Heat Waves

by Janelle Denison

  He swallowed hard, his throat as dry as dust. He was suddenly very thirsty. Water glistened on her peach-hued skin and rolled down her chest in sparkling, enticing trickles. He followed their path straight into her cleavage, and grew even harder than he already was when he noticed how the cold sliver of ice had affected her nipples. He wanted to sip at the water on her dewy flesh, ached to lap up the moisture with his tongue – all the way to the tight, pearled tips of her breasts.

  He raised his eyes back to hers and smiled crookedly.

  "My condition should be fairly obvious." He was as stiff as a board, unable to get up without other parts of his anatomy standing at attention, as well.

  She eyed his erection unabashedly, contradicting the faint, delicate blush on her cheeks. "A little turned on by tonight's discussion?"

  She sounded pleased that she'd managed to bewitch him. There was that glint of determination again. He moved closer, encroaching beyond that invisible, do-not-cross line that had been erected between their chairs.

  "A whole lot turned on by you," he clarified huskily. "This is what you do to me every night, Erica. No one else."

  Her golden-brown eyes darkened and her lashes drooped slumberously. Her lips parted and released a gust of air from her lungs. Want and need chased across her features … leaving behind a flicker of vulnerability that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  He leaned closer still, his breath feathering across her cheek, his mouth brushing along hers, his tongue touching that soft cleft on her upper lip…

  A brisk knock on the glass partition shattered the moment, and Erica jerked back to her side of the microphone, looking shocked that she'd nearly succumbed to him in front of Carly. She dragged a hand through her silky hair and glanced up to find her friend grinning, as well as motioning with one hand to pay attention to her monitor and counting down the seconds to airtime on the other. Three, two, one…

  "You're listening to Heat Waves on WILK," Erica announced, her quick transition back into the show smooth and professional, her voice steady and sure. "We're back on the air with William. What is the most erotic thing your partner has ever done to you to bring you to orgasm?"

  "Well…" William thought about her question for a few seconds, then cleared his throat and said, "It had to be the time I was taking a shower and my girlfriend joined me. She lathered me up, and gave me what she fondly refers to as a 'wet kiss.' She took one of those full, soft bath sponges and made it slick with soap, then wrapped it around my shaft and squeezed and stroked. Oh, man … just thinking about it is enough to make me climax!"

  "What a great way to have a good time with bubbles," Erica said, humor lacing her voice.

  The evening's topic continued for the next hour and a half, with Ian and Erica engaging in their normal spirited banter and enthusiastic, stimulating debates. The charged sexual tension in the studio increased, nearly crackling in the warm, stagnant air between them.

  At fifteen minutes to two in the morning, Erica cued Carly for the final call. "We have time for one more opinion before we wrap up the show," she told her audience, and pressed the last blinking light on the phone. "Hello, Susan, what's your take on orgasms?"

  "Men are easy," the other woman said succinctly, and with a thread of disgust. "A couple of thrusts and grunts and they're done, leaving me far behind and usually unsatisfied. More often than not I take the edge off myself."

  "I hear ya, Susan," Erica commiserated. "Did you know it takes the average man two to three minutes of direct sexual stimulation to orgasm, and it takes the average woman about twenty minutes?"

  "That's where foreplay comes in," Ian said, adding his two cents to Erica's boring, textbook statistic. "Which brings us back around to the mind sex we discussed during other shows." Which brought the discussion back to them. If she was game.

  She was, obviously, unable to pass up the subtle dare. "So, are you saying that foreplay and mind sex guarantees an orgasm?"

  "There's never any guarantee, but it definitely increases the odds," he drawled in response. Remembering her comment a few nights ago about enjoying a slow seduction, he catered to that fantasy. "All that sexy mind stuff helps get a woman in the mood. So does kissing, and stroking, and touching. It's a matter of building up to that release, and taking the time and care to prime a woman's mind first, then her body. And then, depending on how worked up a woman is, an orgasm can happen quickly. Other times they're meant to be prolonged and savored."

