Chapter Four
Her heart pounded, and not from walking up three flights of stairs to her room. She wished now she’d splurged on the suite, but she hadn’t known how long she’d be at the hotel—it depended on how quickly she found a short-term rental. But as soon as she opened the door, the elegant king-size bed dominated.
How did women do this so casually? There was nothing casual about the way her body was acting. She felt hot, achy, and uncomfortable in her too-small skin. She also felt hungry but not for food.
O put the glass of port on one of the nightstands and untied the laces of his thick-soled boots. She’d not noticed them before. They looked like the real deal, like he was going to command troops into battle, and that should not make her hot, should it?
Maybe I’m a closet pervert?
“You’re going to need to get some cowboy boots if you stay in Marietta,” she noted, nervously, and immediately wished she’d kept her big mouth shut because he paused in the act of placing his boots carefully by the door.
“I have cowboy boots,” he said, peeling off his socks and placing them by his boots. “A friend bought them for all of us, but I’m not staying in Marietta.”
She could barely swallow. “Me neither.”
He looked at her, his gaze heated honey, and she would have never guessed ‘brown’ eyes could have so many colors and expressions or be so fascinating.
“Your turn,” he said, stalking across the room and guiding her to a wingback chair. Knees weak she sat.
“To do what?” She could barely breathe.
He sat back on his haunches, and carefully slipped off her ankle boots and tucked them under the chair. He eased off her socks, his hands cupping her feet, warming them, and then he began a slow massage.
“Oh, my God,” Jory moaned low in her throat as pleasurable sensations rolled up her leg to her core, sparking fire. Even her tummy flipped and heated like he’d started an engine.
The man was magic. He continued to massage, his thumbs pressing on pressure points that shot sensations through her body like a pinball ricocheting and lighting her up. If she hadn’t been seated, she would have fallen.
The whole time he touched her, his gaze remained on her face as if reading each nuance, and helpless to look away, she stared back, even though she’d never experienced anything so intense with anyone in her life. She felt like she needed to hold on to something and that he needed to stop before she burned up, but she didn’t want to miss anything.
He paused and reached for the glass of port, and she moistened her dry lips wondering what would happen next. Nerves danced. Would he have her sip the port? She had no idea what to expect, yet didn’t want to be impaired by alcohol so she couldn’t remember every second with this spectacular masculine specimen.
He dipped his finger in the port and smoothed it over her lips.
“Taste it,” he breathed.
Jory licked her lips and chased his finger, sucking it into her mouth. His breathing changed and his eyes briefly closed before they snapped open. A flush skirted the sharp angle of his cheekbones, and she stared fascinated.
She’d had sex before. Twice, but it had never been sexy or playful. He kissed her fingertip and took a sip of wine. He raised one brow as he leaned forward.
Oh. He was asking to kiss her. With the taste of port on his tongue. He was taking charge, inviting her into an intimate moment, which was shocking and thrilling because Jory usually gave the orders in her professional life.
She was not in charge, and she didn’t want to be because she had no idea what to do, but she felt safe. Hesitantly, she leaned forward close enough to kiss him, but she paused, scared to ruin the moment. She’d never liked kissing. She wasn’t sure what she should do. And her body always felt in the way. Clumsy. She was so short, and yet seated with O crouching, they fit.
The minute his lips touched hers, his tongue slid teasingly along the seam of her lips, which parted. The port tasted like liquid gold, burst of honey, fruit and sin. Jory deepened their connection so she could finally sink her fingers in his thick hair that had teased her all night as she’d wondered at its texture and marveled at the lighter colors and sun streaks when compared to her dark messy waves and curls she was never quite sure what to do with.
His hands smoothed down her back to her butt, and he lifted her and switched their positions so that he was seated, and she straddled him, all without breaking contact with her mouth.
“Mad skills,” she complimented lightly, biting down on his lower lip that had fascinated her all night.
“Just getting started,” he murmured against her mouth, and then their lips met again, and again, and Jory realized that she had never, ever been kissed before. Not really.
Straddling him was unbearably hot, and before she could think too much about it, she shed her cardigan, and then her shirt.
“Whoa.” O’s face lit in appreciation as if she had breasts that men would ogle, though she definitely didn’t.
He smiled, his palms cupping her small offerings while his thumbs teased her dark nipples into stiff peaks that sent shivers coursing through her body.
“You’re exquisite, J,” he murmured, eyes glittering.
