Reviving Haven (3 page)

Damn, this is the second time tonight that someone thought I looked like a librarian, and I didn’t even wear my glasses!

I realize at that moment that he has been inching up the chair, closing the distance between us. I can feel his breath tickling my face with teasing puffs, and it’s warm and intoxicating as I scent a blend of minty toothpaste and liquor. My entire body begins to hum, causing a tightening in my breasts and a warming in my sex. How can a stranger be causing this reaction? I don’t even know him, but he is gorgeous and sexy. As I stare into the dark, I’m slightly terrified, yet strangely attracted to this man. I mean, just because this guy is pretty and has a sexy accent doesn’t mean he’s a good guy. Even attractive men are capable of doing bad things. Jared was a decent looking man, and he turned out to be a bastard.

I can’t make up my mind . . . should I stay or should I go? Wait and see how this plays out, or just exit before I make a mistake? I feel confused. Logic is telling me one thing, but my body has its own ideas. No matter what my body is saying, this will most likely end badly. I am not in any emotional state to make a decision. The very scary thing is I almost don’t want to walk away. Maybe I want to let myself go . . . maybe I need to let myself go. But no matter how great the need I feel right now, my steadfast logic dictates that I should just walk away.

“I think I’ll be going now.” I attempt to stand up and straighten my skirt. Unsteady as I am right now—
thanks a lot, damn tequila—
I lose my footing and fall back into the chair.

“Please don’t leave. Can we at least talk, get to know each other?” His hand touches my leg, drifting across it lightly like a feather. I inhale deeply at his touch.

I don’t even know this man, yet he’s having a profound effect on me. Damn erotica, stupid authors, dumbass tequila—all of these things have me feeling as if I’m in the middle of one of my romance books.

“Shouldn’t we start a conversation with your name?” I ask, blindly staring into the night.

I’m still contemplating some kind of getaway, even if the tequila is slowing me down in my great escape. I’ve also misplaced a shoe—a nine hundred dollar shoe. Hell.

“I don’t think names are necessary. This doesn’t have to be complicated; I just would like to sit here and maybe get to know you a little better.” He chuckles softly. “Unless you have oth
er ideas for occupying our time.” His tone is overtly sexual and seductive, but it’s his accent that shakes me to my core.

Why did this man leave a room filled with eager plastic piranha to find me? I don’t get it. He could have his choice of hundreds of women. Women who are young, thin, beautiful, and willing. Why me?

Oh, this guy is smooth, no denying that. If he keeps it up with that accent, I will be joining Weezie’s Slut of the Month club. It’s like a book club, but these women get together and brag about the men they bang.

“Listen, I have to leave, so . . . um . . . nice chatting with you.
Cheerio
and all that, but I really have to go. I have a friend who’s waiting for me.” Okay, the “Cheerio” may have been a bit much, but I’m sure his accent is British. I try moving, but my body betrays me; it just won’t budge.

His weight shifts slightly. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I can see the vague outline of his body. I so want to reach out and trace his face, run my hands down his chest
, move them down to his . . . OH, GOD! What in the hell is wrong with me? I never act like this.

Not that I’ve ever had the opportunity.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you. I would never take advantage of an inebriated female, unless you want me to.” His “no pressure” reply sounds light, but it feels strangely ominous, carnal. “I don’t want to fuck you. I just want to taste you.” There’s no remorse in his tone.

I’m so startled that I can’t speak. My brain shuts down at the same time. Did he just say what I think he said? I must be really out of it because this totally smoking hot man just offered me oral. My mind and mouth may have gone completely mute, but my stupid body is in betrayal mode. I’m so wet that my panties are soaked right through. I press my legs together, hoping he can’t tell. My body ignites with want, with desire, with raging fire. These feelings are so foreign to me . . . maybe because it’s been seven years. Whatever the reason is, these sensations are new and I like them.

“Let me give you pleasure.” His voice is a mere whisper. “Give me your hand. Let me show you how much I want you.”

