Escape From Reality (8 page)

The salad was
fresh, the dressing light but full of complex flavors. Leila quickly finished
the salad and dessert along with a glass of wine. She carried the fruit and
cheese, along with a second glass of wine, into the bathroom, setting them on
the wide marble edge of the tub. She found several fat candles and lit them,
the glass and marble reflecting the flickering flames.

Tonight was the
night, finally, for the bath she’d craved since coming home from the writer’s
conference. The thought of soaking by candlelight, mulling over the next scene
she was going to write, seemed the most promising way to spend her evening.

Leila ran the
water and poured in a stream of bath oil labeled Dragon’s Blood. She’d never
heard of the fragrance before, but soon the bathroom was filled with exotic
scents, spice and floral and a hint of incense, intense and mysterious. She
drew a deep breath, imagining how relaxing this bath was going to be.

There was a
wealth of sleepwear to choose from, and tonight she pulled a sleeveless gown
with a plunging neckline from the dresser. The material was a lightweight
satin, deep red, obviously not as sheer as the previous night’s choice but
sensuous in its own right. Definitely a nightgown for an evening of sex, even
if it was just on the written page.

The bathroom
was filling with fragrant steam and Leila eagerly shed her clothes, sinking
with a sigh of contentment into the warm silky water. The tub was deep enough
that she could almost soak completely submerged. Whoever had designed this
masterpiece had been a genius. The porcelain surrounded her, held her at the
perfect angle to relax, letting her head rest against the edge, seeming to
cradle her body. Her body felt weightless, suspended, finally relaxing.

It was the
perfect place to sip wine, nibble on fruit and cheese, and muse about her hero,
imagining the scene she was going to write. The nuts and bolts of the scene
came together quickly, the where and when. The rest was hazy at first, but soon
her mind became as relaxed as her body and the ideas crystalized, flooding her
mind with details and her body with sensation.

Stepping out of
the tub, she dried herself quickly. The bath oil had left her with soft
deliciously scented skin, and she pulled the satin gown over her head. The
brush of the fabric against her flushed skin was like the caress of a lover.
She bit her lip, a sudden intense ache springing up deep inside.

She lit the
candle on her table and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. They’d be in a bed,
like hers, after an afternoon of swimming—skinny-dipping—in a
secluded cove. The sun would have warmed their bodies and heated their passion,
and the cool linen against their skin would only serve as counterpoint to the
passions that raged inside them.

As she wrote,
images filled her mind. For every image, she’d try to capture in words what she
saw, adding sounds, the feel of the hero’s skin beneath her hands, the sounds
they’d both make. Her own heart beat faster as she hurried to capture the
intensity of their first time together, building toward the climax, the final
scenes coming in a rush of words scrawled across the paper.

Leila sat back,
heart racing, her breath coming in little gasps. She’d done it, put herself
into the scene, and written the scene of making love with her hero. She was
flushed with success, carried along not only by a sense of accomplishment, but by
a heady mixture of arousal and deep satisfaction. She’d completed her
assignment and she was certain Cheryl would approve.

With the folded
pages in hand, she opened the door and slipped them onto the silver salver.

The door images
remained aloof tonight, apparently content to hold each other at arm’s length. Leila
blew a kiss to them and closed the door behind her.

Exhaustion
swept over her. The wine, or the mental exertion of writing, or both, combined
with the warm bath and a lack of sleep the previous night had finally caught up
with her. Yawning extravagantly, she blew out the single candle and felt her
way to her bed in the dark. She climbed beneath the covers, pulling the sheet
and coverlet over her shoulders. The window was open and a faint trail of
moonlight slipped in, ghostly pale in the dark.

Leila thought
back over the scene she’d just written, smiling in the dark. For the first time,
she’d felt confident writing an erotic scene. Maybe it was the wine, or the
bath, or the encouragement from Cheryl. But she was certain this was her best
scene to date. She closed her eyes, letting sleep overtake her.

The sound of
her door opening brought her half awake. At the sound of a footstep on the
stone floor, Leila sat up in bed.

“Dominick? Is
that you?” Her voice sounded small and she rubbed her hand across her eyes. The
door swung open further and a figure, backlit by the light in the hall, filled
the opening. It was clearly a man.

“Dominick?”

But the figure
remained silent as he took a step into Leila’s room. A remote corner of her
mind said she should be frightened, but oddly, she was more curious than
fearful.

He moved
forward, stepping into the swath of moonlight, now much brighter than before.
It lit his face and Leila gasped, her hand against her mouth.

The moonlight
played across the high cheekbones, the straight nose, just catching the full
curve of his mouth. In the soft light, his eyes were no discernable color, but
she knew they were green with a ring of dark blue.

Silently, he
moved toward the bed. There was nothing hesitant about his step and Leila knew
exactly what he wanted.
He wanted her.
 

He reached the
edge of the bed and stood for a moment, looking down at her.

“Light a
candle. I want to see you.” His words were low, confident, and a shiver went
through Leila’s body. She sat up, leaning over to light the candle by the bed.
The match trembled in her hand as she held it to the wick.

The fat candle
cast a yellow pool of light across the bed and Leila looked up, meeting the
man’s eyes. The coverlet and sheet pooled around her waist and with one smooth
gesture he reached out, pulling them away from her body. Leila tensed,
instinctively pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Lie back. I’m
not going to hurt you.”

She did as he
asked, seemingly powerless to resist. But she didn’t want to resist. Suddenly
and inexplicably, she wanted to do whatever he asked. She slid down in the bed,
arms stretched over her head. The satin gown slithered beneath her, rising up
to expose her legs.

His eyes
traveled over her body, lingering on her exposed skin, on her arms, her neck.
The gown pulled across her breasts and she drew a deep breath, arching her back
for him, the heat of his gaze searing her skin. His eyes slid over the satin
and Leila’s lips parted as she drew another breath.