He lifted her a little, angling her back, and his mouth explored her breasts, and Jory’s rare, late-night self-explorations had never come close to what O made her feel. He was magic. And for the first time in her life, she felt beautiful and cherished.
So pathetic that a man who didn’t even know her first name had the power to show her the world.
Jory shoved aside the self-reflection. This was her shot, and she was taking it. Total hot man who knew what he was doing, and she wasn’t going to miss out by being shy or insecure. Shedding her past and her doubts, she bunched his T-shirt in her hand.
“Yes?” She asked for his consent.
“Affirmative.” He ducked his head so she could whisk it over his head.
“Wow,” she breathed, stunned. She’d seen a lot of male bodies in her residency and career, but nothing, not anything like O’s.
“Who’s the real exquisite one?” she asked rhetorically.
Her appreciative gaze feasted on his golden skin, the hard flex of muscle, the tats that covered one shoulder and pec and scrawled down both arms.
She caught her breath. He looked like a sculpture. He could be in a museum—the perfect male. As a model, he could sell anything, and she’d buy it.
“You don’t even look real.” She hesitated, nervous to touch all that fabulousness. She’d never be the same.
“I’m very real. And I’m right here.”
And she could feel the most real, pushy part of him large and hard against her core as she straddled this Nirvana of a man.
She’d never been with a man with tats. But looking at O, she’d never really been with a man.
“I hope you’re not sleepy,” she said. “This is one night and I want every minute.”
His smile was a little lopsided, but it was the biggest one she’d seen from him yet, and her heart warmed.
“Greedy,” he said. “But so am I. Definitely don’t intend to waste what remains of the night with sleep,” he said. “All yours to command.”
Jory had had no idea what to do with this much man, but her life had been one of loneliness, hardship and sorrow. Hard work and determination had saved her. This was her one stroke of luck, and she was seizing it.
Feeling inspired she picked up the glass of port. “I’ll drink to that,” she said softly, tipping a little of the amber liquid in the hollow of his throat and licking him clean as droplets raced down his muscularly defined chest. He took the glass as she explored his body—licking, kissing, stroking, nipping—until he groaned and strained as she rode his denim-clad erection.
His hands gripped her body with thrilling purpose, and their breath tangled. Jory felt like she was in a movie, and she wanted more. She reached for the button on his jeans, but hesitated.
“Yes,” he gutted out, his hands there first tugging down her jeans and panties with nimble fingers. She was clumsier, her hands shaking, and it was he who unbuttoned his jeans and carefully worked the zipper. His glory sprang free.
“Is that commando?” She gasped, the slang term finding purchase in her brain. She’d never once imagined saying or seeing anything so sexy.
His laugh slicked more heat between her thighs, and fascinated, she tried to slide off of him so she could taste what he was offering. She’d never gone down on a man, hadn’t once been tempted, but now her mouth watered, and she stared fascinated that a part of a stranger’s anatomy could tempt and captivate her attention so fully.
Instead, his hands were on her hips, and he pushed her to standing, her feet on either side of his thighs on the chair.
“Damn you’re strong.”
“Couldn’t resist this view.”
Before Jory could begin to feel embarrassed, he breathed against her shivering core.
She moaned. “What…?”
“Hold on.”
To what? She was standing in a hotel room on an antique chair, facing a circular guilt mirror with a patina of age that just may or may not be real, and then O licked along the seam of her vaginal lips, and she squawked in surprise, and her body danced, shocked by the intense sensations his exploratory lick unleashed.
And then his mouth got serious. He held her in place, and Jory gripped the curved cherry sides of the chair while O’s tongue, lips and teeth utterly ravaged her, and all she could do was shake and make animal sounds, and she didn’t care because never, ever, ever had she felt so good.
“I…” She bucked against him. He should stop. She was going to come, and no orgasm had ever built to this level. She might truly detonate and injure him. It was frightening. “I don’t know what to do,” she gasped out, wanting him to stop but not wanting him to stop with even more ferocity.
“Let go, J. I got you.”
His hands played with her breasts, while his skilled mouth brought her to a sensuous crest. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, expression carnal, and her eyes glittered like they’d been sprinkled with stars.
“I want to watch you come,” he demanded looking up, and his fingers replaced his tongue, and Jory, who hadn’t thought there could possibly be more, learned how wrong she was.
