Room 1208 (2 page)

“You can call me…Joan,” she whispered.

His mouth twitched as his eyes took in her red
hair and vintage attire. “How appropriate…Joan. Call me…Don.”

She almost laughed, but it came out as an anxious
gasp. “Tell me that this isn’t something you do all the time.”

She hadn’t intended to ask that. She’d planned to
trust that the man who accepted her offer would be decent, not the type of guy
who had the proverbial girl in every port. She hadn’t wanted to reveal just how
nervous and unsophisticated she was. In fact, she hadn’t even intended to speak
more than a few words. She’d practiced saying, “Please, let’s not talk,” in
front of her mirror at least a dozen times until she had the desired sultry
tone just right.

Her anxiety must have been clear in her eyes
because he moved his hand up to her cheek, cupping it with his palm in a
soothing gesture. “No,” he said, his tone almost angry in its insistence,
though she sensed he was irritated with himself, not with her question. “This
isn’t something I do all the time. Never, in fact.”

At once she knew he spoke the truth. Yet, she was
startled. “Never?”

 “Never.”

“And you’re not married or seeing anyone?”

 Something dark briefly shadowed his expression,
something akin to sadness, before he shook his head firmly. “No. Are you?”

“No.”

“I believe that takes care of the wooing portion
of this evening then…Joan. Rest assured I’m not a cheating bastard. Your note
found me in the right place and at the right time.” His other hand slid up her
body, brushed fleetingly against the side of her breast before touching her
other cheek. “Of course, I also took into account that you’re a very attractive
woman. A woman I want to be inside of very soon.” He brushed his thumbs
leisurely across her flushed cheeks. “Do my assurances satisfy you?”

She was shaking so hard she had to dig her
fingers into his shoulders to keep from collapsing. Suddenly, his arms were
around her, one at her shoulder and the other at her waist, holding her close
in an embrace that was at once gentle and urgent. She fell against him with a
peculiar sense of relief, her cheek resting against his chest, just over his
heart. He rubbed one hand slowly up and down her back, his fingertips lightly
grazing the bare skin above the neckline of her dress. He lowered his head, his
mouth hovering just above her ear. “Hey,” he whispered. “You sure you’re okay
with this?”

 The hint of tenderness in his voice gave her the
last bit of reassurance she needed. She slid her hands down from his shoulders,
delving under his suit jacket to wrap them around his lean waist. She pressed
her upper body closer to his. She nodded her head.

His lips grazed her ear, his warm, damp breath
spiking every nerve in her body. “How do you want this to go? Fast or slow?”

She felt a delicious tightening in her lower
abdomen, a gathering pool of liquid heat between her legs. “Slow,” she
murmured. “The first time.”

He smiled against her temple. “So, you really
do
want me to spend the night with you.”

Her arms tightened around him, signaling,
already, her reluctance to let him go. He felt so solid, so dynamic and strong,
just as she’d always hoped this man would feel. “Can you?”

“My flight isn’t until ten o’clock tomorrow
morning.” The hand at her waist drifted down, his palm lightly rubbing over the
curve of her hips and buttocks, before he suddenly grasped her firmly, bringing
her against his lower body. “I’m ready and willing,” he added, his sudden brief
laugh laced with sex and desire.

Oh
.

So, that’s what it felt like.

She wriggled closer.

He danced her further into the room, his fingers
finding and undoing the clasp at the back of her dress before carefully pulling
down the zipper. When the back of her legs touched the edge of the bed, he
stood back slightly, his hands gliding up to her shoulders. With the zipper
undone, her dress hung loosely from her upper body.

She concealed her shyness beneath half-closed
eyes, watching him as, with deliberate ease, he tugged the dress sleeves down
her arms, gradually revealing her collarbone, the curve of her upper breasts.
His hands clasped her arms just above the elbows, gently pushing them down to
her sides so he could continue removing the dress. With one last tug, it
floated to the floor, leaving her wearing just her panties, bra and heels, a
cloud of chiffon at her feet.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, a slight catch in
his voice. He took a step backwards, his heated gaze igniting tiny bonfires
everywhere it touched her bare skin. “Your skin is like cream. So white and
smooth.”

