His Uptown Girl (New Orleans Ladies)

by Liz Talley

  “Show me your bedroom.”

  And that was all it took for her to leave Eleanor Theriot, purveyor of toile curtains behind and become Eleanor Theriot, sensual, strong despoiler of young musicians.

  That thought made her smile, mostly because it was untrue. There would be no despoiling, but something inside her accepted who and where she was in life at that moment… and it gave her peace.

  “Follow me,” she said, glad she’d gambled and pulled out her prettiest underwear after soaking in a bath of green tea and chamomile salts. She smelled good, and the high-cut lacy panties made her feel desirable.

  Dez’s hand stayed on the small of her back as they climbed the stairs, as if he didn’t want to break their connection. Somehow it was both comforting and a turn-on.

  She didn’t bother flicking the light switch as she entered her bedroom. Instead she turned and stepped into his arms, twining her own around his neck and pulling him close enough to count his heartbeats… close enough to savor the erection prodding her belly. A sweet ache vibrated inside her as her blood heated, an automatic, guttural response to something she’d been denied far too long.

  Dez lowered his head and grazed her throat with his lips. Goose bumps sprouted on her arms, traveling up her neck, and she dropped her head back so the man had room to work.

  “You’re so sexy,” he breathed, his mouth skimming her ear before nipping her earlobe. “Feel so damn good.”

  His words were all she needed to take the next step. She broke free, stepped back and grabbed the hem of her sweater. Pulling it over her head, she shook her hair before kicking off her serviceable beige pumps and unbuttoning her pants, shimmying so they pooled at her feet. She kicked them out of the way and stood before him in her lacy undies, bra and the gold chain Blakely had given her for Christmas. Eleanor was totally ready for all that was about to transpire.

  His gaze moved hungrily over her in the dim moonlight streaming through the drapes. She felt beautiful.

  He did that to her—made her feel beautiful and strong—and she knew beyond doubt that making love with Dez was the absolute right thing. No matter what happened down the line, she would always have this moment.

  This sweet, exquisite moment… right before she licked his stomach and kicked things up to raunchy.

  DEZ STOOD ON soft carpet in scant light studying the beauty that was Eleanor. He’d seen her in the harsh light of her office, and knew every viewable inch of her was lovely, but the moonbeams falling softly on her hollows and dips, made her mystical. Her golden hair, streaked with flame, darkened with the absence of the sun, but the luminosity of her skin glowed, beckoning his touch. She was fluid, warm poetry, and he wanted to draw near and immerse himself.

  Quickly, he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it atop Eleanor’s pants. He tugged off his T-shirt, unhitched his belt, and after disengaging them from a very erect barrier, allowed them to fall to his feet. Shoes, socks and another kick until he stood in his boxers, noticeably tented, but not caring it was a ridiculous look on a man because nothing could mar the moment between them.

  He loved the way Eleanor watched him, her eyes hungry, her breathing elevated. It was a sacred moment—two lovers baring themselves, preparing for something beautiful, magical and satisfying. No doubt it would be good. He knew this the way he knew the piano.

  Dez reached for her and the words didn’t matter. No more poetry or magic. Just sheer raging lust for the woman he’d wanted ever since she’d enraptured him on the sidewalk outside Blue Rondo.

  “Ah,” she sighed as their bodies met, fitting perfectly, bared flesh against bared flesh. “So good, so very good.”

  Her words inspired, and he bent, tasting her lips. She tasted like coming home, a vague wonderful rightness, mixing past and present with the hint of a future.

  Eleanor opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to meet his. He slid his hand to cup her head, taking the kiss to a new level. He teased her, withdrawing to nibble at her lips, allowing his hands to dip down to the curve of her waist, stroking lightly along her flesh, before deepening the kiss again, establishing a rhythm, a precursor of what would follow.

  Eleanor groaned, breaking the kiss, moving her hands to his stomach, stroking, exploring, scorching a path as she learned his body. She seemed to particularly like his stomach, which made him glad for all those daily sit-ups.