She white-knuckled the chair with one hand and pressed her forearm against her mouth to hold back the scream that ripped out of her throat. Her vision fuzzed, and her knees gave out, but O caught her, eased her back on his lap, and she melted against him, breathed in his slightly earthy, masculine scent that held a hint of something citrusy and spice—orange, cinnamon, bergamot? She didn’t know, but his scent careened through her, making her dizzy and drunk with longing.
His heart slammed against hers, and it astonished her that he seemed as aroused as she was.
“I…” She kissed his neck. “Give me a sec and I can return the favor.”
She felt him smile against her cheek.
“It’s not quid pro quo,” he murmured licking along her ear, and she shivered in pleasure.
“I want to taste you,” she said. “I want you to feel as good as I do right now.”
“Who’s to say I don’t?”
Jory, who had so little experience with men, but who had heard plenty of women in classrooms, breakrooms, locker rooms and at nursing stations over the years, discuss their bed partners’ sexual appetites, prowess and most often, lack of skills, wondered.
“I think I’ve been missing out,” she confessed, starting to get her second wind.
“We’ve got a lot to make up for tonight then.” He kissed his way along her jaw, and Jory tilted to give him better access.
Naked, she slid herself along the length of him once or twice and then with more intent. His groan was earthy, and she cranked up from a post-orgasm buzz of three to a needy eleven-plus instantly.
“You feel huge and amazing,” she said happily. “Condom.”
“Already on,” he said. She looked down. Dang, he was smooth and prepared. Of course he was.
“That’s my job.” She wanted to touch him. Feel his power.
“You can ask nicely again next time.”
And even though there wasn’t going to be a next time, the words thrilled her, and for a second she allowed herself to imagine her world with this man in it. His size. His presence. The way he moved. The way he looked at her and listened when she spoke. His hint of a smile that lit his golden eyes.
She angled up and over him, and even though his tongue and fingers had already been inside of her, this felt magically intimate. A connection she hadn’t realized she’d even wanted.
Gazes fused, she lowered herself, reveling in the way he stretched and filled her. She wanted to hold on to this moment, even though the need to move, and feel all that pressure and friction pushing authoritatively into her body, stretched her nerves to snapping.
“This is perfect,” she breathed. “You feel perfect. Perfection.”
Something skittered across his expression, and he closed his eyes, and then hands on her hips, he angled her slightly back and began to thrust into her, and Jory let go, put her brain on pause and instead savored the hunger and sensation that clawed through her.
*
Calhoun sprawled onhis stomach, completely sated and relaxed for the first time he could remember. They’d had sex twice, ordered room service, and he’d eaten a burger and felt his strength rushing back. J’s sweet, small, perfect breasts brushed along his spine as she leaned over him, her finger tracing a pattern on his skin.
He smiled into the sheets. The woman was obsessed with his body. Yeah, he was jacked from years of sports and keeping his body machine-ready for every mission, but she hummed when she touched him, and her fingers and lips felt reverent. Calhoun had never felt particularly special, even though he’d been a standout athlete in high school and college. And as a soldier, he’d been promoted quickly until he took a different track to become a K9 handler and part of Special Forces.
“You are so beautifully made,” she whispered. “I can almost believe in God again.”
He rolled over and pulled her on top of him. Even though she was so much smaller, she fit. He was becoming rather obsessed with her compact body and cute, pert breasts that didn’t need a bra. He imagined taking her out to dinner and her wearing a silky button-up blouse that she’d leave mostly unbuttoned. They would chat in a public place, and he could watch all the tantalizing expressions play in her eyes and across her expressive face, and all the time he’d wonder if he could catch a glimpse of her nipples, and answer his question—would they harden into tight buds he’d be able to see through the fabric when she’d feel his hot gaze?
He’d always thought women wearing low-cut blouses were sexy AF.
But he and J had only agreed on a night. He couldn’t change the rules. He had nothing to offer her. No date. No dinner.
But we could.
The thought punched through his sexual haze. He didn’t have to head back to base. He didn’t have to head anywhere. Other than his obligation to Jace, he was free. For the first time in his life, he was free. He’d ripped off the chains of family expectations and been cut off as much as his father could legally cut him off. The son. Finally after four daughters. Premature due to his mother falling off a horse. Colicky. ‘The runt,’ his dad had called him as he’d pushed harder for his son to achieve and to toughen up.
He was probably lucky his father hadn’t drowned him in one of the cattle-watering stations or a vat of pesticide sprays stored for the hundreds of acres of vineyard.
He’d probably thought about it.
