Chapter Fourteen

A. Wellborn’s fingers laced with mine while we walked to his apartment. Even though I liked his touch, I could barely contain all my jumpy thoughts and nervy emotions. I stood by as he opened the front door, and with a hand set to my waist, he ushered me inside.

Lucky attacked us. I scooped him up and cradled him to my chest, brushing my nose against the top of his in an Eskimo kiss. “Hey, kee-cat. You’re sooo soft.”

A. Wellborn had fulfilled his fatherly duties by responsibly caring for Lucky. His fur felt not only softer, but cleaner from the frequent brushings. I carried him to the couch to play, keeping an eye on A. Wellborn who climbed the loft stairs and disappeared in the bedroom.

Upon his return, I noticed he’d pulled off his coat and tie. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to the elbow, exposing the man hair covering his wrists. The top shirt button had been unfastened. Lordy, I swallowed deeply. He looked so sexy like throw-him-on-the-ground-and-roll-around-like-heathens sexy.

He crossed to the media center and turned on his iPod stuck in a sound dock. A Chris Botti song, one of my favorites, filled the room with its sexy jazzy sound. Arousal instantly covered my body from head-to-toe. Feeling self-conscious, I pressed my nose in the cat’s fur to cover my translucent imaginings.

A. Wellborn stood by the music player all the while silently observing me.

Totally aware, I hoped he thought terrific things about me like the ones I had about him. After a while, he made his way to the sofa and casually sat next to me, setting his arm on top of the sofa cushion.

How does he do that? How can he act so calm, cool, and collected? I felt ready to pop like a balloon, and he seemed so at ease.

“Hey, bud,” he said to Lucky and removed him from my lap.

After a bit of t-l-c, A. Wellborn released our pal to the floor. Scooting closer, he placed his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. His other fingers trailed in slow gradual stages from my neck, along my chest to rest between my breasts, and further along to my waist.

He said, “Now, I can tell you how wonderful you look in the dress.”

My senses jumped a notch higher. Deep inside, I understood what he’d offered. And I wanted what was coming.

I sensed a flush covering my cheeks as I stared at my hands resting in my lap. First, he’d said he liked me in the dress. Later, I looked stunning. And now, now, I looked wonderful, the very words a girl hoped to hear. Nothing would ever sound better. Score one for little black dresses everywhere.

He took my smile as one to proceed with his unspoken intentions. His hand moved caressingly along my arm, to my wrist. Lifting my hand, he kissed my palm tenderly.

Biting my lower lip, I suppressed an immense cry.

His finger turned my head with firm gentleness toward him.

I lifted my gaze slowly to find lust and desire lighting his.

He shifted closer and placed light kisses near the corners of my eyes and pressed more along my temple. He paused and drew back for a moment as he stared.

With warm awareness, I noted he looked at me like I was a beauty contestant.

His mouth dropped to mine and dragged against my lips. His tongue pushed gently, yet firmly, to tangle with mine. My hands circled his shoulders and brought our kiss deeper. Our breathing came faster. Through an inhale, my sigh slipped out.

After a few soft, teasing moments, he broke off, and ever-so-caringly, he eased me back into the couch cushions.

Overwhelming feelings of possession obsessed me. I had to have more of him. Grasping his hair, I pulled him to my mouth as his body slipped on top of me. Our tongues touched and swiped. A pulsing hunger, a needy throb, grew inside my girl parts. A. Wellborn’s right hand passed across my breasts; my nipples tightened to hard knots. I broke away when my back arched in the age-old sexual response.

“Ah,” I murmured. Our hips wriggled closer. His mouth fastened on mine. Eventually, I managed to break the kiss, panting. His lips followed my slanted neck—from my ear, to my throat, and lower to the upper curve of my breasts. They desperately desired his mouth on them.

After more shifting and pressing of our bodies, we became fully aware of male and female parts connecting. He was hard, and I was wet.

