Learning Curves (11 page)

“Anytime.” She shrugged, hoping he couldn’t see her hands in the darkness, shaking as they held the wheel. “It wasn’t far out of my way.”

“Ah, well…” His voice trailed off and he looked at her as though he expected her to say something else in response. She didn’t, so he simply gathered up his satchel. “I’ll see you Saturday night.”

Meaning he hadn’t changed his mind.

Meaning he still wanted to come
as her date
.

Leanne gulped and tried to settle her nerves. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he said with a tone of finality. He tugged at the latch. The door didn’t open. He fiddled with the lock and pulled again but the latch still resisted his attempts.

“Damn, it’s stuck.”

Leanne flipped the switch on her own armrest, waiting for the soft click, but nothing happened. Unbuckling herself, she leaned across the narrow space, intending to try the door herself. Sometimes it got stuck. She’d been meaning to take it in and have the garage look at it but she’d been putting it off…

Brandon’s gasp made her instantly aware that she was practically sprawled across his lap, her face only inches from his groin, her right hand grasping his thigh. The gearshift dug into her hip and her knee was wedged against the steering wheel. She barely registered her discomfort, too intent on the sudden exhalation of warm breath against the back of her neck.

“Leanne.” He whispered her name. The brush of air against her skin, the sudden pressure of his chest against her breast told her all too clearly how close they really were. She bit her lip, trying to contain the wave of lust that threatened to swamp her common sense once again. This wasn’t casual flirting. This was far more serious.

She didn’t want this.

She didn’t want this at all.

Oh God, she wanted this so much.

His lips—those lips whose texture and taste she’d tried so unsuccessfully to forget—pressed against the vulnerable curve of her neck. Softly. So softly. She quivered, and his hand brushed against her hair as if to calm her. To quiet her. It simply stoked the fire.

He trailed kisses along her hairline, his fingers massaging her scalp in circles, the pressure a counterpoint to the gentle touch of his lips. She arched her neck, giving him access to the vulnerable pulse point at the base of her throat. He sucked it, drawing it into his mouth, a loud, openmouthed kiss ratcheted her desire even higher.

Her hand was still spread across his thigh, the cotton twill abrading her fingertips. She stretched her hand wide and her pinkie finger brushed against the rock-hard bulge at his groin. He moaned and sucked her earlobe, tracing its shape with his tongue. Her pussy clenched in time to his seduction and she arched into his caress, twisting in the seat until she was on her hands and knees and his mouth had unfettered access to her throat, her jaw, her face.

His hand snaked between her legs, splaying them wide, and he cupped his left hand over her mound, rubbing and teasing through the fabric. She whimpered, desperate for the feel of his fingers inside her, but he wouldn’t cooperate. She rolled her hips, pleading with her body, but he wouldn’t obey. He simply continued to cup her, the palm of his hand massaging and inciting but not satisfying.

She dug her nails deep into his flesh and he gasped.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked as he smoothed and caressed her ass, the weight of his hand both promise and reward. “Because I don’t think I can wait until Saturday to see you again.”

She wanted to be pleasured. She wanted to be fucked. She wanted to ride him and watch his face while he split in two, thrusting and panting and hurling her name into the darkness. She wanted to wrap her legs around his face and let him eat her like he had when she spread her legs wide for him on the green room sofa.

They’d been dancing around each other, around their mutual desire, since the moment they met. Tonight at the restaurant had been no exception. She didn’t know what it was about him but he made her wanton and unencumbered. And it felt good.

No, better than good.

It felt great.

She dragged herself onto her haunches and straddled his thighs. She caught her leg on the gearshift and he caught his hand in the seatbelt. It was awkward and ridiculous and glorious. She laughed and reveled in her power, rubbing against his straining flesh, the bite of his zipper against an indescribable counterpoint to the pleasure.

Openmouthed, she kissed him, thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth. He traced her lips with his, his hands clenched deep in her hair, his cock thrusting against her open thighs rhythmically.

“We need—”

She kissed him again, swallowing his words. She ran her hands along his chest and began working the zipper of his jacket down. Groaning, he tore his mouth free and tried to restrain her hands.

“We need to go…”

“Faster.”

He laughed weakly, then swore as her teeth closed against the smooth column of his neck. She bit down playfully and she could feel his cock surge beneath her, growing harder, larger.

“We need to go inside.”

Leanne raised her head. Her hands rested on his chest, and the fierce counterpoint of his heart beating through his clothes.

“Inside?”

“Because I haven’t done it in a car since I was sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve
never
done it in a car.” His eyes widened at her confession.

