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Curious about her motivations, Kennedy typed, I did it again, as she sat in the taxi heading for Dante’s.
What’s that? Her sponsor texted back.
Dressed like a hootchie mama.
Are you going to meet the guy? Or out trolling for action?
The latter. With the former.
Then don’t worry about it, Nancy texted. You probably look hot.
It feels like a costume. Like armor. I’m in my ‘fuck you, all you want is sex’ place.
It’s only clothing. It can mean whatever you want it to mean.
Right now it means ‘fuck you, don’t get close to me.’ Kennedy bit her lip.
All the while he’s fucking you. Sounds like he’s definitely going to fuck you with his eyes. Sounds like you want the attention. Own it.
You’re too fucking smart, Kennedy typed.
LOL. Enjoy. Stay safe. Choices.
Kennedy dropped her phone into her clutch. This definitely feels like a booty call. A midnight booty call. I might as well play the part. She sighed, squared her shoulders and looked at the fancy pants apartment awaiting her, hearing the theme song for Pretty Woman playing in her head.
“Here’s your address,” the driver said. “And here’s your price.” He stopped his meter.
She pulled a few bills from her purse and handed them to the cabbie. “Thanks for the ride,” she said. “Keep the change.”
At the door, waiting for the doorman to open it, she had to take several long deep breaths before pressing his number.
“Kennedy Swift?” the elder man asked.
“That’s me.” She tried her best to smile.
“Right this way.” He led her to the lift.
At the elevator, she took several more breaths. On the way up, she seriously considered punching the Emergency button, finding a paper bag to breathe into, and heading back downstairs. When the elevator stopped, she felt certain she’d launch from the top of her head, leaving her body in a heap on the floor.
The elegant doors slid open, and as the sight of Dante came into view, she inhaled sharply and pressed into the corner.
His dark hair lay damp, slicked back from his forehead. Barefooted, he wore gray sweatpants hanging from his hips, and a worn, sleeveless T-shirt, revealing far more muscles than she had a right to see. His arms were folded across his chest, and he seemed to be in no hurry to make a move in her direction. Instead, his green-gray eyes leisurely tracked her from head to toe and back up again, his gaze loaded with potent longing. “Going somewhere?”
I am so over-dressed. “You indicated...I thought you wanted...” She shivered, wishing she could slip into the walls like a ghost, joining Mosi in the afterlife. She lifted her jaw. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Should I entertain you in the lift?” The corners of his lips rose in amusement. “Or should I change and we can hit the town?”
“No,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat. “No.” She stepped from the elevator, gliding past Dante.
Eyes fixed on her body, he still made no move in her direction.
She rounded the corner into his penthouse mansion, her eyes widening at the splendor, at the view, at the everything. She stared, puzzled, at the blank walls, punctuated with hooks for hanging pictures or paintings. The back of her neck prickled as if she were being watched. She turned to see Dante, in the same position, only now leaning against the wall between the foyer and this magnificent room.
“Your decorator forgot something,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Pictures. Paintings. Art. You only have hooks.”
“I’m waiting for new art to adorn my walls. Everything was extremely outdated.”
“I see.” She continued to saunter through the room, his gaze tracking her every move.
“Can I get you anything? Wine? Scotch? Beer?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine.”
He strode toward a small, elegant bar tucked in the corner, removed a crystal tumbler from a glass shelf, and filled it with a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. He lifted it to his lips, pausing before taking a sip. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
“No, thanks.” She took a deep breath for courage. “I’m an alcoholic and an addict.”
His eyes narrowed briefly, and his nostrils flared. He hesitated before taking a swallow of his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “How active?”
“In recovery. Three-hundred sixty-eight days now.” She scrutinized him waiting for a reaction.
He nodded and took another sip. “Good. Is it hard? Not using?”
She looked him directly in the eye. “Some days are better than others.” When’s he going to tell me to leave?
“But you manage.” It came out as more of a command.
“Yes. I manage.”
He tipped his head back and tossed the remaining liquid down his throat.
She studied his firm jaw and throat, the ambient light in the room making his skin appear bronze.
He set the tumbler on the granite bar top. “I’m not an alcoholic. But I do drink. That going to be a problem for you?”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?”
Studying her, he raked his hair with his fingers and changed the subject. “I’m not going to make the first move with you, Kennedy. I think I scare you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I’m here for the taking. But you’re going to have to take the lead.”
This unsettled her. Dressed like this, in a blue and black shimmering dress that barely covered her ass, plunged low in the front, and dipped deep in the back, high heels adding inches to her five-foot-six height, she expected Dante to be all over her. She wanted him to be all over her so she could reject him if she felt overwhelmed. Instead, he’d handed the keys to her. She glanced toward the foyer.
“Yeah,” he said. “That, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can leave if you want to. I won’t talk you out of it.”
Her eyes met his again, confused.
“Your move,” he said again.
“You can’t mean that,” she said, suspicious. This has to be a trick.
“Can’t I? Test me.” He took a couple steps in her direction.
She shrank back, thinking, Right, it’s my move. Liar.
Instead, he brushed past her, heading for the leather sofa. He sat down, his back propped against suede pillows, one arm lying along the back, the other on the armrest, one leg stretched the length of the couch. “Your move,” he repeated for the third time.
