25. Gone Fishing
25
GONE FISHING
O’CONNOR
I had successfully suppressed my second thoughts. Archer had specifically told me to use him, after all. And if I spent a sizable portion of my book advance on dressing that man in clothes befitting his stunning beauty, that was a good way to buy off my guilt.
I had two more nights with him, and a chance like this didn’t come along often.
So, I surrendered to the libido he’d awoken in me. I had fantasies just like everyone else. Since I seemed to be starring in my own X-rated film anyway, I might as well make the most of it.
“I thought the bed looked like it was just the right height,” I murmured as I kissed along the strong column of his neck.
His hands got stronger on my hips. “The right height for what?”
I swayed against him, pressing against his wide chest. “For me to bend over. I could put my hands on the bed, spread my feet on the floor, maybe go up on my toes . . .”
“Oh god, yes. Let’s do that. I’ll take you from behind.” He tugged on my hair to bring my mouth up so he could kiss me. The kiss was deep and hungry and—I’d be damned if there wasn’t a little too much teeth in it, but he must have felt me smile because he backed off immediately. “Sorry,” he whispered, holding me against him while he pushed his crotch into me. “I got a little excited. I’ll watch the teeth.”
“Only a little excited?” I writhed against him. “I would have said more than that.”
“Tell the maids to go away.”
He let go of me, and I found one of the women in the dining room fussing over an arrangement of fresh flowers. “That’s fine,” I told them. “You can go now.”
“Are you sure, ma’am? We’ve got some fresh fruit to put out.” The other woman arrived from the caterer’s kitchen bearing a silver bowl laden with oranges, apples, grapes, and an entire festive pineapple. “There’s champagne in the fridge. Where would you like the chocolates?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re tired, and we want to be alone now.”
“But you’ll let us take the dog for a walk, right? The bellboys are fighting for the privilege of taking her. There’s a dog park nearby. She’d have such a good time.”
I turned to Archer, who nodded. “I’ll get you some poop bags.”
“No, sir, we have them. Shall we keep her until . . . eight? Ten o’clock tonight?”
I laughed. The New Caledonian had just earned an endorsement from Opinionated O’Connor . “Two hours should be enough.”
“We’ll bring her back at seven, then. Please let us know if you need anything. All of the phones have the button for the butler, and we’ll be right with you.”
“Yes, thank you.”
They left at last, Charlotte wagging as she pranced along. In the stillness that followed the front door clicking closed behind them, Archer found me studying the dining room chairs.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I was just thinking,” I replied. “If you sit naked in one of these chairs, I could straddle you and slide right down onto your cock. And I could be the one doing the fucking.”
“Yes,” he growled as he grabbed me. “Let’s do that too. Let’s do it all. God, O’Connor.”
He pushed me between two of the heavy velvet chairs until my ass came up against the table, and then he kissed me.
“Perfect pressure,” I panted when we came up for air. “No teeth at all, and now here I am, flat on my back on a table designed to serve dinner to princes and—and kings—and god, what are you doing?”
He was stripping me. Sweater pulled up to my armpits so he could kiss my stomach and then my breasts through my bra. My shoes were snatched from my feet. The socks slid off with the pants and panties when he peeled me naked.
“What am I doing? I’m serving dinner. What are we dining on tonight, Your Majesty?” Archer grinned at me, his hand stroking my center. “What does the finest hotel have to offer for my dining pleasure?” He nibbled at my breasts, his warmth and weight delicious in the cool air of the suite. He tugged and twisted and moved me to his pleasure, and then the shirt and bra disappeared behind me. “A taste of O’Connor? Why, thank you, I’d love some.”
Dimly I regretted that he couldn’t keep holding my wrists crossed above my head and also slide down my body to lick me, but once he started caressing me with his mouth, I found I wanted my hands in his hair anyway .
“Oh, that’s so good, Archer. More there. Up. A little more . . . oh. God. There.”
“Keep talking,” he murmured against me. “Tell me. Tell me what feels good. Tell me what you want.”
Keep talking? When my mind was overrun with physical sensations? I’d give it a try. “I want . . . I want . . .” I tried.
“What?”
