by Alice Gaines
“That would be bad?”
“This is supposed to be about your pleasure,” he said.
And pleasure it was. So intense. The build-up of the massage had stretched her nerves to the breaking point. Now she finally had his huge cock inside her and could ride him until he’d satisfied her every need.
He moved inside her again, and she nearly dissolved in a pool of pure carnal delight. Her breasts pressed against the solid wall of his chest. He’d made her nipples so responsive with his massage, and now the stiff peaks sent a charge along her nerves to awaken other sensitive parts of her body. Her clitoris came to life again, throbbing and demanding more contact. She slid her hand between their bodies, easing the fingers toward her sex.
“I have a better idea,” he said.
“Hm?”
“Turn around and face away from me,” he said.
She had to climb off him to accomplish that, and after a moment he gripped her hips to help her. She sank onto him again, closing her eyes to concentrate on the passage of his flesh inside hers. In this position, his hands could roam over her front, and he immediately covered her breasts with his palms and repeated the magic he’d worked on them before. Such an incredible combination of sensations: his cock filling her while his fingers wreaked havoc with the rest of her. After a few delicious minutes, he moved his hand over her belly.
Though her logical mind recognized his destination, her intellect could never have predicted her powerful response when his finger landed on her clitoris and rubbed. Her whole body shuddered, and she let out a loud “Ahhh” that sounded like steam escaping.
“See?” he said. “Noises.”
Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. “Just don’t stop.”
“Not a chance.”
He continued, pressing and rolling the sensitive bud. Her heart thudded in her chest, beating wildly, while currents of need swirled inside her. Every inch of her flesh ached, straining for release. She needed the orgasm, and yet she needed to hold on to this ecstasy for as long as she could. He seemed to want to string the moment out, too, because he could have ended her with more pressure. Instead, he gave her enough to keep her hanging without finishing her. She’d have to thank him when she could speak again.
“You’re getting me very excited,” he murmured into her ear. “Should we come together?”
In response, she could only whimper.
“That’s how I feel.”
If he’d felt like she did, he couldn’t have uttered a word. But why quibble when he was taking her apart with his fingers? She’d hit the high plateau where nothing mattered but satisfying her need. Soon, she’d soar into climax, and, oh, would it be good.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Can’t . . . last . . .”
His fingers moved faster, pushing harder. When he rolled her clit, she snapped. A rush of energy coursed through her, blotting out everything but the explosion in her pussy. This time, she had Brent’s cock inside her. All that firm flesh, driving her pleasure even higher. The spasms kept coming fast on each other, so powerful.
Brent’s voice sounded behind her, a rumble that built to a roar. He was coming, too, his orgasm drawing hers out as he slammed up into her. Incredible. Unbelievable. And real.
When it ended, she slumped back against him. His arms closed around her, and he rested his head on her shoulder, moaning. The water sloshed around them, warm and comforting.
“Wow,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” she said. “Wow.”
“Something about you really sends me into high gear.”
“I’m so glad.” Of course, she’d come here for her own satisfaction. But knowing she’d pleased him made the experience all the more intense. Brent was obviously a good guy—the perfect friend with benefits. Someone she could genuinely like. She’d be coming back for more.
FOOD APPEARED WITHOUT her having ordered it. Brent left her in the bedroom to answer room service’s knock, while she shrugged back into her robe and stared at her reflection in the mirror over the dressing table. Her makeup had long ago worn off, and the bath had dampened her hair. She appeared much the way she did when rising on a normal morning. Only the silk of the robe reminded her she was at an exclusive club.
All that changed when Brent returned, pushing a room service cart. The smells coming from the covered plates suggested enough spice and seasoning to make her mouth water. Mexican food by the smell of it. Her absolute favorite.
“How did you know I love Mexican food?” she said.
“Most people do,” he replied. “I would have sent it back for something else if you didn’t like it.”
He fluffed up the pillows on the bed—two for each of them. “Climb in.”
“Breakfast in bed.” Only it wasn’t breakfast. More like dinner, although she had no idea what time it was and wasn’t about to consult a clock. Who wanted to parse moments like these? She got in bed, sitting up against the pillows.
In no time, he’d put a plate on a tray with legs and set it in front of her. “Huevos rancheros, señorita.”
“Ye gods, you’re not kidding.” She’d tried making this dish at home, once. After dealing with the tortillas and the sauce and getting the eggs just right, she’d decided to leave huevos rancheros to restaurants. Now here she sat, having breakfast in bed in the middle of the night and eating her favorite food with the studliest man in the universe serving her. And to top all that off, he fiddled with what looked like a margarita glass, running a lime around the rim and dipping it into a saucer of salt before pouring something frothy from a pitcher on the tray.
He handed that to her with a bow. “For my lady.”
“I swear, I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Spice and tequila. A woman after my own heart,” he said. “Dig in.”
