. Or, at least, that’s what she kept telling herself. This time she was leaving because they’d made a nostrings-attached deal. And like Ian, she kept her promises. She had no real illusions that he’d be chasing after her.
She wrote a short note. Her hand was shaking. This may be the last time she saw him. Fresh tears fell.
Ian, I didn’t want to wake you. You look so tuckered out from our sexual escapades. :) But I did want to say thanks for this week. I’ve learned far more than I could have ever imagined. You upheld your end of our bet to teach me about sex.
Her hand hovered over the paper. Should she leave a hint that she’d be open to a new ending? But what if he wasn’t, and he didn’t come after her? Then her greed in wanting more would take their memory of this week and give it a negative spin. She didn’t want that. They had their story. It was a short story, and it was complete.
I’ve given last night a considerable amount of thought. We said at the beginning of the week, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. No strings attached. But strings or no strings, you told me upfront you didn’t think you could watch me with another man, and I pushed you. Not because I really wanted to be with another man, but I think I did it to make you jealous. Not to learn more about sex. Which was a very immature thing to do on my part. So let me just say, I’m sorry.
This week has given me a lot of information and experiences that will strengthen me as a writer. But more importantly than that, it’s given me a new us memory. One that makes me smile. One that has a beginning and a middle…and an end.
Again, her hand hovered over the paper. Her heart was pushing her to write on-the-nose dialogue. Like something about maybe next time they could try it with a few strings attached? But her brain told her no. That would put him on the spot. If he really was in love with her, he’d decipher the subtext in her letter. And if he wasn’t…
I’ll send you my revised manuscript, or the new one I’m working on, by the end of the month. Not because I want you to be my agent, but because I want you to see how much you’ve helped me.
A tear splashed on the paper. Damn it. She blotted the paper with her sleeve.
P.S. You’re not a bad kisser. Not a great one…but not bad either. Maybe with some practice… All joking aside, this week has made me realize how much I’ve missed having my big brother’s best friend in my life. As
such, I’ve decided to add an addendum to my New Year’s Resolution List. I won’t bore you with the details…
She wanted to leave him with a smile. Love or no love, what they’d done had been incredible. And maybe, just maybe, he’d call and push for details about her New Year’s Resolution Addendum. That’s what authors did, right? Leave the reader wanting to know what happens next.
She grabbed her travel pillow, her laptop, her suitcase, and her carry-on. She left her room key on the bed next to her note.
“I love you, Ian Thompson,” she whispered.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ian picked up his coffee cup, walked to the large window in his living room, and glanced out at the Apple Store. Normally, he loved the view from his New York apartment. Not today, though. Not yesterday. Not since he returned from Vegas.
After a month of hearing nothing from Kinley, he’d learned not to get his hopes up when he woke each morning—not to get his hopes up that there’d be an email from her. But every morning he’d check his email, and when there was nothing from her, his hopes that weren’t up took a nosedive off the Brooklyn Bridge.
If only she’d send her manuscript, he could contact her without breaking the promise he’d made to her that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. He could convince her that the sex they’d experienced was too good to have such a short shelf life. That they could have some sort of relationship beyond the conference.
But the manuscript never came, and he wouldn’t break a promise. He didn’t lie.
He sat down at his desk and pulled up a manuscript from one of his favorite authors and started editing.
Two hours later, there was a knock at his door.
When he answered, the UPS man was standing there with a package. “Please sign.”
Ian did. It looked like a manuscript package. What the hell? He had a strict policy about how to query him. First, he didn’t accept snail mail. He believed in saving the trees. Second, if you were querying him, he just wanted the query and the first ten pages of your manuscript—not the entire manuscript. Any author he’d requested a full from would have been given his private email address to send it to.