“Your hand. Your fingers. Touch me. Go into me. Like last time.”
He shifted, moving my thighs to his shoulders and throwing one forearm over my hips to keep me still. The other hand disappeared from my sight, and I felt him, soft pressure and then firm pressure and then invasive pressure. I sighed with the bliss as he opened me and slid inside.
“You’re so hot,” he whispered.
“More—more with your tongue. Harder. Come up just a little.” My fists tugged his hair until I had that pressure exactly where I needed it. “There. Just there. God, Archer, that’s it.”
He stroked me from the inside and outside, and when I came, my cry echoed against the cream wallpaper, made the crystals in the chandelier chime gently.
When Archer stood, he carried my knees on his shoulders until I was bent almost double under his kiss. “Taste yourself on me,” he demanded, licking into my mouth. It was wicked and delicious and hot. “You taste so good.”
The roughness of his jeans against my throbbing crotch was almost more than I could bear. “Why do you have so many clothes on?”
“Because,” he said, the amusement in his voice burned away by the intensity of his gaze, “my condoms are still in my kit. If I was naked, I’d be fucking you bareback right now, and that would be . . .” He thrust against me, and we both groaned. “That would be so wrong. ”
I clung to him. “So wrong,” I repeated stupidly. “Where’s your kit?”
He grunted and pulled me against him. Then he stood upright as I clung to him, startled. “Let’s go see where they put my shit.”
“Do you want to put me down?” I wrapped my arms around him and tried to pinch him in half with the cling of my thighs.
He had his hands on my naked ass, his fingers brushing against my anus, and I whimpered. “Feels good? That’s nice. Let’s file that away for now. Here. Condoms. Thank god.”
Archer’s toiletries bag was as big as mine—no wonder he always looked so good—and it held not a string of condoms but a whole box. “Life of the rock star,” I said, smiling at him in the mirror as I looked over my shoulder at the counter.
“You know it,” he replied automatically. He set my ass on the cold counter and grinned when I gasped. “Sorry, beautiful. I’ll get you heated up in just a—” His voice faded as he fought his way out of his jeans. The mirror behind him gave me a view of his naked ass, his pants still bunched up above his knees, and my naked shins flanking him. It was more erotic than pure nudity. It looked like desperate need.
Like overwhelming passion.
And then, without preamble, his sheathed cock was parting the tender, swollen flesh at my center. I gasped and arched backward, tipping my hips to increase his access.
“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned as he slid into me.
“Oh my god.” I braced myself on the counter to hold steady against his invasion. I watched him concentrate, biting his own lip to keep from going too fast. He was so beautiful that I was shocked. I reached out one hand to touch that mouth. “Don’t—don’t bite. No teeth. Don’t hurt those lips. I need—I need them.”
He ducked his head with a smile and tugged me forward until the only thing stopping me from falling were his hips firm against me and his cock pegging me deep inside. “No biting,” he agreed. He winced at the sensations. “O’Connor, I want to last, but . . .”
“Go,” I said. “Go ahead. Do it. Fuck me, Archer. Yes. Yes, harder. Oh, god.”
Watching his excitement was doing powerful things to me. When he came, it sent a shock wave through my nervous system and I came, too, muffling my cry against his neck.
“Don’t,” he said when he had his breath back. “Don’t do that.”
“Did I do something wrong?” I was pressed against his torso, and his hands held my legs up.
“Don’t be quiet when you come. I love to hear you. Love to hear that.”
“I wasn’t quiet.”
“You were. And I want you to make some noise. It’s the best music there is.” He kissed my head and lifted me enough to set me back on the counter, his cock coming out of me. “Hang on. Let me deal with this.”
I was chilly without him, but the sight was worth it. He shrugged out of his shirt and leaned against the counter next to me to tug off his boots. With a shimmy, those sexy jeans came off the long legs, and Archer was naked.
Naked and reflected in many, many mirrors.
“Since we’re in here anyway,” he said, turning to me with a grin, “how does a nice shower sound?”
I stretched, enjoying the way his eyes fell to my body. “Sounds very, very good.”
“Mm.” He kissed each breast—just a quick, affectionate buss—and stepped away. “Look at the controls on this thing. There must be twenty jets. Hey, what’s your body wash of choice?”
