Seeing Spots (7 page)

"Iwaswonderingifmaybeyou’dliketomoveintogether," he said in a
rush.

There was a pause, and then she
chuckled.

"Darren Greene," she said, her voice warmly
teasing. "Are you suggesting that we live in sin?"

"Um..." He floundered for a
moment, then found his bearings. "Sin has nothing to do
with it, Kathy."

"Oh, that's disappointing." She bent and
whispered in his ear. "I like sin."

He turned his head and looked into her eyes.
They were as golden as the depths of the fire, and he saw his
changing life reflected there, too. "Me too," he admitted. "But I'm
not just talking about sex, Kathy. I want to move in with you
because I think it's the next logical step in our relationship. I
mean, we're together every spare moment, anyway."

"Not that either of us has a lot of spare
moments."

"True. But when I do have a spare moment, I
like to spend it with you."

"Awww, how sweet." She flashed a grin.
"I think you just want someone to maintain your pretty new website
for free."

"Ah, you’ve discovered my true evil motive."
He reached around, grabbed her, and flipped her right over the back
of the couch, into his lap. She squealed.

"You do design a great website," he said,
grinning back at her. "But there's also the sex thing. Sin is
fun."

"Good point."

"So... is that a yes?"

Her smile grew brighter, lighting her
eyes.

"Yes."

The cloud of mopiness lifted from him, and a
glow of joy took up residence inside him instead. He knew they were
both on the same page here, that their desire to move in together
wasn't all about sex, but about something more, something a lot
deeper and more profound than mere physical intimacy.

Still, there was a lot to be said for
physical intimacy.

She’d gone on the pill, and they’d quit
using condoms a while ago, which made sex even better—impossible
though that seemed. At least it made it more intimate, somehow.
Knowing that his body was surrounded by hers, skin to skin, somehow
made making love more intense than ever.

He looked her over, seeing that besides the
green shirt, she was clad in jeans and...

"Hey," he said, brightening even more.
"You're wearing your spotted heels."

She smiled at his pleased tone. "You sounded
kind of bummed on the phone," she said. "I thought maybe I'd come
cheer you up."

He grinned. "Those shoes definitely help to
boost my spirits."

Ordinarily Kathy wasn't a dress-up kind of
girl. Since she worked at home, she didn’t have to dress for an
office, and even when they went out together, she favored casual
clothes. The t-shirt and jeans she wore tonight were typical of her
wardrobe, but usually she paired them with flat sandals.

But he liked her spotted high heels. He
liked them a lot. They'd made love with her wearing nothing but the
heels quite a few times now, and whenever he saw them, he had an
almost Pavlovian response to them. They made him drool.

His body responded almost instantly to the
feel of her in his lap— not to mention the spotted heels— and his
mouth met hers in a long, eager kiss. Her fingers twined in his
hair, and he let his own hands begin to explore her, pushing the
green shirt out of the way and discovering the satiny skin
underneath.

He shoved her shirt up— and not because he
wanted to check which bra she was wearing, but simply because she
was an incredibly sexy woman.

Well, okay, the bra might
have had a 
little
 something to do with it.

Sure enough, the bra matched her shoes. He
gave a little sigh of happiness, all his worries about work and his
parents forgotten.

Life was good.

Life was spotted.

An odd noise rumbled in his chest, a sound
almost like a purr, but thankfully she'd gotten used to him making
peculiar noises by now, and she hardly seemed to
notice.  He tossed her shirt aside and went to work on
her jeans. Almost instantly, they were stripped from her body. It
was tricky work getting them off without removing the shoes, but he
managed it. And then he pushed her back gently onto the cushions
and admired what he'd unwrapped.

Her sexy body was adorned solely in
spots. A spotted bra, panties, and the shoes. He gave
another happy sigh.

"You're easy," she chided him. "All it takes
is the sight of a spot, and you're ready to rumble."

"It's not the spots. It's you."