  In the booth next to theirs, Carly nodded her enthusiastic agreement to Ian's opinion.

  Erica pursed her lips and ignored her friend's response. "Or, like Susan said, they don't happen at all."

  "If that's the case, blame it on the Romeo you're with. If a woman is excited enough and in sync with her body and desires, she can have an orgasm frilly clothed and from just a kiss."

  A skeptical sound escaped Erica's throat "Women's bodies and responses are different, and not every woman can get that worked up over a kiss and with no direct, manual stimulation against her clitoris."

  Instead of arguing her point, he changed tactics and hoped it didn't backfire on him. "I take it you've never had an orgasm that way? Fully clothed and from just making out?"

  She shrugged indifferently. "I'm sure a lot of women haven't."

  "We're not talking about other women, Erica," he said gently, maintaining intense eye contact with her. "We're talking about you. Yes, or no?"

  She could have lied. Surprisingly, she didn't. "No."

  Behind the plate-glass window separating the booths, Carly gaped incredulously, as if she couldn't believe Erica had been deprived of such great foreplay.

  He was equally surprised, but Erica's honesty endeared him to her even more. "Ever come close?"

  He expected her to fudge the truth, maybe just a little bit. Again, she opted for sincerity with her audience, and with him. "No."

  Carly smacked her forehead with her hand and shook her head grievously for her friend's sake.

  He grinned wickedly. "Maybe it's time you broadened your horizons and experienced a fully clothed, kiss-induced orgasm."

  Carly nodded vigorously and mouthed the words, "Yes, yes, yes!"

  Erica shifted in her seat. Crossed one leg over the other. Her thighs flexed as she squeezed them together restlessly. Then she tossed him one of her frivolous smiles. "Maybe I will."

  She looked away and wrapped up her segment. "That's it for tonight, everyone. Thank you for joining us, and I hope you enjoyed the show. I'll see you all next week with more scintillating topics to discuss here on Heat Waves."

  A reel of commercials played, and the early morning DJ stepped into the booth to get ready for his show. Erica politely introduced Ian to Steve on their way out of the studio. Carly stopped them in the hallway, looking her friend up and down as if seeing her for the first time.

  "Oh, my God, Erica—"

  Erica held up a hand to stop Carly from verbally expressing pity for her pathetic sex life. "I don't want to hear it."

  "I just can't believe you've never—"

  "Don't say another word," Erica warned, her tone firm.

  "Fine," Curly huffed. "I won't say another word about you not experiencing a making-out orgasm," she said impudently. "But after all that talk about kissing and climaxes and such, I'm outta here to finish where Dan and I left off earlier." She waggled her brows and retrieved her purse from the closet, then was out the door and gone.

  Erica moved at a slower pace, throwing her cup in the trash and gathering up her belongings, hoping Ian would take the hint and leave on his own. After being grilled by Carly, she had no desire to be interrogated by Ian, too. She'd seen the flicker of shock in his eyes when she'd admitted that she'd never come close to having a fully clothed orgasm, but how many women actually did? And what in the world had possessed her to be so candid with this man and thousands of her listeners and lay her deepest secrets bare?

  When he hung around, clearly not going anywhere without her, she d
ecided to be more blunt. "I need to use the rest room. You can go ahead and go, Ian."

  He slid his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans, his expression infinitely patient. "I'll wait."

  She slung her purse strap over her shoulder as they headed for the station's main door. "It's late, it's been a long night, and you must be exhausted."

  "I'm fine," he insisted, sounding very energetic and wide-awake. "Waiting a few extra minutes to walk down with you isn't going to amount to sleep deprivation."

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. "The guard will see me to my car. Really."

  He tipped his head and grinned, persistently. "I don't mind. Really."

  "I'm taking the stairs."