In a surreal moment, I had a long and fascinating conversation with a naked Archer Armstrong about beauty products. We both unveiled the inner depth of our toiletry cases, and while his hand stroked my bare ass, we compared deep cleansers, moisturizers, makeup foundations, bronzers, shampoos, and conditioners. He was smart and well-informed and flatteringly interested in my assessment.
I was so turned on.
“I have a mousse I want you to try. I wish I had some here,” I said.
“Tell me.”
We discussed the challenges of hair presentation, and I fleetingly wished I had some way to take notes. He had good ideas and good questions. “You realize,” I said, “that this is the absolutely perfect example of being both interesting and interested, right?”
“Shit, yeah. I mean, if we’d had this conversation on Venice Beach, I wouldn’t have bored you, huh?”
I turned into him, sliding my arms over his shoulders and feeling the silky strength of him. “The date might have ended very differently.”
“Mm. Come on into the shower. Your body wash or mine?”
I had every intention of pleasing him with my mouth, but we got to giggling over the multiple showerheads, which could be directed to pound against some very surprising body parts.
“This would probably be a lot sexier”—Archer chuckled—“if we hadn’t just come.”
“Come twice ,” I corrected. “Me, anyway. This scrub smells amazing. Show me the tube again?”
Once our fingers began to wrinkle, we sat side by side at the adjoining vanities to moisturize our skin and dry our hair. Mine took longer than his, and when my arm got tired of holding the blow-dryer, Archer stood behind me to take over.
And that’s when the warm friendliness turned back to sultry.
His hands on my scalp, stroking down my hair, working my conditioning gel to the tips . . . my spine began to melt. My clit began to tingle. And my eyes were watching him.
He saw me looking in the mirror and smiled. “We look good,” he said simply.
“We really do.”
He nodded, pleased at my descent into the madness of self-satisfied vanity, but how could I help it? I was trapped in a euphoric state.
So, I swiveled on the little padded stool and tugged the towel from his slim hips.
“Oh, hello,” he said, surprised.
Grooming hadn’t turned him on as much as it had me, but that didn’t worry me. This way, I could take his soft penis in my mouth and feel him harden with thrilling speed.
“Shit, O’Connor.” His hands were firmer in my hair, pulling my head toward him. “That feels so damned good. Yeah,” he sighed.
I leaned back far enough to look up at him. “Narrate,” I said. “Tell me what I’m doing. Tell me what I should be doing.”
“You think,” he said, “that it’s not enough to have your mouth on my dick?”
“Tell me. Talk. Make me an Archer poem.”
“Fuck. Like a lyric. O—kay. O’Connor has her lips wrapped around the head of my—oh god, tongue, you’re licking the ridge—fuck, it almost tickles, no don’t stop, so good—down the shaft now, go down the—oh, your tongue, can you go deeper—god, O’Connor, I want to just fuck your mouth—god, your mouth is so hot and wet, the slick is—it’s on my balls, yeah, your hand, cup them—cup them like that, tug just a little when you suck—suck it, suck it deep, fuck, girl, let me see your eyes—you’re so gorgeous like this, your mouth around my—back off now, I’m going to—no, let me, O’Connor, no, honey—oh god, really?”
Triumph washed through me as he came in my mouth. I sucked him dry, loving that I could reduce him to the inarticulate grunts he was giving, curled over my head and alternately clasping and releasing his fingers in my hair.
He straightened, and I laughed at his wide eyes and giddy smile. “Woman, I swear. Jesus. I mean, wow.”
Not a single complete thought in the bunch. That made me proud.
He saw me grinning and caught my chin in his hand. “You’re a devil,” he said. “You’re trying to suck my life essence out of me. Well, go ahead and do your worst. I can take it.” He pulled me up and swayed with me, our loose arms holding each other with relaxed strength. “What do you want?” he asked. “Water? Mouthwash? Can I get you anything?”
I winked at him. “We could both brush our teeth, I guess. What do you use to keep your teeth so white?”
“Let me show you.”