He reached out his hand, tracing a scattering of
freckles at the base of her throat, one finger slowly following the trail down
to where it disappeared beneath her white lace bra. He swallowed thickly. “Take
it off.”

Her heart was beating chaotically. She was both
captivated and petrified by the gravelly command in his voice. The moment had
come when she would finally bare the most private parts of her body to a man
for the first time. She
wanted
this. Now wasn’t the time for second
thoughts. Still…

“Take off your shirt first.”

She didn’t know where the firm but coy tone of
her own voice came from. But he seemed to like it. His mouth tilted upwards in
a playfully seductive smile as he loosened the knot of his tie and then quickly
removed his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. The observation that he took
far less time undressing himself than he had her was rapidly overshadowed by
her breathless reaction to the glorious naked male flesh revealed to her.

His skin was golden brown in the soft light, his
shoulders square and broad. His chest, lean and sleek muscled, tapered down to
a trim waist. She wasn’t aware that she’d reached out her hand to trace the
enticing lines of his oblique muscles until she heard his scratchy exhalation.
His skin twitched beneath her curious fingers as they traveled across the flat
of his stomach, lingered over the indentation of his navel before trekking
downwards to the place where a soft, intriguing dusting of dark hair
disappeared beneath the waistband of his suit trousers.

He clasped her wrist suddenly, his thumb pressing
over her scattered pulse. His voice was almost a growl. “If you want this to
stay slow, it’s going to be better if you let me do most of the touching for a
while.”

She blushed deeply.

“Ah, I like that,” he whispered, bringing both
their hands to her face so he could rub his knuckles over her rosy cheeks. “A
woman who can still blush. That’s so sexy.”

She almost laughed. If he only knew that she was
a genuine blushing virgin in truth! But she was relieved to discover that her
nervousness was diminishing. His gentleness with her was an unexpected delight
and comfort. From all she’d read and heard, she’d anticipated this moment to be
more hurried, had even mentally prepared and braced herself for a “wham, bam,
thank you ma’am” kind of experience.

Yet he appeared to be savoring each moment, not
in any apparent rush. He seemed so attuned to every nuance of her body language,
his gestures, thus far, showing a willingness to accommodate her every mood.
Was this normal? Having no experience to measure against, she only felt
gratitude and relief that she’d been so lucky to find such a man.

Now, instead of fear, she was aquiver with
anticipation and eagerness. Pure instinct ruled her senses as she turned her
hand to capture his, bringing it to her mouth so she could press an inquisitive
kiss into his palm. Her tongue darted out, licking the tracery of lines upwards
to the base of his long fingers. His eyelids drooped to half-mast as she
slowly, teasingly rubbed his index finger over her lower lip before lightly
sucking the tip into her mouth.

“
Fuck
.” He expelled that single word on an
abrupt exhale, sounding shocked at his own reaction.

An unfamiliar sense of feminine power washed over
her. She’d thought mostly of this night in terms of what this man would do to
her, her body a willing vessel for his, more a receiver than a giver. He would
lead the way and she would follow, ever mindful not to reveal her inexperience.
But the dark, hot intensity in his eyes spoke of an equal need to receive, to
be touched, to feel something…more.

She pulled his finger out of her mouth and went
for his thumb. The faint taste of salt on his skin made her wonder about that
other part of him, that hot, thick, fascinating part that was now pressing
against her lower belly. What would it taste like? How much of it would she be
able to take into her mouth? Her heartbeat accelerated. She hadn’t included
that scenario in her imaginings of this night, but, with each passing second,
her yearning to explore and learn every inch of this beautiful man’s body grew
fiercer.

And they hadn’t even kissed yet.

As if reading her thoughts, he suddenly tugged
his thumb out of her mouth and dragged it almost roughly across her lower lip before
he bent his head and replaced his thumb with his mouth. She gasped softly and
he took instant advantage of her parted lips, driving his tongue inside her
mouth to tangle intimately with hers. A groan sounded deep in his throat.