She sipped her drink first, savoring the salt and citrus and the kick of tequila. A world-class margarita. As she set her drink aside and turned to her food, he served himself and climbed into bed beside her.
Her first bite of her huevos rancheros had her groaning with pleasure. Crispy tortilla, savory sauce, and buttery eggs all topped with gooey cheese. She could hardly get it into her mouth quickly enough. A small pile of refried beans and a matching one of rice filled out the meal. Equally delicious, the beans had a hint of bacon, and the rice was fluffy.
Brent lifted his drink to hers in a toast. After they tipped their glasses together, Brent twined his arm around hers and they drank, staring into each other’s eyes. As always, his gaze held her rapt. Such a beautiful man with a warm and welcoming smile. How could any woman resist him?
“Enjoying your food?” he asked.
“It’s unbelievable. Do you always eat this well?”
“The kitchens here are top-notch,” he said. “Thank heaven the gym is, too, or I’d turn into a blob.”
She had to laugh. “I can’t quite picture you a blob.”
“Exercise your imagination.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “That’s not something I use a lot.”
He stopped in the process of lifting a forkful of his meal to his mouth. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not kidding. I deal in facts. Measurable data. Making things up doesn’t fit into that paradigm.”
He set his fork down. “You must have a fantasy life of some kind.”
“I go to a movie from time to time,” she said. “For an hour or two I’m convinced Ryan Gosling can’t live without me.”
“That’s it? An occasional movie and Ryan Gosling?” His mouth had dropped open. After a few seconds, he closed it.
“You needn’t look so aghast. We don’t all have to live in a made-up world. The real universe is fine for me.” She finished the last of her food and leaned back against the pillows, her margarita in her hand.
“Oh, man. This situation requires more tequila.” He took the trays to the cart, grabbed the pitcher, and returned to bed. After pouring them each another drink, he took a big sip and appeared to think for a
minute. “When you were a little girl, did you dream of being a princess or an actress?”
“I don’t remember anything before I was five or so.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “After that. Say, when you went to school.”
She searched her memory. She’d studied hard from the beginning of her education. There’d been soccer, which was fun, and ballet, which wasn’t. She’d performed household chores and had done volunteer work with her family. “I guess I was too busy.”
“Didn’t you read books?” he said.
“Sure. There was one about dinosaurs. I loved it and did a diorama of the Cretaceous period for the science fair that year.” She took a sip of her drink. “You know, this is good, but I think I’ve had enough.”
“You have hardly had any.” He clinked his glass against hers again. “Drink up.”
“It’ll dull my senses.”
“I won’t let it get that far. Trust me?” He stared into her face, a study in sincerity. He had to know letting her get drunk would only make his work harder. So yeah, she could trust him.
“Sure.” She drank some more. The margarita really was delicious.
“So, no fairy tales, no Greek mythology, no romance novels?” he said.
She giggled. So unlike her normally, but this wasn’t exactly her normal environment. “The books with people ripping clothes off each other on the cover? Some of my friends read them.”
“My sisters inhaled them,” he said. “They went on and on about the dresses, the balls, and the gallant heroes.”
“That figures,” she said.
“Hm?”
“That you’d have sisters. You’d have to like women in your line of work.”
“What’s not to like? Women are great people,” he said. “Better than men in many ways.”
“And that led you to working at Club Ecstasy.”
He chuckled. “That and a failed career as a rock star. Honestly, my band sucked, and sucky bands don’t make it in the San Francisco Bay Area. I had a friend who was a struggling actor and worked here to make ends meet. Once I was hired, I discovered where my real talents lie.”
“A sensitive, intuitive person like you must be good at more than just having sex.” She raised her glass in a toast. “Although that’s an accomplishment in itself.”
“I’m studying seriously now,” he said. “Learning to be a musician instead of trying to be a star.”
“I know you’ll do well.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but we were talking about you, not me,” he said. “You really never had a fantasy life?”
“I hate to disappoint you, but no,” she said. She finished her drink and handed him her glass. The liquor had given her a pleasant buzz, but rather than muddying her thoughts, it seemed to have enhanced her senses. The sheets felt smooth beneath her butt, so she snuggled down into them and pulled the covers up to create a warm cocoon.
Brent did likewise, rolling onto his side so their faces were close enough for pillow talk. “How about during sex?”
“You mean, being with one man and pretending I’m having sex with another?”
“You have heard of that, right?”
“It just seems so, well, dishonest.”
“Oh, Angela.” He tapped her nose with the crook of his forefinger. “Everyone does it.”
“Do you?” Had he been imagining someone else while they’d had sex? It shouldn’t matter, really. But she did have some female pride.
“You mean did I use fantasy during our sex, don’t you?” he said.
She shrugged and didn’t answer.
“This is all about you. You have my total concentration.”
Have, rather than had. They hadn’t finished. No surprise, really. The night wasn’t over, and they’d cozied back in bed together. Her heart warmed at the prospect, anyway. Places south of there also heated at the possibility.