  “Yes,” he groaned as her fingers threaded the scant hair trailing down his belly. His erection leapt in response against the heat of her stomach. “Bed. Now.”

  Eleanor walked backwards, unwilling to break the contact between them, her silken arms vises around him, her warm, wet lips nipping at his before returning again to the depth of his mouth, tasting him, devouring him. The back of her knees hit the bed, and they tumbled onto the plumped quilt, a tangle of arms and legs.

  Beneath him, she felt even better than before, a soft place on which to land.

  He cocked one elbow on the bed and lifted his head to admire her spread before him. Her hair spilled in a satin halo about her head, fiery strands catching the moonlight. Lips glistened below eyes pooled with need. He felt himself grow harder even as his heart softened with tenderness for this beauty in his arms.

  Here was a woman the way God intended her.

  Lush, soft and made for a man’s hands.

  Dez trailed a finger down the silky skin of her throat to the lace holding a small, plump breast.

  “Oh,” she inhaled, closing her eyes before opening them again as he teased the softness at hand. The green depths of her eyes shimmered with vulnerability and need. “That’s so nice.”

  He slid his thumb over her erect nipple, earning a gasp. “Just nice?”

  Not a man to settle for “nice” he bent his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth through the satin.

  “Oh,” she moaned, her hips automatically lifting, inflaming him, teaching him to play with fire. His erection lay hot and heavy in the curve of her hip and the rocking motion unfurled fully the desire curled inside him.

  He increased the pressure of his mouth, not caring he might damage the fine lingerie, as his other hand found her other nipple and played it through the satin.

  Eleanor’s hands grasped his shoulders, wandering frenzied along his back, pressing him ever nearer to her.

  “Beautiful, beautiful,” he murmured, lifting his head, sliding his lips along her throat, inhaling her scent, tasting her skin. He found her lips again and she sighed before tangling her tongue wildly with his.

  Minutes ticked by as they allowed passion to fill to the brim, slosh over, dampening them until they forgot time.

  Eleanor’s hands pushed at his chest and reluctantly he lifted his head from the stiff nub he’d laved with attention.

  “Gotta get out of this,” she said, pushing away the errant strands of hair stuck to her cheeks and reaching for the clasp on her bra. Seconds later, her breasts were free.

  And ready for his pleasure.

  Oh, and it was his pleasure.

  He caught a rosy erect nipple and tortured it with his teeth and lips until Eleanor writhed. Moving his head to its twin, he gave equal attention, pleased with her sighs, with the way she stroked his shoulders and held him to her.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured against the plumpness, sliding his lips lower to her soft belly, ringing her navel with his tongue.

  “Oh, my,” she muttered, head thrown back, hips grinding now against his chest.

  “Yes, oh, my,” he murmured, one hand sliding down brushing the angular bones of her hips on a journey to her thighs. “‘Oh, my’ is exactly right,” he said, tugging the lace at the top of her panties with his teeth.

  “Dez,” Eleanor moaned, moving her hips. “Please.”

  He lifted his head, glancing at her as she writhed against the half dozen fluffy pillows on the bed and felt satisfaction. Yes, this was what this woman needed. Certainty made a home in his gut… right next to the lust raging a bit lower. He wanted to sink inside her
, bury himself to the hilt within her body, but not yet. No, not yet.

  Eleanor needed more.

  Trailing his fingers slowly up her thighs, he brushed against her damp heat, inhaling her scent, feeling the need balled up inside her, matching his own.

  “Dez,” she said, pushing against his shoulders.

  He chuckled, dropping kisses along the sensitive skin above her panties. “Just trying to take ‘nice’ to ‘holy shit’.”

  Hooking his fingers on either side of her panties, he slowly pulled the satin from her skin, sliding the sexy bit of nothing down her thighs, so he might reach the sweetest part of her. Teasing her with small kisses for several minutes, he finally tasted her.

  “Holy shit, holy… oh… oh….” She tightened her fingers around his head holding him in place as he continued to taste her, to love her in the most intimate of ways.