We groomed some more in the warm, steamy bathroom, and then he put his shoulder in my belly and picked me up in a fireman’s carry. I gasped and braced myself against his broad back as he carried me into the bedroom. With his free hand, he yanked down the covers on the vast bed.
He dumped me unceremoniously on the sheets, and I laughed as I bounced.
“Do you know,” he said, “you told me two ways you were going to make use of me, and we haven’t tried either one yet?”
He collapsed beside me, and I cradled his head on my chest, stroking the freshly shaved-and-moisturized face. “We have time, don’t we? It’s only Thursday evening, and our tryst lasts until your show on Saturday, right?”
“Right.” He stretched and settled against me. One hand cupped my breast idly. “I still haven’t seen the lingerie yet either.”
I chuckled. “You’re just going to take it off me again.”
“Yeah, but I still want to see it. ”
An idea came to me, and I nudged him off so I could sit up. “Tell you what. You can dress me in the lingerie, and I’ll take you out to dinner.”
“You want me to dress you?”
“Bra and panties. Think you can manage it, Romeo?”
He sat up too. “Go get ’em.” I made sure to swing my hips as I walked to the dressing room, and he called after me, “But I’m taking you to dinner.”
The maids had put the set in the top drawer of the lingerie chest. All my sports bras and cotton panties would be demoted to lower drawers once they got back from the laundry. I caught up the wisps of silk and lace and went back to toss them on Archer’s naked lap. “I don’t mind buying dinner,” I said.
“I mind.” The subject seemed closed as Archer was distracted by looking at the underwear. “These are so delicate.” He held the thong up with one finger, the length of the bra now draping over a cock beginning to stir to life.
“They’ll hold,” I assured him. I stood before him, hands on my hips. “Well?”
“Mm,” he sighed, eyeing me. “Okay. Hang on, let me . . . okay. Step in.”
I put one hand on the warm nakedness of his shoulder to balance as I lifted first one leg and then the other. He slid the silk up my legs, making me feel infinitely precious and beautiful. His hands smoothed the fabric over my hips and he turned me to ensure the back had fallen successfully between my cheeks. “Open your legs. There. Now that’s perfect.”
I felt his kiss on both sides of the thong. He turned me back again and pressed another kiss to the lavender satin over my mound. “You could let your curls grow out, you know,” he said. “I bet they’re really pretty.”
I stroked his head. “I did an entire post on waxing. It was very popular. The first time is horrific, but it’s not so bad if you keep up with it. ”
“Poor little pussy,” he crooned, nuzzling my belly. “Poor O’Connor, to hurt in this soft, beautiful place.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested against me. I marveled at his tenderness and ran my fingers through his hair.
He sighed and sat up. “I’m taking you to get some Chicago deep-dish pizza.”
I laughed. “There’s no way you’d eat that. Neither would I. We both need to look trim, and pizza does not fit in with that at all.”
“Tonight it does. We’re eating pizza. Both of us. A lot of pizza.”
He held up the bra, seemingly confused by its configuration.
I grinned. “I’ll bet you’ve taken a lot of those off, but can you figure out how to put one on?”
Archer stood, concentrating. His cock, ignored, wilted as he focused on the straps and cups. “These first? No, must be the part around the back . . . no. No, let’s do the straps first. Put your arm through here.”
“You’re sure?”
“What? Oh. Hang on.” He turned the bra around and then, without being prompted, flipped it so the lace was on the outside. “Okay, arm through here. And this arm here . . . and then . . .” He adjusted the cups before fastening the back clasp, but in the end he had me dressed and covered. He uttered a crow of victory. “You look perfect, O’Connor! Damn! Do I get to choose what you wear on the outside?”
“Down, little boy. I think I can handle that part. Get some clothes on. Do you have any idea where we’re going for our pizza orgy?”
I had the outfit I’d worn on the plane: a straight knit skirt in black, low suede ankle boots, and a cream cowl-neck sweater. It would look good with my purple jacket .
Archer, of course, was dressed in white and looked astonishingly handsome. Heavy cable-knit sweater, white khakis, and appealingly tattered white high-tops. Absolutely edible.
I smiled at the thought. We’d both experienced the edibility of the other, and he was delicious in my mouth. Could the pizza even come close?