“But if you want to imagine I’m Ryan Gosling, I won’t be offended,” he said.
She laughed. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“I’m better than Ryan Gosling?”
“Of course you’re better,” she said. “You’re here, and he isn’t.”
He rolled his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”
“You’ve already done several things.” Several pretty amazing things. That last orgasm had surpassed anything she’d ever experienced. In fact, if she had orgasms like that for the rest of her life, she’d be more than satisfied.
“I’ve played with your body. I haven’t even touched your feelings.”
“Hey, whoa. This isn’t about feelings.”
He stroked the side of her face, brushing her hair back. “You can’t keep feelings out of sex, not if you want it to be good.”
“I don’t know how you can say that, given . . .” She let her voice trail off. No point insulting him.
“Given that I fuck women for a living?”
“I wouldn’t have put it that way.” Especially because that made her the fuckee. Even if true, it made their sex sound crude.
“You’re into reality, so let’s deal with reality. Yes, I fuck women for a living, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about them. I care about you, Angela.”
There went the warmth in her heart again. She’d sized him up perfectly: a real sweetheart of a man. “I care about you, too.”
“So, what shall we do to make sure you have the best sex life in the whole world?” he said.
“Actually, I think you’ve already done that. That last orgasm was off the Richter scale.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
She swatted his chest. “What do you mean no?”
“Don’t get me wrong. It was fabulous, but I think you can have better.”
“Listen to you. A few hours ago, you were telling me there was no such thing as the wrong kind of orgasm.”
“I was right.” He rolled onto his back, slid his hands under his head, and stared up at the ceiling. “But you know what? I’ll bet that if we don’t take a few drastic steps, you’ll leave here and go back to the sex life that didn’t satisfy you before.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, and you’ll come back, and we’ll go round and round and never get to the root of your problem.”
She propped herself up on her elbow, looming over him. “So you do think I have a problem?”
“Don’t you? Isn’t that why you came here?”
“Well, yeah. Maybe.” She rolled onto her back, too.
After all her insistence that something inside her didn’t function right sexually, his agreement with her on that point shouldn’t nettle her, but it did. Did he have to play with her mind like this? If she’d wanted a psychiatrist, she could have gone to one. That wouldn’t have cost as much. Still, she’d come to him for help. She might as well listen to what he had to say.
“But maybe it’s physical,” she said.
“Oh, no. We’ve ruled out the physical. Your body responds just fine.”
“Well, then, doctor, why don’t you give me a diagnosis?” she asked, although she knew she probably wouldn’t like his answer.
“Okay.” He sat up. “You still haven’t invested your whole self in sex. You’re still holding it at arm’s length.”
Arm’s length? What the hell was that supposed to mean? She sat up next to him. “So, that’s your hypothesis, is it?”
“It is.” He very dramatically stroked his chin, as if running his fingers through a nonexistent beard. “And I’m going to design an experiment to test it.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” she said. She wasn’t going to be any part of his amateur psychotherapy.
“Didn’t you suggest something identical earlier?”
She threw her hands in the air. “And you refused.”
“Maybe I was wrong.”
Great. He’d gone from warm and fuzzy back to irritating. Why couldn’t the man make up his mind? “And maybe you’re wrong
now.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Chapter Four
BRENT WAS DEFINITELY up to something. He’d dragged several large canvas bags into the bedroom and ordered her to stay in the sitting room while he “prepared.” He’d been in there for half an hour now. She’d pulled some novels down from the book shelves and tried reading them. She’d have to try some later because she couldn’t concentrate while wondering what he was doing in there.
She walked to the door and pressed her ear to the wood. Not a sound came from the other side. Whatever he was doing in the bedroom, he was doing it quietly.
She rapped her knuckles against the door. “Brent?”
The door opened a crack. “Just another minute.”
“I’m paying for this time.”
“And you won’t be disappointed,” he said. “I promise.”
The door closed again, and she stood and stared at it. She really should trust him. He was the professional here, and he’d already given her two great climaxes—the latest one the best of her life. Still, she was used to being in control. She ran her own lab and directed the research there. For the most part, the management at Origins left her do her own thing.
After a few minutes, the door opened a crack again. This time, his face appeared. “I want you to keep an open mind.”
“That’s me. Flexible.”
One of his brows went up. “Yeah, sure.”
“All right,” she said. “Can the sarcasm.”
“Just healthy skepticism. Come on inside.” He pushed the door open, revealing himself.
Her jaw dropped at the sight of him. He’d decked himself out in leather, from boots that came up to his knees, to tight pants showing off every muscle of his thighs, to straps that crisscrossed his chest. Even in ordinary clothes, his height allowed him to dominate the space around him. In this outfit, he cut an imposing figure, indeed.
“What are you supposed to be?” she said.
“I’m your fantasy. I’m your romance novel.”
“I’ve never read one.”
“Then we’ll have to think up one of your own, but first let’s get you dressed.” He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter the bedroom.