"Crap," she answered succinctly.

"No, I'm serious. It's like..." He searched
for a metaphor. "You're the chocolate ice cream and the whipped
cream. The spots are just the cherry on top. Enticing... but
not the main attraction."

She smiled, and reached up, pulling him down
on top of her. "Whatever will help keep you from
moping, Dare."

"I am definitely not moping," he assured
her, rubbing his hard-on against her.

"Yeah. I could tell."

Her fingers dug into his hips, encouraging
him, and he rubbed a little harder, and groaned. Well,
purred.  Even through denim she felt so good. He really
needed to get his own jeans off. But it had been a long day, filled
with a lot of sweaty labor, and before they got seriously intimate,
he decided he probably ought to get clean.

He swept her up in his arms and carried her
right up the stairs to the bathroom.

He deposited her on the tile floor and
leaned down to turn the water on. She looked around... and then
started to laugh.

"Dare," she sputtered through giggles. "This
has got to stop."

"It's just a new shower curtain," he said,
shrugging as he stripped his clothes off. "The old one had gotten
kind of mildewed."

"It's spotted!"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Did you expect me to
go for a floral pattern? I mean, hello? Have we met? I'm
Darren Greene, and I like spots."

She broke out in fresh giggles, and he shook
his head and turned away, testing the water. "I think it's hot
enough," he said. He cast an appraising eye over her. "Are those
shoes waterproof, by any chance?"

She stepped out of the shoes and kicked them
into a far corner. "They most certainly are not."

"Ah, well." He sighed
dramatically. "Can't have everything."

She stripped off her bra and panties, and
his mouth fell open at the sight of her. Even after three months,
he still couldn't help being knocked for a loop by the sight of her
body. She was incredible, all feminine curves and smooth pale skin,
and every time he saw her naked, his brain just melted into
mush.

She was beautiful. She was stunning. And
more importantly, she was the most amazing woman he knew.

He'd been wrong, he
thought, staring at her. He 
did
 have everything.

She stepped into the claw-footed tub, and he
followed, admiring the way the water wet her skin and sprayed over
her shoulders like diamonds. He reached for the soap and began to
run it over her body, and the scent of pine needles filled the air.
Light filtered into the bathtub through the spotted shower curtain,
casting leopard spot shadows on her skin.

He took his time, exploring her slick body
thoroughly with his big hands, until her eyelids fluttered shut and
she moaned softly at every touch. At last he reached for a
washcloth and scrubbed her off, then went down on his knees and
leaned forward.

The instant his tongue touched her intimate
flesh, he heard her shuddering intake of breath, heard a soft
quavering cry, audible over the splashing water. He stroked her,
slowly at first, then faster and faster. Her hands dug into his
hair, which was rapidly being soaked by water, and he felt her
thighs stiffen beneath his hands as her spine arched.

And then she was crying out, her body
shuddering over and over again.

He didn't let up until the last shudder
faded, and then he rose to his feet. Her eyelashes fluttered open,
and she took the soap from him wordlessly and began running it over
his body. He sighed at the gentle caress of her hands.

Slowly, the tension of the day began to
drain away, and a different kind of tension took its place. He'd
been hard before, but now he ached. Over the past few months he'd
discovered that her touch could bring him to an intense arousal
he'd never known before her, but now the feel of her hands moving
over his soap-slick skin made him throb even more than usual.

Her hands slid all over him, over his chest,
his shoulders, his thighs, and his ass, and then she turned him
around, pressed up against his back, and wrapped her arms around
him.

Her fingers closed around his pulsing
hard-on.

He hissed at the touch of her hand. It was
almost too much to bear in his current sensitized state. She moved
her hand, very slowly, and he felt his cock jerk eagerly, felt a
gush of precome. A whimper escaped him.