  Deep laughter escaped him, curling around Erica and eliciting another rush of warmth in forbidden places. As if she needed any more stimulation after four hours of sexy, on-the-air conversation with Ian.

  "Sweetheart, my legs are in good shape and I can handle a few flights of stairs."

  Sweetheart. She shivered as the endearment touched her much too close to her heart. In a place she'd kept off-limits to men since her disastrous relationship with Paul.

  She stopped in the hallway, a few feet away from the women's rest room, and sighed. "Ian—"

  He reached out and skimmed his fingers along her cheek and tucked a wispy strand of hair behind her ear, startling her into silence. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to argue with a date when he's trying to be a gentleman?"

  "My mother never dated gentlemen." The comment spilled out of her mouth before she could stop it. She inwardly winced, blaming her slip of the tongue on being tired, confused and thoroughly aroused by this man in front of her. Her body was alive with sensation, and she had a feeling sleep would be a long time coming when she finally crawled into bed.

  "What kind of men did your mother date?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

  She paused, and found him looking at her with kind eyes. Understanding eyes. And she felt compelled to explain her offhand remark. "My father died when I was six years old, and after that my mother tended to gravitate toward men who were users and took advantage of her insecurities. She's a very needy, clingy kind of woman who believes her life isn't complete without a man in it to take care of her. And the many men who've taken advantage of her weakness were not the gentlemanly type."

  She shuddered as old, unpleasant memories swamped her – of growing up watching a parade of guys coming in and out of their house, of resenting her mother for putting her kids second after the newest man in her life. Of spending time in a women's shelter after a boyfriend had taken his anger out on her mother one time too many.

  "Sounds like we might have something else in common besides all this hot sexual chemistry between us." His words were light and teasing, but the raw emotion in his gaze spoke of something far more painful.

  She didn't ask for details, but he shared, anyway. "My father left my mother when I was one, and she spent her nights partying with guys and doing drugs, and I kind of got shuffled around and was more of a nuisance to her than anything. She died when I was seventeen of an overdose. I pretty much raised myself, as I suspect you did, too."

  There was so much more to his story, she knew, and a part of her ached to delve deeper into his past, to hear that she wasn't the only one who'd struggled to make something of her life after growing up in such a dire situation. But the late hour, and her fatigued mind, wasn't conducive to such an intense conversation.

  She smiled, seeing the strong, confident, successful man he was now, despite his disadvantages as a youth. "Looks like you've come a long way."

  "So have you," he said, returning the compliment.

  She thought about where she wanted to be in her career, that her success was just beginning to build but had yet to peak. "I have a whole lot further to go."

  "And I have no doubt you'll reach your goals."

  Without really knowing her, he seemed to know her too well. Yes, she would attain her goals, without following in her mother's footsteps and without allowing herself to be sidetracked by a man or another stifling relationship. While her mother continued to chase after men who were bad for her, it had only taken Erica once to learn her lesson.

  She hooked her thumb toward the ladies' room. "I'll be right back if you're still intent on waiting for me."

  He settled his shoulder against the wall and smiled. "I am."

  She headed into the rest room. As she was washing her hands she found herself searching her features in the bathroom mirror. Remnants of the arousal and excitement Ian had evoked in the studio were still visible. Her skin was pink and damp from the humidity, and her eyes still held a spark of sexual need. A need that coiled deep in her belly and demanded to be appeased.

  She ran her brush through her hair and glossed her dry lips, her mind drifting back to her final debate with Ian. The one that had exposed her emotionally to her audience, and to the one man who'd played a big part of her fantasies for the past month. She'd never claimed to be an expert when it came to sex – she just enjoyed the discussions and her listeners' reactions to her provocative topics and liked to make it sound as if she knew what she was talking about. So where had all that honesty with Ian come from? And had she risked her credibility on the air by being so open and candid and admitting that she wasn't the orgasmic type?