Like a woman under a spell, I hold out my hand. He gently takes it, rubbing the inside with the
pad of his thumb. He places my hand in his lap, and I feel his erection straining against his zipper. His hard length is intimidating, and my breath hitches with trepidation.

“I need you to tell me you want this. Tell me you’ll let me taste you.” His own breathing sounds shallow and choppy.

Holy crap, is that a question?
Hell yes!
Wait—no, no, no!
What am I thinking? This man is a stranger. I don’t do things like this. This isn’t me. How can I be sexual with a stranger? I couldn’t even be this way with Jared.

He said no sex . . . just oral, right? Well, that wouldn’t be so bad. My mouth goes dry just thinking about it.

If I do this, am I a slut? I can blame it on the tequila. I am pretty buzzed right now. Well, not that drunk, but still I almost can’t think straight. I’m having a hard time contemplating how to articulate my answer.

All I can come up with is, “Please.” It comes as a squeak, almost childlike.

I am so overcome with need that I’m not even sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making me burn, or this man that’s making me feel impassioned. His voice, his touch—everything brings my lust to its knees.

I’ve spent the last seven years wanting to forget one man, while running away from all others. I read soft porn all day long, going through the motions of believing in love. But then I bury myself in my work so I can hide in the bookstore, and then I go home to Earl, my battery boy toy. I actually had begun to believe that I was past my wants and desires for a man. Now, after Jared, I dread feeling any kind of response, especially one towards the opposite sex. The pain is still too deep, and my bleeding is emotionally draining. This man has revived something, a burning deep inside, making me feel things that I
didn't think I could feel again. It’s as if my body is craving him. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins. I can hear my heart pounding insistently in my chest. My skin feels electrified. My body feels alive. I want him.

“I need you to scoot up towards me as far as you can.” His tone sounds clipped, as if he’s trying to control his own arousal.

I move toward his voice, my arms and legs shaking. He takes both my legs, placing them on his lap. I can still feel his erection pressing against his jeans, hard, pulsating.

“Fuck,
you have mouthwatering toes,” he says as he lifts my foot to his mouth and his lips caress my sensitive digits.

His hands lightly fondle my feet and ankles. I feel my sex throb and it drums like a tribal beat.
He takes his hands away from my feet, passing them over the hem of my skirt. When he stops at the edge and begins pushing it up, I suddenly feel flustered, embarrassed, shameful, and very excited. Once he has pushed my skirt up, practically to my bra, he runs his hands along my stomach and settles them on my panties. I close my eyes, and the only sound I perceive is our heavy breathing. I feel his fingers press against my mound and I let out a small gasp.

“Your panties feel pretty. I wish I could see them. I wish I could see you.” The sound of his voice mesmerizes me, and I almost wish he could see them too. These panties are special—
ninety-dollar La Perla, thank you very much. Evidently, they’re lucky as well.

His thumbs catch the sides of my thong, pulling it down. My face is heated now and I’m glad it’s dark. What I’m doing is so far out of my comfort zone, I hardly recognize who I am. I am actually letting this man drag my panties all the way down to my ankles. He lifts my feet, one trembling foot at a time, and effectively pulls them off, leaving them on the cushion of the chair. Laying his hands on my thighs, he pushes them apart, lifts one of my legs and anchors it on
his shoulder. His hands are strong, his skin so hot, and my stupid legs just fall open with no resistance, like some wanton hussy from a historical romance novel. I’m so embarrassed with my reaction to him, but I can’t help it—I feel like a horny fly caught in his lusty web.

His hand grazes the flesh of my thigh as his fingers make their way to my sex. He pauses at the outer edges of my core, just for a brief second, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to build up the anticipation or giving me one last chance to back out of his promise of pleasure. It doesn’t matter anyway—there’s no way I can break his spell over me, and I stay silent. His questing fingers trace my swollen lips and then they separate my folds, allowing a whisper of cooler air to caress my heated tissue. I swear, I can feel the wetness coating my naked sex, and as he penetrates me with one finger, the sucking sound that accompanies that amazing finger is all the evidence I need in regards to my own carnal needs. I realize I’ve been holding my breath and release it with a soft moan.