My dress had crept up my thighs as my body moved around. He nudged aside the little black dress’ strap to expose a shoulder. His other hand rested on my knee. But it didn’t stay still for long. He slid it under the hem and up the outside of my thigh to finger underneath the elastic of my underwear.

The thudding sensation I experienced grew stronger and stronger, like a bubble close to popping. I cried, “OhmyGod.”

He murmured into my ear, “I’ve waited a long time for you, ever since I can remember.”

Pausing, I wasn’t sure what he meant by “waited a long time” and “ever since I can remember.” But the phrases sounded terribly romantic, something like Cinderella would hear from her Prince. Aware he rested lightly above me, I gazed at his striking face painted with longing. My fingers caressed his cheek.

He bent, his lips nibbling my throat again. His right hand moved and stroked the length of my arm. “Hattie, let’s go upstairs.”

His voice wrapped around me like a favorite blanket my grandmother had made. I didn’t need persuading. I knew he’d planned this rendezvous. And to be totally honest, I’d planned for my own special evening with him. The undeniable sexual attraction mounting between us had convinced me it would only be a matter of time before we ended up in bed. If we were at my place, the outcome would have been the same.

He wanted me.

I wanted him.

Pretty simple.

Standing, A. Wellborn extended his hand and helped me rise. Hand in hand, we climbed the stairs, not speaking, just letting a shared synergy link us. At the top, I looked his way, and without saying a word, sensed he understood. More. In that moment, I knew how much he valued me. And he would comply with thought and tenderness.

His bedroom appeared neat, typical of his fashion. A corner of the gray-and-navy plaid comforter had been thrown back to reveal white sheets. I gave a small, pleased smile as I observed his meticulous effort. A bedside lamp had been dimmed low and the seductive sounds of jazz trumpet floated up into the loft.

His mouth touched the back of my neck, leaving gentle kisses which trailed to my shoulder. I stepped out of my heels. They’d done a good job.

With intentional care, he slowly unzipped the little black dress. A push sent it with a silky swish to pool on the floor.

Suddenly, timid inner feelings—should I? shouldn’t I?—overcame me.

Little-by-little, he turned me to face him. He gasped. “I like pink.”

I liked pink, too.

Sexy undies were way too flamboyant for someone as conservative as me. I kinda liked the idea of days-of-the-week panties, thinking they would be easy to track. However, a special occasion dress deserved special occasion underwear. Jenny had an advantage in knowing the right sales people at Tuckers. She’d presented me a pink lacy bra and matching itty bitty panties for my birthday last year.

When I put on the lacy underthings, I knew exactly what I was doing.

I needed to thank Jenny later.

However, the admiration of the bra seemed short lived as A. Wellborn’s arms reached around my back. I closed my eyes, dropping my forehead to his shoulder and sensed him unsnapping the clasp. When my body straightened, I felt the tickle as the bra disloyally dropped to my wrist. A slight flip of my hand and it landed on the floor.

“Beautiful,” he said in a low sexy voice as his gaze scoured my body.

Again, my breasts ached for his mouth. My fingers fumbled the buttons of his starched white shirt. After tossing the garment aside, he enveloped me and pulled me closer for more. My hands took in the warmth radiating from his skin, the moisture on his back, the intimacy of his big body. God help me. No feeling was better than the sensation of my man on my naked skin. “What a man.”

He laughed softly. “Thanks.”

Oops. “I can’t believe I said that.”

“Not something I hear every day. I can’t believe you’re in my arms.”

Neither could I and never wanted the moment to end. Our gazes focused on each other as he guided me to the bed and pressed me into its comfort.

He shifted to stretch out next to my side and urged my head to rest on his shoulder. His hand smoothed across my waist.

My hands played across his hard chest lightly covered with crisp, dark hair. Our kisses resumed the intimate exploration of each other.

Taking all my moaning and groaning as an encouraging sign to continue, he rose to his hip, and his mouth located my right nipple, fastened on, and sucked, pulling it taut.

