Kept by Him (2 page)

His voice calling her princess began to stir her strangely. “They’re safe. Young men
are too … sexual.”

He burst out laughing—a full, masculine laugh—and the warmth in that sound made her
follow in infectious laughter.

“Look, I don’t enjoy sex like you!” she said, sobering. “You want a good time with
a woman, someone who’s not demanding and only wants sex? I want the opposite. Someone
I can go to dinner with or converse with and bounce ideas about Davenport’s with,
but who won’t expect to sleep with me more than once a month.”

He didn’t laugh again; instead, his voice became oddly gentle.

“If you’d choose someone you at least have some chemistry with, it wouldn’t be a chore
to sleep with them more than once a month, Monica.”

She sighed, fighting the urge that his deep timbre awoke. She wanted to snuggle to
that voice, like she had so many years ago. She wanted to wrap that deep, velvet voice
around her skin and let its warmth seep into her cold, unfeeling bones, until nobody
could ever accuse her of stiffening when they touched her. “It’s not them, Daniel.
They’re perfectly attractive men. It’s me.”

“It’s not you. It can’t
possibly
be you.”

It was, and she needed to fix herself. She couldn’t stand to know there was something
wrong with her and keep on ignoring it. She wanted normalcy, to have a partner who
was mentally ideal for her. But to do that, she at least needed to occasionally be
able to pull off a good bedroom routine.

“Daniel, would you have sex with me?”

A silence fell. His eyebrows shot up in astonishment as he shifted gears and halted
at a stoplight. “Is that a rhetorical question or are you actually planning to get
in bed with me?”

“It’s … both.”

His stunned silence made her aware of little things. The scent of his understated
aftershave, the leather tapestries of his car, how she was surrounded by male scents.
The roar of his car engine. She decided right then if he didn’t want to sleep with
her, it was no big deal. She would be no worse off than she was right now. So she
could definitely start breathing again.

“A lot of my single friends have male friends who occasionally sleep with them,” she
explained as casually as possible, while stirring uncomfortably in her seat. “I can
think of no one else who I could learn the ropes from and let loose with other than
with you.”

When the light turned green, she stole a peek at him when the car didn’t move. All
his attention was focused on Monica. He stared directly at her with eyes so beautiful,
they shimmered with the lights from outside the window.

Slow as ice melting, he took her hand within his bigger one and drew it over his lap,
his lips curling in mischief as he pressed her palm down hard.
Hard.
“Yes. I’ll be your special friend.”

Monica’s breath tangled in her throat as the unmistakable bulge of his erection filled
and practically overflowed her small hand. Had she given him that? When?
How?

Her eyes held his green ones in stunned silence, that incredibly sexy smile of his
still in place.

She began to shake violently under the combined shock and pleasure of feeling his
hardness in her hand, and she feared no amount of brainpower could suppress the tremor
that went through her. An empty ache settled between her legs, completely unexpectedly.

A car honked, and Daniel slowly returned her hand to her own lap, then he changed
gears and sped ahead, staring at the street, his smile gone. He spoke in a low, raspy
voice. “Your place or mine?”

Monica’s heart pounded in nervousness. “I warn you I’m really bad at this. Really
bad, Daniel.”

“Yours or mine, Monica?”

His voice sounded even thicker. His eyes glimmered. Her heart was near bursting.

“This would only be for a week or two. Roland and I are supposed to talk and try to
work things out when he returns from London,” she rushed. “So, no sleeping over, no
complications, and definitely no press. Just friendship and … sex. Also, please, not
every day. Just when I … call you.”

The smile in his eyes held a strange new intensity. “Just tell me where you want to
do it first.”

She expelled a breath. “Yours. Yours is closest.”

He changed gears again, and she noticed how the engine went from a low purr to a hard
roar. He went to second. Third. Fourth. Back to third. Second. Third. Fourth. The
motor hummed, and with it, her excitement grew, a heady mix of anticipation and relief
overwhelming her.