“God, you’re
beautiful.” His voice was low, rough, his words triggering a flush of heat
through her body. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand on her thigh, moving
up slowly, pulling the gown with his hand, exposing more of her leg. Leila slid
her foot up along the sheet, her knee bending, the satin falling against his
hand. Moving slightly, she rubbed her leg slowly against his arm, the warmth of
his skin radiating through the cotton shirt he wore. With a start she realized
it was the same shirt—or one very similar—to the one he’d given her
that afternoon.

His hand rested
on her hip, his fingers tensing slightly against her body, then moving slowly
toward the inside of her thigh. He slid his hand slowly across her stomach,
low, brushing across the mound at the apex of her thighs.

A deep shudder
coursed through Leila’s body, and she let out the breath she’d been holding.
His face was turned as he watched the course of his hand and she took in his
profile, the half-closed eyes, his lips, now parted slightly. She was
momentarily captivated by his beautiful neck, the strong column of muscle
running from behind his ear and going down, disappearing into the open neck of
his shirt. She had the overwhelming desire to run her tongue along his skin, taste
him, feel the full heat of his body.

He turned and
looked at her, his eyes meeting hers, and she melted under his gaze. As he bent
forward, Leila swallowed reflexively. He was going to kiss her and for a moment,
she was filled with a giddy rush of excitement, like teenager awaiting her
first kiss. But this was no teenager sitting beside her, not in the least.

He drew closer
and Leila closed her eyes. She felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the
bed shifting under his weight as he took his hand away from her hip, resting it
on the bed beside her. Her heart beat faster, her breath coming in shallow
gasps, the rest of her body utterly still as she waited.

His lips brushed
against hers with a softness that surprised her, moving over hers, the pressure
slowly increasing but still holding back, tantalizingly just out of reach. Leila
tilted her chin up, seeking more contact and for a moment he held still, his
lips barely touching hers, teasing her. Then they slid down to her cheek and
she felt him smile against her skin.

“There is no
rush. We have all night.” He breathed the words against her skin and she blew
out a small sigh.

“Relax.” His
lips were hot against her neck, his tongue slipping along the curve of her jaw.
Leila realized she was clutching the sheet with her fingers, her body almost
rigid with anticipation. She drew a breath and let it out, relaxing her hands,
letting the tension seep out of her body.

“I want you to
kiss me.” Her own words surprised her. She’d never asked for anything sexually
from any man. But the power in asking sent a rush through her.

“I will.
Believe me, you’ll be kissed.” His words were murmured against her shoulder, something
she felt more than heard. He raised his head, his face catching the light of
the candle.

“You’ll be
kissed like you were meant to be kissed.” He reached up to cradle her face with
one hand. “Like you’ve never been kissed before.”

He held her
gaze, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with passion. Heat rushed through Leila,
settling low in her belly. She reached for him, her hand caressing his cheek.
At her touch he turned his head, gently nipping at the palm of her hand with
his teeth.

The sensation
was immediate and intense, an electric tingle running down her arm. She gasped
and he looked at her again.

There was no
hesitation this time, no gentle teasing. His mouth came down on hers hard and
fast, his lips crushing hers in a kiss that took her breath away. She arched
up, her hand sliding around to cup the back of his head. Her fingers dug into
his thick hair and she held him against her. It was pointless; he obviously
wasn’t going anywhere.

The only part
of him touching her were his lips, moving over her, consuming her. Leila responded,
parting her lips, her tongue darting out, playing along the sensuous curve of
his lower lip, drawing it into her mouth, sucking and nibbling as if he were a
ripe piece of fruit.

The kiss
deepened and his tongue joined hers, at times sharp, pointed, probing the
depths of her mouth, other times soft, sliding against hers, teasing her gently
into a duel. He pulled her lower lip into his mouth, repeating her gesture,
sucking briefly, releasing her before plundering her mouth again with his
tongue.

When he broke
away, it was with a deep gasp, bordering on a growl, an answering whimper coming
from Leila. She tried to pull him back but he shook his head, his mouth curved
into a smile she recognized instantly, the smile she described in her written
pages.

Sensuous,
with a hint of dominance…no, much more than a hint.
His smile told her all she needed to
know; that she was his and there was nothing she could do to change that fact.

That
realization hit her deep, a thud of arousal blooming low in her belly. The
words she wrote flashed through her mind, what the hero had done to the
heroine—to her—in her scenes. If this fantasy was being concocted
to match her writing, then she knew exactly what he’d do next.

But nothing was
as she’d written so far. Nothing at all like her own words.

He bent his
head, his lips moving along her collarbone, dipping lower, sliding along the
edge of her gown for a moment, then kissing the valley between her breasts. His
hand rose, cupping one breast, kneading her flesh with firm fingers. Leila
gasped with pleasure as he slid his thumb across her nipple. The exquisite
sensation as it drew up hard changed her gasp to a low moan. There seemed to be
a direct line between his circling thumb and a very specific spot deep between
her hips. 

She made a
small noise as his thumb stopped its erotic circle around her hardened nipple
and she heard an answering chuckle, low and deep. His lips moved from her skin,
his breath hot through the satin.

Leila cried out
as he slowly licked her nipple and she clutched the sheets, not out of tension,
but in ecstasy. At the touch of his wet tongue over the satin, the friction of
the material against her sensitive skin, she arched against him, her hips
rising from the bed.

The wet satin
molded to her as he repeatedly licked her nipple, occasionally nuzzling his
cheek against her breast. Her body moved on its own, hips undulating from side
to side, her back arching against his mouth. When he slowly pulled the wet
satin aside and blew across her damp skin, she cried out, her nipple puckering
even more, a wash of goose bumps prickling her skin.