“OhmyGod!” He must have taken my cry as a yes and moved to the left one. In my delight, I called, “Don’t stop.”

Thankfully, he excelled in following directions.

In due course, I opened my eyes to watch his face. I traced a hand the length of his neck and flowed down the span of his arm, stopping to tug slightly on the arm hair. I continued to explore his body, moving to his stomach and then under the pant’s belt, under the undies’ elastic, my fingers tangling in the fluff covering his belly.

He dropped his head.

His groan almost sounded like he was being tortured. “You like?” I asked with a teasing smile, hoping the question sounded seductive.

“Ah...yes.”

So going lower, I repeated the move, and he moaned again. Obviously, he liked what I was doing to him a lot and generously repeated the same moves on me.

“Me...too.” I pushed my heels into the mattress. As the tension inside me ratcheted, my body swung from one hip to the other. Our touching deepened even further. The shimmery emotion escalated, and our kisses became wet, sloppy, hungry, fiery.

His manhands slid the length of my back and under the lacy, pink panties where he lightly grasped my hips, drawing us closer.

A thick maleness pressed against my femaleness. Oh my. He’s ready. He touched a sensitive spot, and suddenly, I transformed into the most beautiful, wonderful, sexually charged woman on earth.

Sensing the moment, he pushed off my underwear, gradually, deliberately, slowly. With his fingers, he resumed exploring the spot between my legs. A gush wetted his hand. Embracing the passionate sex goddess within me, once again, my back arched in response. Stars appeared.

“Now,” I commanded and whipped off his belt. His pants were next. Lastly, went the cute whitey-tighties.

His body was firm and strong, yet his skin smooth, covered with hair which caused teasing sensations when brushing against my breasts. His arms wrapped around me, sharing the heat of intimacy.

Nothing felt quite like a stripped man. Never had my favorite chocolate-covered peanut candy been this satisfying.

Naked to naked, male part to female part, we kissed, oohed and awed, gasped and clawed our way to the point we needed the final, but most important, element—the condom.

He rolled one on and returned to settle between my splayed thighs. We were so involved in exploring each other, that at first, I didn’t feel a soft slap on the top of my head. After another and another and a fourth, I rotated my head from side-to-side. Why is he hitting me? Is this some kind of sex game?

The annoying pats persisted, and ultimately, claimed my interest. My eyes fluttered open to determine why A. Wellborn hit my head. Instead, I found him giving lots of undivided lapping attention to my breasts. Watching him, I arced my body. “OhmyGod.”

He murmured, “Good?”

“Y-yes,” I said, closing my eyes to take it all in.

Another slap.

What the hell? Who multi-tasks during lovemaking?

Looking again, I found his hands weren’t on my head. They were tweaking the tips. What the hell is going on? What’s slapping my head?

Now, with my concentration quite diverted, I tilted my gaze toward the headboard. I bowed my back even farther for another look, and there, high on the pillow, sat Lucky. Lucky, the rat cat culprit, with suspended paw as he prepared for another whack.

“Stop it.” I flapped a hand in a small shoo-shoo motion, hoping to provoke the cat to go away and no more coitus interruptus.

No go. “Pupppppupppppupppppppppupppp,” went Lucky’s purr instead.

“Stop,” I called again.

A. Wellborn paused, resting his face on my shoulder. He inhaled deep heavy breaths. “I-don’t-want-to-stop.”

“Me, neither.” Another slap. My arms flailed and swatted around my head like I chased a herd of mosquitoes. “Stop it,” I ordered. “Not you...” meaning A. Wellborn. “The cat.”

My body rotated ever-so-slightly to the left, and then the right which joggled A. Wellborn’s position on top of me. My hand connected with a furry rump. “Stop. It.”

The headline news was the cat jumped off the bed. The blah news was our lovemaking drew to an unscheduled pit stop when I heard a buzzing noise. My gaze flitted around the room, searching for the poorly timed sound which could only come from a phone, and it wasn’t my ringtone. My phone was tucked in my handbag which I’d left downstairs.