The city night provided the backdrop to the intoxicating vignette before her. Weighing her choices—leave or stay—she decided the latter was more delicious. She stepped out of her heels, and peeled out of her pantyhose, wanting to feel the plush fur and hide carpets and gleaming wood beneath her feet.
He watched her, his eyes narrow. His tongue slid along his upper lip, then disappeared, drawing her attention toward his mouth.
She stalked toward him, feeling like a big cat—a wet and extremely wanting cat.
His mouth parted, but his arms stayed put.
When she stood a foot away, she said, “Take your shirt off.”
He levered forward, peeled his shirt from his torso and tossed it on the floor, revealing a chiseled six-pack, golden brown abs and enough chest hair to tickle. A bold tattoo of a heart with a dagger through it, blood dripping from the blade, colored his left pec.
So sexy, she thought, her libido surging.
“Now what?”
“I don’t know.” She stepped closer, leaned forward, and reached out to trace a line along his firm belly. The contact with his skin made her sizzle.
He sucked in a breath, his erection jerking against his sweatpants, but he didn’t move.
She let her head fall forward, allowing her long hair to glide against his skin.
He hissed.
She delicately used the pads of her fingertips to draw spirals along his stomach and sweep up toward his chest. His nipples made her mouth water. She dipped her head and suckled one, drawing it to a small, hard point. She repeated the process on the other side.
He groaned.
When she lifted from her ministrations, she delighted in seeing his head resting languidly against the pillow, eyes closed, lips parted. The juncture between her legs throbbed in anticipation. I can’t let him see my tattoo. She kissed the pulsing artery in his neck, letting her lips rest on the steady beat, beat, beat of the blood pushing rhythmically through his skin. She progressed up his throat, placing lingering kisses on his strong jaw. Every place she touched made her insides quiver with need. She made her way to his succulent lips, allowing her lips to brush against the soft skin, back and forth, before melting against his mouth.
His lips moved tenderly, ardently, nibbling and sucking, his tongue dancing against hers, slippery and sensuous, then withdrawing.
He still made no move to touch her with his hands, as if she gave him a lap dance. She found her yearning growing stronger. Her skin seemed to stand at attention, longing for his caress. If I let him touch me, I’ll lose it. I’ll simply lose it. Tearing her lips from his, she reached behind to unzip her dress partly, pushing it free from her torso, only so far as to reveal her breasts.
Watching her, his eyes glittered, darkly seductive. And yet he continued to wait for her invitation.
Her generous breasts fell against her ribs as the support of the built-in bra fell away.
He licked his lips, swallowing hard. His hands kneaded the sofa as if it took every ounce of will to resist touching her.
She straddled his belly and brought one breast to his greedy mouth.
He sucked, drawing need from her core, his moans and hums adding to her pleasure. Her flesh tightened and puckered inside his mouth as she rocked against his abdomen, certain she’d come any second. She lifted the other breast, offering it to his mouth, replacing the first.
His sucks grew harder, causing a sweet, almost unbearable ache. “Dante,” she breathed. She scooted lower, surprised to meet hot flesh as his loose-fitting pants slipped away from his solid need. She rubbed against him, her delicate silk panties providing no barrier to the overwhelming sensation between her legs. “Dante,” she cried, as she effortlessly slipped over the edge.
He groaned, letting his hips thrust wildly, until he, too, released a slippery pool of wetness against his belly.
She fell against him, not caring when his arms reached around to embrace her, pulling her close. He stroked her back with lazy caresses. She closed her eyes, feeling sated and vulnerable, not wanting him to see her like this. She reasoned that keeping her eyes shut proved a good way to hide.
She let herself drift away for a time, listening to Dante breathe, sensing the rise and fall of his chest. Finally, she pushed herself away. “I...I have to go, Dante.”
He blinked as if he’d fallen asleep. “I know.”
The moment felt far too personal for her comfort. She swiftly tugged the dress over her breasts, finger combed her hair and zipped the zipper. Her fingers found the tacky splotch of Dante’s release.
Without taking his eyes from hers, his face somber, he reached for his shirt and handed it to her. “Go ahead. I’ve got a million of these.”
Awkwardly, she scrubbed against the stain getting most of the goo off. She folded the shirt over the wet spot and placed it on the floor, feeling all kinds of stupid.
His warm fingertip landed on the spiral peeking out from blue and black fabric. “Where does this go? What does it lead to?” he asked, his eyes like green velvet.
She shook her head. “It leads down a dark, dark path.”
His eyes narrowed, as shadows of emotion flickered across his face. “There could be light at the other end.”
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
“I can drive you home,” he said, sitting up. “My car’s downstairs in the garage.”
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine taking a cab.”
He huffed out a sigh. “All right. When will I see you again?”
“I’ll let you know.”
He pursed his lips but said nothing.
“I...this was...thank you, Dante.”
“For what?”
“For letting me take the lead. Thank you.”
A flicker of a smile flitted across his face, swallowed up in a somber frown.
Not wanting to interpret, or analyze, much less ask what he felt, she dropped a quick kiss on his lips, turned, and headed toward the elevator, picking up her shoes and hose along the way. In that moment, she didn’t know when, or if, she’d ever see him again.