She’d tried many times to have sex, never with such anticipation and never, of course,
with such an experienced man. Or with someone who inspired such trust in her. She
wasn’t sure whether her sudden agitation was due to the fact that she’d always failed
and could never quite get to the finish, or due to the fact that she and Daniel had
fallen completely silent now, and the silence was the first one between them in years
that was full of tension. It crackled like a fire, heating the air between them.

She stifled the urge to fidget with her hair and began to wonder who he’d been dating
recently, but then she told herself it didn’t matter. Did it? She wasn’t looking for
commitment from him. He’d be the last man standing, she was sure, when all the rest
got married. He enjoyed his single status too much, had fun aplenty with his variety
and his big-boy toys. And Monica really needed to get to the bottom of her problem.

Roland had gotten angry two weeks ago when Monica had, once again, failed to climax,
and her failure to get aroused had caused his own erection to wilt. She’d asked him
to please help her achieve orgasm, but he’d seemed to think she was blaming
him
for her lack of passion, and that had really not been the case.

She didn’t know why she had so much trouble shutting off her mind. While a man would
touch her, she would think of Davenport’s, make lists of errands she needed to complete,
remember things that happened in her childhood, and she could never really quiet her
mind enough to enjoy her body. But there was no denying the enjoyment she derived
from the mere sight of Daniel. A simple smile from this man caused … a reaction. There
was no way a woman could keep closed off from a man like him. Was there?

Hell, if she couldn’t react to a man with his experience tonight, then she might as
well stop even trying and become a working nun.

Minutes later, with her heels in one hand, she followed Daniel barefoot into his building.
She’d been here before. She’d actually lived with his family upstairs in the penthouse
for over a month, almost a decade ago. The Lexingtons owned the top two floors, and
even after her brief stay, Daniel had later invited her over to proudly show her his
new, separate, apartment.

Rather than killer views, he’d chosen security and technology, and Daniel had built
the place with steel outer walls that were able to withstand a nuclear bombing, among
other natural disasters. Now, as Monica stood next to him, he pressed his fingerprint
into the first of three steel doors. When they moved to the second nook, the space
narrowed, and he stood behind her, taller and wider than her.

His chest pressed into her back, his outstretched arm grazing her shoulder as his
thumbprint was recognized. Her tummy whirled and suddenly she was aware solely of
that contact of their bodies. As though her cells had absorbed the knowledge that
they would be having sex, she could feel a strange tightening awareness in her breasts,
her tummy, her thighs.

They went to the third door, and his body still crowded hers in a way that made her
indisputably aware of the fact that he was incredibly muscled and big, and was standing
right behind her. His free hand cupped her waist and he bent to whisper in her ear,
“You okay?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, and once the door opened, she stepped inside, taking in a
deep breath. She was tempted to explain to him she had been penetrated but not really
taken … tempted to explain to him she had been kissed but she had never really gotten
lost in it … but before she could do all this, he started taking off his jacket. Muscles
rippled under his stark white shirt.

“Will you unzip your dress for me? I’d like you in panties when I sit down to talk
to you.”

She unzipped without preamble, for physical nakedness had never been the problem with
her. She wasn’t self-conscious about her body. She worked hard for it: daily yoga,
a marathon a year, and she ate like a rabbit half of the day with greens to spare.
Which was, in part, why she couldn’t understand the unsteadiness in her legs as the
material pooled at her feet, and the shakiness in her hands as she quietly folded
the dress onto a living room chair.

“We could forgo the talking until we’re done, wouldn’t you say?” she proposed.

“I don’t think so,” he said, eyes sparkling as he took inventory of her half nakedness
in one quick sweep. “Strip off your bra,” he said as he plopped down on an oversized
espresso-colored couch. “And come here for a bit.”

Monica hadn’t really been prepared for doing this
tonight.
She’d considered her intimacy dilemma for hundreds of nights, wondering why Daniel
Lexington seemed to be the only man she felt truly comfortable with. She’d wanted
to explore her femininity safely, with someone who would not make her feel judged
or defective, but she hadn’t realized tonight would bring the golden opportunity when
he’d attended the event
alone.
As alone as Monica.