What was he thinking? This close, she could see the individual flecks of blue in his eyes and she watched as they closed tightly, Brandon muttering furiously under his breath. Was he horrified by her revelation? Rethinking his offer? She had to head him off at the pass and let him know she was more than ready for another night of string-free sex. She didn’t want his pity—her past was her past and she wasn’t making any apologies for it. She just needed to ensure her future took a different path from here on in.

“Wanna help me change that?”

He opened his eyes and she was captured once more by their crystal-blue color.

“It’ll be better inside. Bigger. More room.”

She rubbed her hand along the thick ridge of his erection. “This feels big enough for me.” She slid her hand down across his fly before drawing it back up with teasing slowness.

“Lee-annne,” he pleaded, his eyes desperate, his body tense. “Come inside with me. Now.”

“For coffee?” she teased, stroking his cock with undeniable intent.

He groaned. “So I can fuck you again the way I’ve been dreaming of since the night we met.”

She smiled victoriously, elated by his precarious state, and ignored the voice asking her if she was really sure about all this.
Hell yes, I’m sure!
For once in her life, she wasn’t going to let the moment escape her because she overanalyzed it.

She nodded and he gave the latch a tremendous wrench. The door opened and she clambered out. He followed, his erection making his movements stiff and awkward. But she was touched again by his thoughtfulness when he reached back inside the car for her purse. His hand closed around hers and he dragged her up the stairs toward his place, his eagerness only fueling her own excitement.

He unlocked the door with unsteady hands, and Leanne staggered under the impact of her desire. She wanted this. Right now. She was going to take the passion on offer with both hands and hold on as long as she could.

Brandon was going to explode.

Here, in his pants, next to his ten-speed, in his narrow hallway. Next to his ten-speed and just down from his closet.

And it was all Leanne Galloway’s fault.

She was driving him out of his ever-loving mind. Her hands. Her mouth. Her ass. He’d been aware of her beside him in the restaurant, his need simmering and bubbling, burning hotter with every saucy glance, every burst of unabashed laughter, every brush of her long hair.

He was shaking, he was so damn aroused, his cock like granite, his balls quivering. She writhed, her pelvis grinding against him in a bawdy come-on. He couldn’t get enough of her. His mouth latched on to her pink lips and their tongues dueled, the wet exchange only serving to inflame him further. He had to slow down or it would be over too soon.

“Slowly,” he pleaded.

Leanne scoffed. “Slow is for people who don’t know what they want.” She licked his neck. “Tonight, I want it fast and hard.”

“I can—” he cleared his throat, “—I can do that.”

Understatement of the century. She touched and caressed him, ravaging his senses, exploring his body, his shoulders, his chest. He tried to resist, to moderate the pace, but she was implacable. She reached his waistband and her hands slipped underneath the blue fabric. Her hands were chilly and the shock of them against his burning skin only made him hotter.

“Off.”

There was no denying her. Her voice, low and sultry in day-to-day conversation, was even smokier now. It wrapped around his brain and his resistance vanished.

He attacked his buttons with a ferocity that made her giggle even as she gasped at the sight of his chest. The awe in her eyes as he tugged the shirt down elicited an unexpected quiver of pride. He was used to being ogled for his body. Used to thinking of it as a tool, a means to achieve his goals and nothing more. But Leanne’s gaze discomfited him. She wanted him. This funny, intelligent, classy woman was looking at
him
like she’d never seen anything so wonderful or enticing in her entire life. The sensation made him lightheaded.

He wasn’t unique.

He wasn’t special.

She’d learn the truth too, but for right now, he was powerless to do anything but bask in her regard.

“So beautiful.” She brushed against his flat nipple and her head dipped, white teeth closing around the sensitive tip. He jerked, need winnowing through him,

He had to have her.

Now.

He swept her into his arms, nearly running down the narrow hall in his eagerness. He shouldered open the bedroom door and they tumbled onto the futon in a tangle of arms and legs and laughter.

“Seems I’m not the only who thinks fast is a good idea.”

“It’s all your fault,” he responded. “You’re just so sexy that all I can think about when I’m with you is how soon I can get you naked.”

Her face lit with an emotion he couldn’t identify. “Seriously?”

He stopped for a moment, his shirt hanging off his torso. “Seriously.”

When she smiled, he felt as though he’d won a prize. He wrenched off his shirt. To hell with the buttons. The only thing he was interested in getting his hands on was Leanne, naked, warm and willing.

