“Are you done with your weird little speech? Because you must be in your head right now, making up problems. I’m here with you because I want to be here. You want that, too. There’s no way you’re a good enough actor to pretend that kind of passion that I felt yesterday with you. Regardless of the fact that you are gorgeous enough for Hollywood, I think you’re just—scared. I don’t know why, but it’s stupid, so cut it out,” I said.
I wasn’t about to unpack everything crazy about his apology. I just wanted to skip to the part with the kissing. I rounded the desk and reached for him. This time, he looked almost anguished. Like he wanted to resist. Then he engulfed me in his arms, his mouth claiming mine until I was breathless, heart pounding in my ears. I could feel the force of my pulse throbbing through my body, a great, heated thrumming throughout my body.
“If that’s how you feel,” he said raggedly against my throat, “we should have lunch together and discuss what we want from each other in the way of a relationship.”
“Good, let’s go to the Royalton Arms.”
“That’s a hotel.”
“Very good, I think you understand me,” I said. He grinned, a predatory smile that made my toes curl. I was so glad I’d worn my black lace.
The time until noon passed slowly. I worked at my desk and tried to act normal. Then I reapplied makeup and put perfume in my cleavage before I left for lunch. I’d never been to a hotel midday, never had a secret rendezvous or a real lover to meet clandestinely. The anticipation made me shaky, thrilled but nervous. I asked at the front desk for Mr. Waltham’s room and they sent me right up, giving me a key card and everything. I entered the suite, the curtains drawn to make it dim and secluded looking.
Brent was there, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up. I went to him. He caught me in his arms, kissing me, unbuttoning my blouse as my hands flattened on his strong back. I just reveled in being kissed with that demanding heat, his relentless tongue doing dark, delicious things to me already. I stopped being passive once he got my blouse off. I dragged my hands through his hair and guided his head down to my chest where he kissed the swell of my breast above the lace of my bra. Then he pushed down the strap and slipped his hand inside the lace. It was an incredible turn on, his cool, rough fingers after the silky lace of the bra. My nipples hardened instantly. I clutched at his hair and hooked my leg around one of his just to have him closer.
This was a love affair. I thought wildly. This was what it felt like to take a lover—heady and confident and lucky as hell. I tugged at his tie until I got it loose. He pulled it over his head and shrugged off the shirt I’d unbuttoned for him. The first shock of his skin on mine, my bare stomach against his as he lifted me, my legs going around his waist—the sensation was white-hot. All my nerve endings seemed to fire at once, and I wound my arms around his neck. He carried me to bed, a four-poster bed that looked antique and beautiful. But I couldn’t pay any attention to the décor with Brent Waltham between my thighs.
He laid me down on the bed with great care and climbed up beside me. He kissed my face, my neck, and my collarbone. I ran my hands up and down his bare, muscular back like I’d been dying to since before I ever met him. The hard glitter of his eyes seemed to tear through my defenses as he looked his full at me, dragging my skirt down and tossing it to the floor, hooking his fingers into my panties and taking them down, crushing them in his hand. Seeing that delicate dark lace crushed in his palm made me catch my breath with arousal. Then Brent took me by my thighs and pulled me to the edge of the bed. He lifted my legs so they rested on his shoulders, spreading me wide.
My breath sawed in and out, eyes fixed on him. With one long finger, he traced my cleft, fingertip pressing into my wet pussy, feeling how drenched I was for him. He made a satisfied sound and unzipped his pants. I felt a tremor go through me then, thrill and fear mixed in a heady cocktail. I felt the crown of his cock against my cleft, big and flaring, hot and slick. I arched off the bed. His big hand stilled me, fanning across my belly, pressing me down on the mattress. I craned my neck to see as he thrust into me with one mighty push. I bowed up with a cry, taking it as he held me down. My legs jerked, my body quivered. He stroked my thighs as he worked in and out of me, his fingers playing closer and closer to my clit as I held my breath with every thrust, bracing for the impact of that huge cock driving into me. I loved that I could take it, every inch of him. I loved my bare legs on his shoulders, the view I had as he lifted my hips so I could watch him fuck me.
Too soon, I was moaning every time his cock left me, my wet sex clinging to him, then crying with a high pitched whine as he thrust back in. I reached up and he caught my hand in his. Our fingers laced together, palm to palm. I came, the orgasm seeming to rip me in two as I wailed in the throes of it. Brent moved over me, onto the bed, never breaking our joining. He stroked my sweaty hair back from my forehead and kissed me, his thrusts growing faster, less measured, his kiss off-center and frantic. I clung to him, arms around his back as he arched and gave a shout and climaxed within me. He caught me in his arms and held me, rolling us so he lay on his back and pressed me to his side. He kissed my hair, my face, and drew the blanket over us. I trembled, felt weak but replete. I could say nothing, and neither could he. It had been shattering, a joining and breaking apart so that we were not the same afterward.
In his arms, I slept. We both slept, tangled up together. Then, slowly, we awakened and with the tenderest kissing and touching, we made our way to the shower. He washed my hair and kissed my neck, made me feel cherished, magical. Scrubbed clean and wrapped in a plush hotel robe, I combed out my hair and dried it. He came up behind me, rubbed my shoulders and bending, kissed my cheek. He was magnificent, the muscles of his chest and back, his strong legs, and his deft hands. I looked my fill. I had imagined this hundreds of times, but in my mind, it was a quick tryst, heated and almost detached, purely physical. This had gone well beyond the physical. This was chemistry and connection, his fingers lacing with mine and the deep resonance of our eyes meeting, of every touch.
I might have set out to have a torrid affair, but instead, he had been so tender, so sensuous, so passionate—everything to stir my heart as well as my body. After I was dressed, makeup reapplied, I met him in the sitting room. A cart of room service awaited me, the food beneath silver domes.
“I promised you lunch,” he said.
“It’s like 2:30,” I protested.
“And we still need to eat,” he said.
We sat and ate a delicious chicken Marsala with crisp chardonnay. He fed me a spoonful of berries with zabaglione, and I sighed.
“Orgasms and dessert, too? A girl could get used to this.”
He kissed me, the sweet cream still on my lips. I melted into his arms. I never wanted to leave.
20
Brent
At the office, I tried to forget. Vivid flashbacks of our tryst in the hotel bombarded me. Cat’s hand sweetly reaching for mine at the moment of climax, the way she’d been trusting and open and passionate, so lovely. I had never wanted to let her go.
Work had to be completed, the day’s obligations met, but when she messaged me, I didn’t answer. I felt unsettled, almost panicked. As if something tremendous had occurred, something that could undo my entire life as I knew it. I felt undone, unspooled by the lovemaking. That was what it had been. It was no frantic, physical coupling to satisfy an attraction. I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted more. Nothing about my ferocious desire for Cat had been slaked by those stolen hours in a hotel room. More than anything that infuriated me. She had some hold over me, something that kept me wanting more. Her opinions, her humor, her passion. I felt tethered to her, beholden to her. As if I could not do without her. It was an alien feeling that struck fear in my heart.