Suddenly she stood in her white lace panties, barefoot with red-painted toes, her
pearls, and her bun, Daniel’s expression calm and easy as he patted his lap. “Come
here and talk to me like you just did.”

She was stiff as a board as she sat on his lap, her lungs closing when his arms enveloped
her and he caressed her side with all five tips of his fingers. “How many men have
you been with?”

Tingles raced under his touch, his embrace reminding her of the ways he’d held her
when she was young and she’d ached to curl up to him like a kitten. A stirring of
the longing she’d felt back then unraveled in the pit of her stomach, and she could
almost feel the melting of all her inner walls.

“Three,” she murmured as she relaxed her weight into him. Up close, Daniel’s masculine
features were so riveting, he could’ve been airbrushed. His jaw held a small evening
shadow, and the shadow called attention to his beautifully full, sensual lips, lips
which Monica struggled not to stare at as she asked, “And you?”

“Does it matter? I’m not having the least bit of trouble with my erections.”

She laughed faintly, and he smiled and moved his hand to gingerly stroke the tiny
rises of her spine. “Just relax. Talk to me. If it will make you feel better.… I’ll
tell you I’ve been with an embarrassing number of different women. But then you already
know I don’t like to keep one for long.”

She did know. She knew more than she might have liked, but enough to know that he
was perfect for this.

She sighed at last, resting her forehead on his. “I don’t know where to begin. I can’t
enjoy it. I can’t climax. I can get aroused, but I can’t reach fulfillment. My mind
won’t let me.”

His fingers slid up her neck and lightly traced her lower lip before they slid back
down to her collarbone. The touch was a whisper, but so powerful, she trembled. “Have
you tried to involve it in what you’re doing?” His low-pitched voice carried a unique
force.

“Not really.”

Slowly, she unbuttoned his shirt, watching her fingers as they undid each of his buttons.
She wanted him to be as naked as she was, and she eagerly, almost roughly, spread
his shirt apart. She froze when she saw the cursive letters tattooed on the left side
of his chest.

She had never, in her life, seen a more beautiful male torso. Golden skin spread taut
over lean and ripped muscles. He was iron hard under her fingers, but also smooth.

She was so engrossed she didn’t realize his fingertips had delved partly into the
waistband of her panties, and he was sensually stroking a long finger down the fissure
of her bottom.

A bolt of sensations rushed along her nerve endings and she tensed. “Shh. Relax,”
he murmured, watching her with eyes that glimmered. “This is just us playing for a
bit. Nothing is going to happen here … except this…” He inserted one finger into her
pussy from behind, and she gasped and tensed around the intrusion, her sex clenching
around his finger as he murmured, “Just that, Monica, for now … relax now … let me
in.”

She bit her lower lip, having trouble adjusting, but on his second stroke, her vagina
seemed to wetly bloom open, and a sweeping warmth spread along her system. She’d closed
herself off to emotions her whole adult life, for emotions had only caused pain. But
there was no denying the pleasure of these sensations.

Her hip tilted backward at the same time her upper body surged forward until she was
breathing fast against his jaw, barely aware that her fingers were on his shoulders,
her senses narrowing to that one hot touch of his amazingly strong finger scraping
the sensitive flesh inside her.

“I’m going to let my hand’s partner join in on the fun, all right?”

His chest rumbled as he spoke and he slid his hand to cup the apex of her thighs.
She’d had laser hair removal years ago, and every inch of her body except her eyebrows,
eyelashes, and hair, was bare and smooth as a dolphin’s. She could feel, without any
obtrusion, the slide of his fingers along her pussy lips, the probing fingertip expertly
searching along the top folds. “Why don’t you touch me and see how you like it, Monica?”
he murmured.

She was losing herself as his fingers stroked along the sensitive nubbin above her
sex, her instinctive responses starting to overtake her. Helplessly, she felt her
hips move against his hands while soft purring sounds slipped past her throat, sounds
she hadn’t even meant to make.