“Leighton?”
Jonathan’s voice pricked the balloon of anticipation lodged in her chest, causing tingles to cascade down her body. His keys hitting the wooden bowl, his messenger bag hitting the floor, each thump acted as a soft tap to her quivering pussy. She clenched her thighs together and savored the sweet ache of the movement.
“Where are you?” he called out.
She smoothed a hand down the front of her dress and took a deep breath. “In the kitchen.”
She blinked. Sweet Jesus.
He was standing in the doorway, a visual treat for her starving senses. His hair was mussed and tousled and she envied his fingers for their ready access to the thick, dark strands. Stubble coated his jaw, his lids sat at half-mast and his lips were slack and pouty. A bad boy, made all the more irresistible because he was such a good man.
She was going to scale him faster than an expert climber mounted an indoor rock wall.
“Why is it so dark in here?” He reached for the overhead light.
“Don’t,” she protested, from her spot next to the back door.
He frowned. “What’s going on?”
She nodded to the dim illumination emanating from above the sink. “Turn that off.”
“Leighton—”
She didn’t wait for his compliance. She slipped out the door onto the porch. Though it was almost midnight, the air still retained a balminess that in no way suggested they were a week into September.
The light gleaming through the window switched off and Jonathan appeared a few moments later. “What are you doing out here?”
Trying not to look like an imbecile.
She braced her arms against the wrought iron railing and glanced at him over her shoulder. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I know. So . . .” His previous unanswered query hung in the air.
She turned back to look out into the night. “I’m getting some air.”
“From where? Not in this swamp. Please tell me. I’d like to get some with you.”
She laughed. He was sexy and adorable. Was it any wonder she was smitten?
He came up behind her, slid his arms around her waist and she shivered from the contact. “What are you wearing? This isn’t what you had on earlier.”
She leaned into him. “Do you like it? It’s a new dress I picked up.”
The black shirt dress was made of a soft jersey fabric and hung in a straight silhouette to her knees.
“It’s very . . . roomy.”
She smiled to herself, and bumped him with her backside.
“This . . . uh, isn’t what I expected from your note,” he said, his voice tentative.
“What note?”
“‘You have no idea how much I want you in me. Are you up for it?’” he quoted. “That note.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You memorized it?”
“Are you kidding?” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, bared by the dress’s loose boat neckline. “It was etched on the back of my eyelids from the moment I read it. Every time I blinked, I could see the words. I don’t know how I managed to finish my work.”
Her fingers clenched and released around the top rail. “If you didn’t expect this dress, what did you expect?”
He bit her earlobe and liquid heat pooled between her thighs.
Steady, Leighton.
“You. Waiting in my bed.”
She wanted him, too. The bed, not so much.
“Want something else unexpected?” She slipped two buttons free on her dress, took his hand and placed it between the folds.
His hands skimmed over her breast, down her torso and across her belly. She gasped and arched her back at the exquisite sensation of his fleeting touch on her skin.
He froze. “Are you naked beneath this dress?”
Bingo! “Mmmmm.”
He groaned. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re killing me.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.”
She turned her head, her chin grazing her shoulder, and met his lips in a searing kiss. He was an intuitive kisser. He knew when she wanted soft, sweet pecks or when she was in the mood for something harder and rawer.
With lots of tongue.
He palmed her breasts, kneading the mounds, squeezing them together, pulling them apart. His caresses drove her wild, building a cauldron of tension and pleasure that left her unable to remain still. She writhed against him, greedy for more, wanting everything he had to give her.
He trailed his mouth along her jaw and nibbled down to the sensitive spot where her shoulder met the base of her neck. When he bit her there, his forearm was the only thing keeping her from dissolving into a puddle of lust on the ground.
She raised her arms and clasped her hands around his nape, tilting her head to offer him greater access. His strength and desire consumed her and elicited a responding passion that threatened to incinerate everything around her.
His thumbs and index fingers encircled each nipple and alternated between rolling and pulling the engorged peaks. She moaned and captured his lips again, riding the streaks of pleasure that flowed straight to her core. Nothing felt better than when she was in his arms. He made her feel safe, protected. Loved.
He withdrew his hands from inside her dress and tried to tug her back toward the door. “Let’s go in the house.”
That wasn’t part of the plan. She resisted, holding onto the railing. “Why? I’m happy right here.”
“Here? Outside?”
She lifted the corner of her mouth in response to his surprise. “I didn’t take you for a bedroom-only type of guy?”
“I’m not, but—”
“The lights are off in the house, there’s no streetlamp, we’re perfectly hidden. Mostly . . .”
He slid his hand between her legs and delved his digits in her slick folds. She sighed.
“And that turns you on? The possibility of being seen?”
She ground her ass against him. “God, yes!”
He smiled against her neck. “You’re a bad girl. And I’m one lucky man.”
He had no idea.
Her pussy throbbing in anticipation, she turned, grabbed the folded dishtowel she’d placed nearby and dropped it at her feet. Kneeling on it, she unbuttoned his fly and pulled his dick out.