  “Exactly,” he said, sliding over her, dropping between her thighs, pulling her bottom to him, lifting her so he could render her speechless.

  Didn’t take long before she shattered against him, her cries bouncing off the tasteful ecru walls as she came completely undone.

  Three times.

  Panting and shoving her hair from her eyes, she lifted herself onto her elbows and looked down at him. She blinked several times. “Whoa.”

  And that made him smile.

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she breathed, reaching for him. He allowed himself to be pulled to her body, dropping onto her, finding the fit intended for man upon woman as she kissed him with an open mouth. His erection within his boxers bobbed at the entrance between her thighs.

  “Hold on a sec,” he said, pulling away from her.

  “No,” she said, her arms grasping air.

  “Condom,” he said, reaching for his pants, finding his wallet and pulling out the plastic package.

  “Oh,” she said, watching him as he pulled his boxers from his body and came back to where she sprawled on the bed, knees in the air, feet on the coverlet, beautiful in a way almost unfathomable. Who would have thought the little buttoned-up antiques store owner could be so wanton and sexual, so damn achingly gorgeous and hot that his heart squeezed within his chest?

  Her eyes traveled the length of his body and he saw the admiration… the sheer desire brimming in the emerald depths.

  “You’re almost too much,” she said, reaching for him, capturing his erection in her soft hands.

  “Shit,” he breathed as she stroked his length with an almost reverence. “You’re killing me.”

  “Really?” she breathed, drawing him to her, “cause if that’s what’s happening, I better jump on this fast.”

  He closed his eyes as she very teasingly took care of protection, sheathing him with the condom. Eleanor might have been agreeable to let him take the lead earlier, but now she showed her skills using every inch of herself she could to tease, tantalize and take him near the edge.

  After several minutes of her very excellent ministrations, he found himself on his back and Eleanor rising above him.

  “I’ve been dreaming of having you this way,” she said, her eyes soft, a small smile of victory curving her delectable lips.

  “Have you?” he asked, reaching to cup her breasts as she straddled him. “Is it as good as imagined?”

  She guided him into her, sinking down. “Ah.”

  “Sweet—” he lost words as she began to move, closing his eyes, straining against immediate climax.

  Finding some measure of control, he stilled her hips and opened his eyes. “Eleanor?”

  She gazed at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Oh, it’s so much better than I could have dreamed. You’re perfect.”

  And with those words, they began to move in harmony. Thrust and parry. Ebb and flow. As two became one in an ancient dance of passion and beauty, Dez embraced the emotion coursing through him, rising and wrapping Eleanor in his arms, turning her so he rose above, reversing the power, setting the tempo.

  Beneath him she was everything he’d ever imagined in a woman, from the tiny wisps of hair trailing along her hairline to her toes curled against the back of his knees. She ensconced him in sheer, liquid want, raging so hard and fast, he couldn’t control himself.

  He hadn’t much endurance left. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and he wanted Eleanor with an irrational desire. He needed to watch her come, needed to see her face as he took her, so he slid a hand between their bodies and found what he knew would tip her over the edge.

  “Dez, oh, oh, oh,” she cried, the muscles inside her tightening as he drove into her. He felt the tension gathering, mimicking the pressure inside of him. He increased the tempo, pulling her tight against him. Finally, her inner muscles clamped down and she shattered against him. With a rough cry, he, too, went over the precipice of desire, and allowed the waters to crash over him, wave after wave of pleasure shaking his body.

  And it was sheer, incredible splendor.

  An intense thing of beauty.

  “Oh, Dez,” Eleanor said, holding him tight as he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard, finding the perfect spot to rest against the salty sweetness of her neck.

  “Damn,” he breathed, finding no other words to describe how incredible the moment had been.

  She nodded and said nothing as they lay spent beneath the vaulted ceiling of her bedroom. The moment couldn’t be described in words… perhaps not even in thoughts. He’d never expected the profound emotion spilling over between them. Yes, it had been hot, dirty and all the things he’d envisioned when he thought about making love to Eleanor, but, yet, there had been something else. A realness between them, a sort of opening and mingling of all they were. Totally unexpected, but brilliantly accepted.