  She frowned at her reflection. Granted, she was incredibly turned on from all that sexy mind stuff Ian had instigated on the air, but it wasn't as though she'd be able to rub her thighs together and magically climax – fully clothed. She was one of those women who needed direct finger stimulation, and lots of it. And the few guys she'd been with had quickly grown impatient with foreplay and moved on to the next level of intercourse, leaving her to handle the delicate matter of her own climax. Like her last caller, she had to hope that many of her female listeners had endured similar experiences and had appreciated her sincerity tonight.

  With that thought heavy on her mind, she headed out of the rest room and found Ian right where she'd left him. In silence, he escorted her down the hallway and opened the door to the stairwell for her, which was dimly lit. Side by side, he followed her down the stairs, the quiet punctuated by the sound of her sandals clicking on each metal step.

  Finally, he said, "Are you upset with me about tonight's discussion?"

  Was the man a mind reader? "Yes. No." She rubbed her temple and sighed, glancing his way. His striking green eyes held a glimmer of worry, and she sought to reassure him. "I'm not upset, just a little frustrated with your pat views on women and orgasms. I might be in the minority, but I think a woman should accept responsibility for her own pleasure."

  "And her own orgasms, too?" he asked without missing a beat.

  She shrugged as they rounded the corner to the next flight of stairs, her fingers gliding along the cool, metal handrail. She didn't question how comfortable she felt with him, and how easy it was to have these kinds of intimate conversations with a man she'd just met after a month of on-the-air courtship. Nor did she think about just how much of her inexperience she might be revealing. Ian had never judged her before, and she wasn't worried that he'd do so now.

  "Since I seem to be the epitome of honesty tonight," she said wryly, "let's just say that it's better for most women to rely on themselves for their own pleasure than ultimately being disappointed or having to fake it."

  "It doesn't have to be that way, Erica." His voice was a low, rich murmur of certainty that made her body pulse with renewed awareness. "With the right guy you wouldn't be disappointed, and he wouldn't let you fake it. Not if he could help it."

  Ian sounded so confident. Not in a cocky, arrogant sort of way, but in that patient, persistent manner of his. "What if a woman just can't have an orgasm with a man, not even manually?" she tossed out.

  The smile that graced his lips was pure, intoxicating male. "Then I'm going to have to assume that he's not giving you the attention you need."

  "I'm not talking a
bout me," she corrected him too quickly.

  "Figure of speech," he interjected smoothly, though there was a certain knowledge in his smoky gaze that seemed to see beyond her protest. "I really do believe that having and enjoying an orgasm is an attitude. You'll only experience as much sexual pleasure as you allow yourself to feel."

  His arm brushed hers, a subtle, accidental caress that sent a flurry of sensation straight to her belly. She was feeling too much at the moment, heat and desire and need, but she certainly didn't see all that restless anticipation resulting in a walking orgasm.

  She shook her head and argued his point. "You think a woman can climax with just a kiss and no hands, no fingers and no tongue in intimate places. How unrealistic is that?"

  "I think it's optimistic," he clarified.

  She slanted him a sidelong glance, admiring his strong profile illuminated by the soft, golden light in the stairwell. "You sound so sure of yourself, Mr. Carlisle."

  "No, just sure of you, Ms. McCree." An indulgent smile appeared on his lips. "I think I could make you have an orgasm without my hands or fingers touching you at all."

  She rolled her eyes dubiously. "Oh, yeah, sure."

  He stopped abruptly on the second-floor landing and gently grabbed her arm to stop her, as well. "Since you have so little faith in my ability to excite you and work you up to an orgasm, then why don't we settle the issue here and now?"

  The pulse in her throat fluttered. So did the one between her legs. "Because it's late and I have a hot date with the sandman."

  "Not a good enough excuse." With very little effort, he backed her up three steps until her spine pressed against the cool, block wall, which was a welcome relief against her feverish skin. He propped his hands flat on the wall on either side of her shoulders, and while he wasn't touching her physically in any way she suddenly felt scorched by the flame in his green eyes.