There were no more words as they tore off their clothes, hands clutching at belts and zippers, shoes and socks, flinging them away without regard for where they might land. He whipped her sweater over her head. The sight of her breasts straining against pink lace was almost too much for him. He had to taste them, suck them, lick them.

He bent his head, his hand working one lush mound from its fabric confine so that the dusky tip jutted forth, hard and aroused. He licked the bud and swirled it in his fingers, pressing it lightly, before taking it in his mouth and suckling gently. He was delighted by the sound of her breathy moans. Leanne thrashed on the bed, her arms braced against his faded duvet, her eyes squeezed shut.

Never releasing his hold on her breast, he reached behind her and fumbled for the clasp. She arched her back. The bra fell away, leaving her breasts free and begging for his touch, his mouth. He turned his attentions to the other tempting mound and gorged himself on her beautiful flesh.

Her hands worked at the band of his briefs, tugging them down over his ass. They caught on his cock, and he nearly came at the touch of her fingers as she freed him and drew the last remaining piece of clothing from his body. But he wanted to make sure that she came too.

And for that, he needed to gather what little control he still possessed.

But, God, it wasn’t easy. Because all that remained between his raging cock and her pulsing core was a pair of very sheer, very lacy panties. A mere triangle of fabric separating him from where he most wanted to be. Face-to-face, her breasts rubbing against the coarse hair on his chest, she writhed against him, and his mind shut down. He could smell her intimate musk, feel the wetness soaking through the lace as he rubbed his cock up and down her cleft, stimulating her clit, teasing her with the promise of his possession, even as he withheld what she so desperately wanted.

Fuck it.

Fuck her.

He reached for her hips and they surged from the bed, thrusting her pelvis against his. He tore the panties from her body and he heard something tear. He didn’t know what but he was beyond caring.

He wanted to taste her.

He wanted to finger her.

He wanted to do everything until she came and came and came.

Later. Now he needed to be inside.

It was that simple.

He lunged for the side table and scrabbled in the drawer for a condom. He tore the wrapper with his teeth and rolled it down over his cock.

“Please,” Leanne begged, her voice breathy, her hands straining against his shoulders. “Please, I need you.”

He needed her too.

He surged inside her, his cock filling her slick channel. Her eyes dilated until they looked almost black with her need. Then she began to move, thrusting her hips up to meet him, and there was nothing else to do but thrust into her. As deep and as full and as fast as he could. Her breathing was labored, her nails gouging sharp crescents into his back. The scarlet flush of her orgasm stained her throat as she gave way to its force; it gripped her and her pussy clenched around his cock like a vise.

He drove deeper and deeper and her cries of passion urged him on. He fucked her with everything he had, until it felt like he would split in two with the force of his desire. And still he pumped her, thrusting and straining, as her first orgasm ebbed and a second, even stronger, pulled her under once more. She screamed, the hoarse sound echoing in the room. As if it was the signal he’d been waiting for, he came, an endless, suspended moment, the indescribable feeling of release holding him in its thrall.

In the dark, Leanne could feel herself begin to cool as her mind slowly began to coalesce in the aftermath of driving need that had consumed her. Beside her, she could hear Brandon’s ragged breathing. His leg rested against hers, its rough hair brushing her. Her mouth was dry and chalky, and sweat began to cool on her skin. Stretching, she slid out of bed and looked down at his naked body reclining against the crumpled sheets.

Licking her parched lips, she said, “I need a glass of water. Do you want one too?”

She felt ridiculously self-conscious as she stood near the open doorway, suddenly aware of the way the hall light must be revealing her every figure flaw. One could overlook plump thighs and a softly curving tummy in the throes of passion. When his tongue swirled along her cleft or his fingers danced across her skin, he’d been too busy to notice her shortcomings. But now, she felt decidedly awkward.

He’d called her sexy.

Seriously sexy.

But what guy wouldn’t say something like that during foreplay? He’d wanted her but his compliments, while flattering, didn’t mean anything in the larger scheme of things. She’d do well to remember that, no matter how good he was in bed.

Brandon shifted, leaning up on his elbow, and looked at her steadily. “A glass of water would be great. The bathroom’s just down the hall, on your left.”

She ran the taps until the water streamed out icy cold. She drank in thick, greedy gulps then leaned against the sink, pressing the glass against her cheeks and forehead.

Saturday night at the club had been incredible. Urgent. Passionate. Illicit and compelling. Her body carried with it the overwhelming sense of sexual satisfaction for days afterward. She’d dismissed the chances of ever recreating such explosive sexual chemistry. Nothing, she’d told herself, could surpass it.