  Seconds ran into minutes, and still they lay, quiet and tender in one another’s arms.

  He didn’t want the moment to end.

  “Dez?”

  “Mmm?”

  “My arm’s asleep.”

  He shifted off her, rolling to his side, giving her a sleepy satisfied grin. “Sorry.”

  She smiled at him. “You were right.”

  “About what?”

  “Dirty is so much fun.”

  “THESE ARE DELICIOUS,” Eleanor said, scooping up a forkful of scrambled eggs and sighing.

  “They’re just eggs,” Dez said, clad in nothing but orange boxers bearing little green palm trees. His bare feet had small tufts of hair, which she thought pretty sexy. If, you know, a gal was into thinking feet were sexy. Normally she wasn’t, but at that moment, everything about Dez was sexy, including the way he stirred scrambled eggs.

  “But they’re really good.”

  “You’re just famished from all the sex we had.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Probably. And I’ve never heard a guy use the word ‘famish’.”

  “I minored in English lit. Thought it would come in handy as a lyricist. I know lots of words. Big vocabulary along with my big—”

  “Ego?” she finished, eyeing his buns in the fairly fitted boxers.

  Dez flashed a smile. “Among other things.”

  “So where did you go to college? I never heard you talk about it.”

  He scraped fluffy eggs onto a plate, grabbed a fork and joined her at the table. “I went to LSU for two years before dropping out to go on the road and do session work.”

  For the next few minutes they chatted about college, and the things they loved and didn’t about the traditional classroom. Eleanor loved talking with Dez because he was a good listener. Skeeter had been a brilliant conversationalist, but never really listened. He always seemed to be thinking of his own next point, so it was refreshing to sit at the breakfast table and carry on inane conversation with no overtones.

  Of course she wanted to ask, “What now?” but she didn’t want reality to intrude upon the perfection of the night… and early morning. It was as if they’d wrapped themselves in an invisibility cloak and disrupting the folds in any wa
y might drop it to the floor, leaving them naked and exposed.

  And not in a good way.

  Dez cleaned his plate and eyed hers. She slid it toward him, and he finished it off.

  “So tell me about Skeeter.”

  Eleanor nearly choked. If that wasn’t a slap of reality, she didn’t know what was.

  “Skeeter?”

  “Your husband. I was in Houston when all that went down, so clue me in.”

  “I thought you didn’t need to know about him.” She didn’t want to talk about her late husband. Or Blakely. Or the fact she had to take a quiche to the Young Women’s Business Owners Open House later that night. Reality knocked and she didn’t want to relinquish the small world in which they’d existed for the past ten hours.

  Dez shrugged. “I don’t. If you don’t want to talk about your past, that’s cool.”

  Eleanor set down her mug. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about Skeeter—well, actually I don’t—but that whole mess made me raw and it still…”

  “Chafes?” His gaze probed hers.

  “Yeah, but I’m over Skeeter if that’s what you’re asking. No grieving widow here.”

  “I didn’t ask if you were still in love with your husband. I asked what happened between you two. At some point, we have to decide about us. Understanding what you went through might help us figure out how to proceed.”

  How to proceed? How would her past help her with her future with Dez? Skeeter’s murder-suicide had nothing to do with them.

  Irrational panic knocked on the door of her mind. A future with Dez didn’t compute. Didn’t make sense. Scared the woolies out of her. “Maybe we shouldn’t proceed.”

  His eyes shuttered and he turned his body slightly away from her. “So this was a one-night stand?”

  She stared at her coffee mug. “I don’t know. I mean, I—” She grappled for the right words, but they weren’t there. Eleanor had no experience with doing the morning after thing, and she hadn’t really thought beyond having sex with Dez.

  His eyes gave her nothing to go on.

  Eleanor hated the sudden discomfort hanging between them. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this.”