She kept stroking him, very slowly, the
touch of her hand so intense that he could barely stand it. He was
slick and soapy and hot, and the desire for release was so powerful
he trembled with it. He wasn't sure how she'd turned him on so
totally, except maybe the step they were taking forward in their
relationship had somehow lifted their relationship to the next
level. Maybe before, he'd been unconsciously holding something
back.

But he wasn't holding anything back now. He
couldn't. He had given himself over to her completely.

He was all hers.

Her hand moved on him a little harder,
stroking him from base to head and back again. He was slick now
with water and soap and the moisture that welled out of him, and he
felt himself pulsing in her hand, heard the harsh sound of his own
panting. Spots began to dance in front of his eyes.

Or maybe that was just the shower
curtain.

Just as the pleasure rose toward a peak, and
all his muscles began to tense up, she released him. He sobbed with
disappointment, but she took the washcloth in her hand and began
scrubbing his back, his legs, his abdomen, and then...

And 
then
.

Oh, 
God
.

The slight roughness of the washcloth
against his swollen, aching flesh was enough to make his eyes roll
back in his head. His legs quivered beneath him, barely able to
hold his weight, and sweat broke out all over his skin.

She stroked, slowly and deliberately, and he
heard himself crying out, sobbing, begging for mercy.

She didn't grant it. She didn't change the
rhythm, only stroked in the same slow, endless rhythm, just fast
enough to make him crazy, not fast enough to let him come. The
gentle abrasion of the washcloth drove him to the edge of madness.
He shuddered violently, his fists balled up at his sides, his
breath coming in desperate gasps for oxygen.

"Please." His voice was a
tortured rasp. "Please, Kathy,
pleasepleaseIcan'tstanditplease
now
."

She didn't seem to be listening. The
washcloth stroked over him, endlessly tormenting him. His cries
rose in pitch and volume, and his semi-coherent words faded into
feral noises of frantic need.

And then suddenly her pace changed. She
began to move her hand hard and fast. He exploded almost instantly,
a long roar of ecstasy torn from his throat as a long, incredibly
intense climax rocked him, his body shuddering with the force of
his release.

Afterward, she let him go, and he went to
his knees, so weak he could hardly believe it. She turned off the
water, and then knelt behind him in the tub, wrapping her arms
around him.

"That was nice," she whispered.

Nice
 wasn't the word for it. He might not be all that good
at writing and reading, but he could still think of a lot of better
words. It had been more like
earth-shaking. Mind-bending.

Seismic.

He drew in a long, gasping breath, and tried
to get himself together.

"I guess we should dry off," he mumbled. He
was surprised to note that the words were more or less
intelligible.

"I guess we should." She stood up, and he
heard the smile in her voice. "I notice you bought spotted towels,
too."

"Of course." He managed to struggle to
his feet despite the lingering weakness in his legs. "We want
everything to match."

"Of 
course
 we do." She flashed an amused grin. "Seriously, I like
your new shower curtain, Darren."

"I'm glad." He reached out a long arm for a
towel, smiling as he imagined his new life— sharing his space with
Katherine. "Because now it’s our shower curtain."

"Hang on. Are we moving into your house, or
mine?"

"Um…" He paused, thinking about that. "I
guess we’ll have to talk about it. But whichever way we decide to
go, the shower curtain has to come along."

She nodded, very seriously. "Somehow I knew
you’d say that."

He wrapped the towel around her glistening
body. "And the towels."

"Right."

"And the sheets. And the
comforter. And the lamp."

"Dare..."

"And the tablecloth, and the slipcovers, and
the china..."

"
Darren
." She sounded exasperated and
amused, all at once. "Is there going to be a single inch of space
in our house that isn't covered with leopard spots?"

He looked down at her
sleek wet body, wrapped in leopard spots, and grinned. God, she
looked 
amazing
 in spots.

"I sure hope not," he said.

Chapter 8

The first night
Kathy moved in with her boyfriend, she began seeing spots. And not
just the leopard spots that Dare had insisted on having on every
available surface— bedspread, sheets, lampshade, walls.