And all the anger and bitterness he’d shoved aside for the past fifteen years reared up like a kraken.
But then J was there, taming the beast.
“Do you have more stamina than the average man?” she asked him so earnestly, already palming his erection that preened at her praise.
He laughed. This woman had made him laugh more in one night than he had during college and his service.
“I’m not sure how to answer that.”
“And that’s another beautiful thing about you,” she said quietly. “You don’t puff out your chest and boast. If I looked like you in female form, I’d be strutting down Main Street naked.”
“You would not.” He laughed again, and then fell back on the bed as she sucked his length into her mouth.
Her mouth was heated heaven and felt incredible. Her uninhibited pleasure blowing him was another fascination because at times she seemed shy and inexperienced, and yet she was earthy, curious, and savored his body.
“Oh God.” He breathed through his nose, and tried to hold on to his thread of control. It was past two in the morning, and he didn’t want any hotel guests complaining.
“You’re having a religious experience too.” She looked up at him cheekily, over his throbbing tip. She looked beautiful—eyes shining, lips plumply glistening, and her a beautiful bronze in the filtered moonlight. She held his gaze and licked a circle around his tip.
“I love the way you taste,” she said. “I’d wondered.”
“What?”
Before he could begin to process her comment, she’d engulfed him again, and his brain short-circuited as she brought him to the brink again and again until he was begging—yeah him, Otis Calhoun Lael-Miller V, begging for a woman’s touch.
“I need to be inside you,” he bit out, reaching for the last condom.
He’d have to buy some in the morning.
No. Tonight was it.
He paused then reached for the square package. He’d make this last time with J count. “I got it.”
Calhoun always gloved himself up. Always. Never trusted a woman to do it. He placed the condom over his tip, and then J was there, rolling it down with her mouth. She checked the fit, and he stared at her, stunned by her dexterity. He still couldn’t get a read on her—shy and inexperienced or a femme fatale? His body no longer felt like it belonged to him, but more of an extension of J’s as she hummed and, straddling him, lowered herself with exquisite control.
And then he began to move, deeper, harder, faster, feeling more desperate than he could remember feeling, but convinced that if he just kept reaching, striving, he could arrive at the place he wanted, no needed to go.
*
Jory sighed. Thishad been the best night of her life. Now she understood why there was such a fuss about sex. But she’d never thought that she would share in the experience. She’d imagined emotions would be involved. Trust. Years together. But somehow O had broken through all the barriers she hadn’t ever realized she’d erected.
She’d wanted to make some changes in her life. Tonight had definitely been a sprint toward a new beginning, but she wasn’t so na?ve that she thought she could pop on over to Grey’s Saloon anytime she was in the mood and replicate what she’d experienced with Big O.
“Let me get rid of the condom,” O murmured near her ear as she sprawled on his chest.
“I’m not sure I can move,” she said. “And I’m certain I’m not the first woman to be paralyzed by your skills. Your fabulousness should be patented. No, bronzed.”
“I think that’s you.”
The hint of laughter in his voice warmed her. No one thought she was sexy.
“Mmmmmmm.” She kissed his salty neck that tasted like him and her and sex.
“You are unique, J.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She had to blink back tears.
Don’t be stupid.
To stave off the rush of emotion—she wouldn’t be that woman, the clingy one always wanting more—she slid off of his wilting erection.
“Ummmmm…” She stared at his naked penis.
“What?” He jack-knifed to sitting and swore. “Where is it?”
Jory rolled left then right. They’d been even more vigorous than the first two times, but it wasn’t like she was a cast member of Cirque du Soleil or anything.
“Oh. Ummmmm…” she repeated herself as a horrible thought hit.
He swore again and reached for her.
“I got it.” She swatted his hand away, ironic because bits of him had been inside of her all night and she hadn’t objected once.
She rolled off the bed and wondered if she could make it to the bathroom with any sort of dignity and privacy.
“Excuse me,” she said coldly when he followed. She’d had to fish tampons out of her vagina over the years when the strings had gotten tucked up or tangled, and she didn’t need his help on this expedition.
“What the hell?”
Even as she made it to the bathroom, he was behind her.
“Tell me the condom is not inside you.” His large hand was on her shoulder.
“I’m going to check.” Jory pushed at his chest, waiting for something to splat out on the bathroom floor and a little relieved but freaked out when it didn’t.
She closed the door in his face and locked it.
“Did you find it?”