There you are.
He had a beautiful cock, long, veiny and thick enough that when she wrapped her fingers around him, her tips barely touched. She stroked him, long, slow pulls, loving the hardness that pulsed beneath the soft skin. His lashes fluttered and his head fell back. His hands hung loosely at his side while he thrust into her grip, his hiss of pleasure filling her with a potent sense of power. She basked in the knowledge that she made him feel this way, that her hands were bringing him bliss.
A bead of pre-cum formed on the tip and she used her thumb to spread it around the meaty head. She licked her lips. She wanted to taste him, to draw his hardness into her mouth and evoke more reactions. The walls of her pussy swelled as moisture coated her entrance. Gripping his thigh with her left hand, she palmed his cock with her right and massaged the underside of his dick with her tongue.
He groaned and widened his stance, holding onto her shoulders. She lavished his cock with little flicks and gentle kisses, making her way down the seam that ran from the head to his sac. She cupped the balls in her hand, pressed her tongue into the space between them, then gently drew one into her mouth. He hissed again and tilted his pelvis toward her. Her lashes fell as she alternated between both testicles. The skin was so soft and she loved the way they felt in her mouth.
Apparently he did, too. “You’re driving me insane.”
Her breath coming heavily, she stroked her hand up and down his length, then took him into her mouth.
“Fuck!” He clutched her hair between his fingers, the slight sting turning her on. She clutched his hips, her nails digging into his ass and pulled him in and pushed him out, signaling that she wanted him to fuck her mouth. When he finally took over the motion—at first with caution and then more smoothly—she sighed. Her body was a bundle of ecstasy that she wanted to both stoke and slake. She lifted the front of her dress and dipped her fingers into her wetness.
“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s it. Touch yourself. Play with your clit . . .”
Her lids fell shut and she concentrated on all the sensations sweeping through her. His low, erotic words, the feel of his shaft sliding against her tongue, the musky scent of arousal permeating the air, the—
Her eyes flew open. Jonathan stood several feet from her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, one hand gripping the base of his cock.
Why had he stopped?
“Enough,” he said, once her eyes met his. “I’ve been thinking about being in you all night and I don’t want to come in your mouth.”
It took a moment for his words to penetrate the sexual fog clouding her mind.
“What about on my tits?” She pushed them together and offered them up.
His Adam’s apple bobbed and he licked his lips. “You’d let me do that?”
Yes. Please. Now.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes and nodded.
“I . . .” He swallowed. “Not this time. But I will. I’m going to spread you wide and lick, suck and finger your pussy until you come, screaming my name, your heels digging into my back. And then, when you’re spent and I can’t hold it any longer, I’m going to come all over those beautiful breasts.”
Her eyes widened and she shuddered at his words.
Bring. It. On.
He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that. But it doesn’t matter. I have no control left when it comes to you.”
He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his embrace, fusing his mouth to hers. Her heart thundered like a locomotive in her chest and her hands developed wanderlust, skimming all over his body, unwilling to settle in one spot for long.
He bent to grab her leg, but she shook her head.
He straightened. “No? Wh—”
She turned around and bent forward, grabbing the railing. Rising up on her toes, she reached behind her for his cock, then arched her back and pressed the head of him just inside of her, before pulling him out.
“Jesus, Leighton . . .”
She rubbed the head against her lips, letting the evidence of her desire coat him, teasing him—and herself!—in the process, before she slid him completely inside her.
“Ahhhh . . .”
She widened to accommodate him. He stroked deep into her, every hot, pulsing inch of him abrading her internal nerve endings, making her want to scream out in pleasure. She bit her bottom lip to resist the temptation.
It was so delicious being out here. The darkness hid them from prying eyes, but they were still outside, in the open. Anyone could see them. Someone could be watching them now . . .
She pushed her hips back. “Harder,” she moaned.
He lifted her, encircled her waist with his arm and pounded into her. The friction was so good she wanted to pull her hair out. And even though it was rawer and filthier than the times they’d made love before, the intimacy between them was stronger than ever, binding them, adding a layer of affection to the dirty words and crude joining. He was literally part of her. She never wanted it to end.
“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered into her ear, putting words to her thoughts. “I swear your pussy was made for me.”
It started then. She’d been simmering on low for hours, but now . . . Tension coiled tight in her lower belly. She clenched her pussy, undulated her hips, and reached out to the tidal wave of sensation that hovered just beneath her reach. When it finally crested, it pulled her under with a strength she’d hadn’t expected, reaching into her chest, squeezing her heart and stealing her breath.
“Jonathan!”
Her knees buckled and the stars floating in her vision wasn’t from the night sky. She gave herself up to it and it delivered her sated, satisfied and fulfilled.
With one final stroke, he stiffened and then came with a roar. If no one knew what they’d been doing before, a few of them must have an idea by now.
He rested his forehead on her back. “We’re still fully dressed,” he said.
She exhaled and lifted a shaky hand to pat his cheek. “I know.”