He said, “Oh, hell.”

Our rendezvous positively screeched to a halt.

He rolled off me, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. After grabbing his cell phone and glancing at the screen, he snapped it open. “Wellborn.”

Who is more important than me? Sitting up, I tucked the sheet around me. My forehead rested on my bent knees as I collected the unsatisfied throbs quaking throughout my body. I underwent the ol’ three is a crowd experience. A. Wellborn, the cat, and whoever called his cellphone were way too many disruptions.

“’scuse me,” I said, tugging the sheet from under him. Regretfully, resignedly, and a little pissed, I collected my scattered clothing from the floor and skimmed to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind me. With a blotchy face and a fully aroused body, I tried with shaky hands to tidy my person. After rinsing a washcloth in cool water, I pressed it to my neck and arms.

“You stupid ass, you wanted this,” I berated myself. “No harm done. Now go back to his room and grab him.” But I couldn’t do it. My embarrassment held me back.

Black smudges were wiped away with a tissue. After which, I finger-combed my hair, then stopped, knowing nothing would help bed head. Does it matter anyway? Somehow, I managed to put on my bra and dress, but not my underwear. With frantic moves, I scrambled around the bathroom floor for the dropped undies with no luck. Going commando was so not me.

“Where are my panties?” I searched again for the missing lingerie, but couldn’t locate them. With a final glance in the mirror and followed by a half-ass shrug, I surrendered.

I peered around the bathroom door to find A. Wellborn gone. Tiptoeing through the empty room, I picked up my shoes, sat on the edge of the bed, and put them on. I searched under his bed, through the sheets and comforter for my lost underwear. No luck.

At the loft’s landing, I looked over the railing and found him in the living area, staring out the apartment’s front picture window. He’d dressed, the shirt tail hanging out in a rumpled suggestive way, causing me to crave him even more. The music had been turned off. Ill at ease with what had transpired, I descended.

“I hate to say this,” he said without looking. “I need to take you home.”

Maybe hopefully, regretfully? Maybe, he sounded, oh, I don’t know, dejected? “Is something wrong?”

He turned, his gaze meeting mine. “The station called. I have to go in.”

“Why? It’s so late.”

“It’s the big case I’m working on. Can’t explain. Gotta go.”

I stared at the perfectly polished hardwood floor. I already had feelings of confusion; now I could add self-doubt. “Oh.”

“Look, only my mom, sister, and the office have my cell number.”

“And me.”

“And you.” Stepping closer, he pressed an errant strand of hair into place. “I wouldn’t go unless it’s very important. Are you okay?”

Hearing the tenderness in his voice, I nodded. Maybe everything between A. Wellborn and me had moved too fast. Too much wine and the almost wild, almost sex had left me with bewildered flashes tornadoing in my head. I collected the rest of my belongings and met him at the door.

He gathered me in his arms, pressing his face into the hairline at my temple. “I’m sorry, Hattie. I can’t say it enough. I’ve dreamed of this night.” Abruptly, he released me to open the apartment door.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

While driving me home, he broke the awkward span hovering over us, by asking, “You mentioned something about a large proportion of stolen parts claims being a particular SUV?”

Still in a confused stupor with what hadn’t taken place, I blinked while his question leached into my brain. When his query finally resonated, I drawled, “That’s right. I told you, I made a list to show Lester on Monday.”

Again, his cell phone rang, and he snapped it open. “Okay. I said okay. I’m dropping off something, and I’ll be there”—he consulted his watch—“in approximately thirty minutes. Yeah, right.” He snapped shut the phone.

Indignation straightened my spine. The something being dropped off appeared to be me, and I didn’t like the way the phrase sounded, like—I put a finger to my lower lip—extra luggage.

After A. Wellborn escorted me to my door, he smacked his lips against my forehead. “I’ll call,” and then he ran back to the truck.

What the hell had happened?