“Calm down,” she muttered. She could feel him hovering almost like his energy was trying to bleed through the door. Jeez, did he think she’d planned this awkward moment? Or that she was so desperate for a man that she’d execute a condom mishap with a stranger?
Yeah, he was hot, but she didn’t even know his first name, and she definitely didn’t want to now.
Jory sat on the toilet, legs spread wide and heard the soft plop. Then she peed.
“Got it,” she said.
“Let me see.”
Seriously?
“Was the ejaculation mostly still inside the condom or…?” He sounded like he was leaning against the door now.
“It’s not show and tell,” she said, his tension amping up hers. “And there are millions of sperm. This is why condoms are only ninety-eight percent effective.”
She clearly heard him swear.
Damn. She closed her eyes. Of course she couldn’t hold on to anything wonderful and beautiful for even five minutes before it turned and bit her on her ass.
“And even if a women is optimally fertile, there’s still only a thirty percent chance of conception.”
“That high?” He swore again.
Jory flushed the toilet, washed her hands and then turned on the shower. It would be fine. He could grab his clothes and leave and she’d…she’d…she racked her brain from where she was in her cycle. Day eleven.
Of course she was.
That didn’t mean one of those little suckers would get lucky. But she was young and healthy.
“And only a thirty percent chance of making it to eight weeks in the first trimester,” she raised her voice over the water to reassure him. After eight weeks, the chances of miscarriage plummeted, but she didn’t share that.
She stepped under the hot shower.
Damn. She could practically feel a sperm soldier racing toward its destiny. She never should have said that thing about believing or not believing in God. It was like her deeply Catholic mother and grandmother were admonishing her from over a thousand miles away. And probably her ancestors were shaking their fists from their graves.
Jory hated that she was going to wash away his scent, but she didn’t want to be reminded of the awkward way her night of stepping out of her lonely, yet safe comfort zone had ended with him acting like she’d done something wrong.
A baby? She’d never imagined having one or even having the opportunity. And she shouldn’t entertain the idea now. She didn’t even know his name. She’d never see him again. He definitely didn’t want a kid. He was pissed. And she wasn’t where she wanted to be financially, yet.
It was okay. She was a doctor. She could get Plan B. Stop ovulation. Or…she didn’t want to think about the other options.
She squirted some of the high-end body wash on her hands and closed her eyes as a sob ripped out of her chest. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Besides O was gone. Why would he stick around when her father, who’d had a loving wife and daughter—desperate for the attention he lavished on her brother—had left her behind years ago?
She didn’t hear either door open, but then O was there in the shower, lathering her up with scented body wash, his hands gentle.
“Sorry for the freak-out,” he said after a long while, his chin on her head while the water rained down and steamed around them. “I lost my cool. Not acceptable. I’m really sorry, J. That’s never happened before so I was caught off guard. It’s not your fault. Protection is my responsibility, and I take it really seriously.”
Can the speech.
Of course he sounded like the perfect male now. Too late.
“So do I,” she said. “I’m responsible for myself.” She turned around and looked up at him. “How did you get in here? I locked the door.”
“I have skills.” His smile ghosted, but didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry I was such a jerk, J.” He cupped her jaw and with his thumb traced the cleft in her chin. “My reactions are a little off. I just left the service. Still pretty feral.”
He was a soldier?
Her tummy flipped. The body made sense now. The boots. The tats. And his whole enigmatic, ready-for-anything vibe. He served people, as did she.
“I’m not in town for long, J. I’m catching up with some friends, and I need to do a favor for…” He sighed, and pulled her tightly against his body.
“I’m not a good bet. I don’t have a job right now. Don’t have a place to live or a plan. But I got money saved. I don’t know how long I’ll be in town. A few days maybe more if I’m dumber than Jace thought, but we need to stay in touch even if it’s against the rules we set, J. I won’t leave you hanging if…”
He sounded so determined. She could picture him stoic, going off to war, willing to step up and sacrifice. Be the martyr. She wouldn’t do that to him or to the remote possibility of a child.
“Where are you in your cycle?” He kissed the top of her head.
She could imagine the words he wasn’t saying, although men were surprisingly ignorant about women’s reproductive systems and cycles. Ironic since they spent so much time and energy trying to get inside women’s bodies.
“Pretty safe,” she lied. “But I can take Plan B. It delays ovulation.”
He didn’t respond. She felt the distance like ice down her back. She squirted body wash on her hands and stroked down his body to touch him one last time and delay the inevitable loneliness and isolation.