She’d only been kissed by a man once—a boy,
really—when she’d been sixteen years old. He was a college freshman at the
time, her brother’s roommate, a weekend guest at her parents’ home. On the
Saturday night of his visit, he and her brother had gone to a party, not
returning until early in the morning. She’d woken to use the bathroom and had
bumped into him in the narrow upstairs hallway. He’d been too drunk to care who
she was or what she looked like. She’d merely been convenient female flesh.
He’d shoved her against the wall and stuck his tongue in her mouth while he
tried to get his hand under her nightgown. Too stunned at first to resist,
she’d remained motionless until his fingers snaked beneath her panties. Then
she’d kneed him in the balls, forcing him to release her. She’d run back to her
room and pushed her desk chair under the door knob. She hadn’t slept for the
remainder of the night, too agitated with mixed feelings of sexual curiosity, revulsion,
and guilt.

She and Dr. Moira had spent two full sessions
exploring the emotional toll of that episode, undoing each stitch before
eventually sewing up the wound with a stronger thread.

But it wasn’t until this moment that she realized
that that hadn’t really been a kiss at all. This,
this
was a real kiss.
Lips firm, yet soft, an intermingling of warm breath, an exploration with
nibbling teeth and questing tongue. She’d agonized that she wouldn’t know what
to do, how to do it, that he would guess immediately how inexperienced she was,
but the way he kissed her was like a dance, a gentle lunge forward and a
coaxing retreat, luring her against and inside his mouth to give as well as
take.

Her relief transformed into sheer joy which she
expressed by surrendering, finally, completely, and whole-heartedly, into his
arms, yielding every part of herself to him. There was no more trepidation or
hesitancy in her touch, only a desire to get as near to him as possible. She
didn’t know when she’d wrapped her arms around him, one hand at the nape of his
neck, the other around his waist, but, there they were, urging his body closer.
Her hips undulated against his, joining the little moans sounding deep in her
throat in communicating her now frantic need.

He abruptly released her mouth, inhaling in deep,
shaky breaths as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Easy, sugar,” he whispered
in an unsteady voice as his hands made soothing sweeps up and down her back.
“Easy.”

“I want you so bad,” she whispered back.

He found and unclasped the hooks of her bra with
fingers that shook. He inched away from her only far enough to remove it
completely and fling it aside before returning to explore her breasts. His
thumb skimmed over one nipple before pinching it gently between thumb and index
finger. His chest vibrated with teasing, husky laughter as she gasped and
shivered, arching into his touch. “I thought you wanted this slow.”

“Yes, yes,” she agreed, wild frenzy in her voice.
“But not
too
slow.”

He moved his head down, lips grazing her neck,
placing tantalizing butterfly kisses over her collarbone and down the slope of
her breast. Then he took her engorged nipple into the wet cavern of his mouth.
One hand continued to play with her other breast, alternately squeezing and
soothing with rough-soft fingers. The other hand traced a circular pattern over
her lower back, fingers moving further down with each looping foray until they
were delving beneath her panties, digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks,
pressing her closer to his hardness.

“Oh, oh,” she moaned. “Your hands are so hot.”

He released her nipple with a wet, popping sound,
dragged his mouth back up her throat. His lips hovered over hers, his breathing
more agitated. “Your body is hot,” he replied. “I want to see all of it. Naked.
Now.”

And with one light but firm push, he had her flat
on her back on the bed and her feet in the air as he swiftly yanked her panties
down and off along with her heels. He pushed her legs down to dangle off the
edge of the bed. Then he dropped to his knees between them, thrust his hands
beneath her bottom and dragged her toward him, his scorching eyes zeroed in on
the soft patch of hair between her legs.

“You’re a genuine redhead,” he said, his voice
like gravel.

Her sputtered laugh held a mixture of craving and
affront. “Of course I am!”

He flashed a wolfish grin at her. “With the
temperament to go with it, I see.”

“That’s a myth,” she managed to say, feeling
breathless. “Not all redheads have bad tempers.”

He sifted his fingers lightly through her pubic
hair, watching her face as if fascinated by every nuance of her expression.
“I’m glad you don’t shave it all off. Or wax…whatever it is women do these
days.”