She had been wrong.

Tonight had been so far outside her realm of experience that even now, as she rested against the vanity, her knees still shook.

It terrified her.

What had she gotten herself involved in?

This could only be a fling. A casual hookup with no expectations on either side. Leanne’s whole life right now was focused on the Walters Prize. There was no room for anything else. She couldn’t let transitory needs derail her life. She’d worked too hard to let sexual prowess be the determining factor in whether or not she reached all of her goals.

She had to believe that Brandon felt the same way. He hadn’t come out and said it, of course, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out that he wasn’t interested in entanglements either. Her earlier impression of him as a loner had been reinforced during dinner. He’d been witty and charming yet he was unmistakably a solitary person whose reserve ran deep. He talked of colleagues, not close friends. He spoke of travel but not family. He’d asked questions of both Leanne and her father but deflected all but the most generic they’d asked in return. For all his good looks, he seemed to prefer keeping his real self well hidden.

His life was conducted backstage, she thought. When he moved into the glare of the footlights, he left something of himself behind, protected, the face he showed the world a carefully crafted performance. Brandon seemed to prefer that people would look no further than the surface. He almost seemed to expect it. What had happened to bring him to that point, she couldn’t guess, but the fact that he preferred his independence to a romantic relationship was all that was keeping her swirling anxieties in check.

Yet in bed he’d shown an almost uncanny ability to gauge her needs, to anticipate her deepest desires before she could even articulate them. He’d been tender and inventive and so unbelievably good that even now, just thinking about what they’d done made her sex contract and a warm trickle of need trail down her tender inner thighs.

He was the best damn lover she’d ever had.

Even knowing what they had was fleeting, her only regret was that he’d raised the bar for all future lovers. She’d never be satisfied with mediocre sex again, thanks to his touch, and she felt a shiver of sadness with the realization that—if her past lovers were any indication—most of the men she might sleep with in the future would fall far short of Brandon’s mark.

Filling the glass again, she turned off the light and made her way back to the bedroom, her way illuminated by the dim hall light.

He was awake. Even in the dark, she could sense his alertness. Making her way carefully around the bed, she held out the glass.

“Here.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he took the glass and need pierced her, despite the brief contact. She wanted to crawl under his duvet and fall asleep but if she did, he’d think she didn’t know the rules governing a hookup like theirs.

No cuddling.

No overnights.

No future plans.

Leanne might have embarked on her journey of sexual self-discovery a little later than some, but even she, well and truly buried in the eighteenth century, knew what was expected of her in this situation. She slid one foot out, across the floor, her toes brushing against a crumpled heap that felt, if the soft touch of velvet was anything to go by, like her skirt. She was so intent on her recovery mission that his low voice startled her and she jumped a little.

“Come to bed.”

“I—I beg your pardon?”

“Come to bed. It’s late.”

“Are you sure?” Leanne was bewildered by this turn of events. He smoothed back the duvet. On autopilot, she slid under the covers. Gingerly, she laid her head against the pillow and turned toward him.

He shifted and pulled her against him, his muscled chest pressing against her back, his now flaccid cock nestled firmly between the cheeks of her ass. She felt warm and sated and unbelievably safe.

She knew she shouldn’t feel anything of those things. She tried to skooch away, to begin the hunt for her clothes in earnest, but he only tightened his grip, squeezing her in his arms.

“I shouldn’t stay,” she said. “This is against the rules.”

“The rules?” She could feel, rather than hear, his laughter at her statement. She was tempted to simply leave the bedroom instead of succumbing to his teasing. She shifted, trying to push herself up from the mattress and his grip intensified. “What rules are those?”

“You know,” she insisted. “For what we’re doing.”

“Ah, you mean the rules for a one-night stand.” His voice deepened, the masculine rumble permeating her entire body and making rational thought a difficult proposition.

She was perilously close to the edge, hanging on to her sanity by the barest of threads. If she stayed, the risks were simply too great.

He knew that.

She knew that he knew that.

So why was he asking her to stay with him tonight?

Where was that damn lone wolf when she needed him? Didn’t he understand she was giving them both the out they needed?

As if she’d uttered the words aloud, he spoke. “Because you smell good.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if his cryptic statement would answer all her questions. It didn’t. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. “Like lemons. And vanilla.”

He thought she smelled good? She knew she ought to rebel against his invitation but she couldn’t resist. The warmth of his body, the softness of the bed, it all conspired against her.

“Just for tonight,” she murmured. “But this doesn’t change…It’s still a…”