“What am I going to do with you?”
She put her most fervent wish out there. “Love me.”
“Always.” He squeezed her and kissed her shoulder. “Can we please go inside now?”
She laughed. “Yes.”
Upstairs, she followed Jonathan into the large, well-decorated and very masculine master bedroom. When he continued into the adjoining bath, she spread her arms wide and fell back onto his large king sized bed, with its dark duvet and messy sheets.
Orgasms, take me away.
That had gone well, if she did say so herself. She wondered if he’d be up for an encore. Just one. And then she’d let him get some sleep. He had a busy couple of days ahead of him.
The shower roared to life and she popped up, eager to share her idea. She sauntered into the bathroom. “Now, about you coming on my tits—”
Her brain snapped its finger, and a spark flared inside her head. She swayed and dropped onto the tiled rim of the large garden tub.
“Leighton?” He turned off the water and hurried to her side. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
She stared at him, dazed, waiting for the fog to dissipate. “It happened again.”
“What happened?”
“Remember when I told you about getting pieces of my memory back when I was with Andrea?”
He tensed and scraped a hand through his hair. “Is that what just happened?”
“Yeah.” She looked at him, sadness clinging to her like heated tar.
He swallowed. “What did you remember this time?”
“My father. He died six years ago.”
He frowned. “I thought you knew that already.”
The pain was there, waiting, and it greeted her as a childhood frenemy, rushing over her in waves, the strength of its torment diluted by time and new experiences.
“I did. But it’s what happened after his death that I’d forgotten.”
She turned her gaze inward as the scene unfolded in her mind like a movie, wincing as she faced the harsh words she’d hurled at her mother, relishing their malicious precision.
“Sweetheart, you’re scaring me. My imagination is working overtime.”
She exhaled. “My entire life my father told me we were blessed. We had so much; it was our duty to give back. He was my hero, until I discovered he was pretending to be something he wasn’t. I found out my father wasn’t the fine upstanding man, a pillar of the DC community and the US diplomatic corp. He was a liar. He’d been having an affair with a woman he met in Paris. For years.”
“Shit.” His eyes softened. “Come here.”
He pulled her onto his lap, but she didn’t relax. She couldn’t until she’d told him all of it.
“It gets better. My mother knew about it. Not in a she-found-out-made-him-break-it-off-and-stayed-with-him way. More like he carried on his affair until the day he died and she let him.”
She’d never understood that reaction. What woman would let her husband cheat on her? Leighton remembered the years she and her mother hadn’t traveled with her father. The events, games, and recitals he’d missed, explained away by her mother as their family sacrificing for their country.
Sure.
Her father got to have his side piece; her mother retained her position and status in DC society. It seemed to Leighton that she’d been the only Clarke who’d suffered. Fuck that! She’d given in to her hurt and anger and unfortunately, she’d made some important personal and professional decisions based on those destructive emotions.
“It changed everything for me. It’s the reason I left my old job and went into lobbying, the reason I stopped talking to my mother.” She looked at him. “That explains why she didn’t know about our engagement.”
The tears came then, streaking down her face, overwhelming her senses. Not because she experienced the dishonesty anew, but in sympathy for the shock, pain and betrayal she’d felt all those years ago. When they ended she felt cleansed. Like she’d finally be able to put what happened behind her and move on.
Was that the silver lining? Could the accident and her resulting memory loss be a possible blessing in disguise? She mentioned the idea to Jonathan.
“How so?”
“For the first time in years I wasn’t living with the heavy weight of that anguish. It sounds weird, but without my memories, I was able to reclaim the woman I used to be and take a break from the cold, unforgiving person I’d turned into. I’d come to believe there was no such thing as altruism or giving back. That everyone acted in his or her own best interest. I guess I must’ve started rethinking those beliefs.”
“Why do you say that?” His gaze searched hers.
She kissed him on his lips. “Because of you. The damaged person I’d been would never have allowed you into her life. She wanted to feel nothing. You’re too vibrant, too passionate, too sexy and you make me feel . . . everything.”
God looks out for babies and fools. Considering she was well into her twenties, she was grateful her insanity hadn’t caused her to miss having him in her life.
“You should call Dr. Faber and make an appointment.”
“I will.” She laid her head on his shoulder, wishing this particular memory had stayed buried, peeved it had tainted an otherwise perfect evening. “After the opening.”
“Hold on.” Jonathan stretched for the towel hanging on the bar, but couldn’t grab it.
“What are you doing?” she asked, standing to shift out of his way.
He hauled her back to his lap and tightened his hold on her. “Don’t move.”
Executing the sexy-guy-disrobing maneuver, he reached over his head, grabbed his shirt from the back and yanked it off, using it to wipe away her remaining tears.
“Everything will be okay,” he said, kissing the top of her hair. “No matter what you remember, we’ll get through it together.”
Not long after she’d first seen him in the hospital, she’d instinctively surrendered her heart to him. But there, in his bathroom, clutching his tee between her fingers, she made a conscious choice to entrust him with her soul.