“You’re so wet, so tight.” His voice sounds deeper, huskier. No one has ever spoken to me like that before.

I feel something building up inside me. More than anything, I want to touch this man, drown in him—be consumed by him.

“I can tell you’re a little anxious.” He chuckles softly when my inner muscles automatically clench and hug his finger. “Baby, trust me, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you come harder than anyone ever has. I take pride in my work.”

Wow . . . he
is
pretty, but cocky much?

So, this is normal for him? Obviously, any man who looks like him must have tons of women—experienced, sexy, young women. Why me? He teases me with a second finger, running it up and down my slit, and then pressing on my clit. Oh God, I’ve never felt anything like this. He suddenly removes his fingers. I feel slightly deprived, surprisingly saddened at the loss.

“So very sweet . . . quite delicious.” I can hear his lips smack.

I really can’t see him . . . D
id he just taste me?
The thought shoots shivers right through me.

His fingers delve into my folds again, but this time his thumb and forefinger pinch my clit. Then he uses only his thumb and rubs it slowly back and forth, sending me into a bliss I didn’t think was possible. Jesus, how can a thumb generate so much pleasure? When he slips two fingers—
oh yes, definitely two fingers in there—
into my moist channel, my inner muscles grip his fingers like a tight vise. I feel intense heat rising in me and my rapid, shallow breaths betray my need. Damn, he knows it too, because I can hear his hum of approval. Right now, I would do anything to see his face clearly.

He removes his fingers, and I whimper at the loss because I’m aching so much for his touch. I watch him—or, rather, his silhouette—bend down and . . .
Oh. My. God.
I feel his breath as he blows on my hot, swollen flesh. And then I feel his tongue slip into my sex, lapping at the juices I know are dripping from his magical touch.

My body convulses as I grip both sides of the lounger. I’m afraid to open my eyes and find out this isn’t real. He’s basically screwing me with his tongue, moaning his arousal as he continues to assault my senses, skillfully manipulating his tongue as he teases my inner folds while thrusting his fingers inside me again, adding to the intensity. A guttural groan escapes from deep within his throat as he continues to brush my clit with his tongue, his touch exposing raw nerve endings. He reaches under me and grabs my ass as he pushes his mouth deeper into me.

My heart begins to thump madly and beads of perspiration dot my face. My lips feel dry and I try licking them, but I just can’t produce any saliva. My entire body begins to hum and my eyes snap open as I press my head back into the chair. He’s driving me crazy, which he realizes due to my moans and groans, because his devilish tongue begins to trace my lips with purpose now, and the pad of his thumb is furiously rubbing my clit at the same time.

I feel the need to grab on to something . . . anything. I reach out and my hands find his hair. I grip it as my body begins to spasm and jerk. If he keeps up this frequency, he’s going to end up bald. His tongue thrusts in and out, fast like a jackhammer. The air leaves my lungs and I want so much to scream, but I’m afraid the sound will carry. I also can’t believe that I almost don’t care. As I
give in to release, I feel a prickling run up and down my body, and I spasm, lifting out of the chair as I let out an intense, loud sob. “Oh . . . My . . . God!” screams out of my mouth.

The intensity that had built exploded in one brilliant flash, throwing me over an imperceptible cliff, skating on the edge of pain. But how can it be painful when I feel like I’m swimming in pleasure? My legs are trembling and I have to drag air in desperately so I can breathe properly. Is this release? Is this an orgasm? Have I never truly experienced release, even with Jared? I thought I had. But truthfully, nothing I’d ever experienced, ever, had felt this euphoric. I feel sated and complete. My entire being is relaxed.

“Jesus, you taste amazing . . . like ambrosia,” his voice cracks as he takes my leg from his shoulder and gently brings it down to rest on the lounger.