Desired (Miranda's Chronicles Book 1) (6 page)

He placed a chaste kiss on my lips, then smiled down at me. “I thought that was good. What’d
you
think?”

I could be your slave for life.

I closed my eyes and arched my brow. I could barely breathe, much less discuss what he had just done to me. I was amazed he had found BOB’s secret spot….And his fingers had felt so much better than the gel dildo.

“Not talking?” he asked.

I wanted to say,
no human being has ever made me come like that
, but all I could do was stammer. “It—it was.…No one’s ever…I’ve never—”

He leaned in and tenderly kissed me. “I understand. It’s gonna be even better when we get to a bed and fuck. I promise.”

He told me to lift my bottom again. I did and he straightened my wet panties. He tugged my slip and my skirt into place, then reached down for my shoes. He slipped them onto my feet, stood and pulled me up from the sofa. Still hanging onto to me, he bent and wiped the cushion with his handkerchief.

“Is it wet?” I asked anxiously.

He grinned and gave my lips a quick smack. “You worry too much.”

I didn’t want to know if we had marred the sofa. I had the dumb idea that not knowing would give me plausible deniability. I stepped away from him and found my balance on my high heels. God, I could fall apart any minute. Though my knees had all the security of Jell-O, I shifted my hips to help my skirt smooth down. Lap wrinkles still creased it even after I tried to iron them out with my flattened hands. My blouse was askew. He pulled the silk panels together and began to button it.

“I can’t even imagine how my hair looks,” I mumbled, reaching behind myself to unzip my skirt and tuck in my blouse tail. I stole a glance at his bulging fly.

He saw me looking and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll keep a little longer. You okay now?”

I had plenty not to be okay about, but straightening my collar, I swallowed hard and nodded.

My unleashed hair fell around my shoulders. He picked up a small sheaf of it and fingered it. “I do love your hair. It feels like silk.”

My barrette and the Skyline key ring lay on the sofa cushion. I reached down for the barrette, pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail and clipped it. “There’s no hope for it,” I mumbled as I reached down for the keys.

“It’s great. It looks healthy and sexy.” Smiling, he leaned down and kissed me sweetly. “Let’s go.”

I turned off the lights, we stepped into the hallway and I closed the front door behind us. His hand reached for mine, but I brushed it away. “You can’t touch me in the hallway. Cameras, remember?”

“My hotel room doesn’t have cameras. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten all-day. I’ll have supper sent up.”

Supper.
The evening meal. I grew up hearing the word, but I knew very few people in the Metroplex who ever said it these days. The fact that he did touched a tender place within me and reminded me that he and I had that common bond that West Texans seemed to have.

“Your hotel room?” I said stupidly.

“Baby, my cock’s aching to get inside you. I can’t wait to fuck you to another screaming orgasm. The easiest and quickest way for that to happen is to get to my hotel room ASAP.”

He said that as if he were discussing the weather. Was that talk supposed to be foreplay? If so, at the moment, it sounded good to me. Whatever was to happen next with the delicious Tack Tackett was a powerful magnet I didn’t have the will to resist.

“That almost sounds like a warning,” I said, deadpan.

He gave me a smile that made my weak knees weaker. “It’s a promise.”

“And I don’t recall screaming,” I added, ducking my chin as a small grin flitted across my lips.

“Figure of speech. It was music to my ears.” He chuckled and kissed my temple.

“Stop,” I said, tilting my head away from him. “Cameras, remember?”

We made it to the elevator without further touching each other and stood waiting for the car. “Is there a camera in that elevator?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. This is a high security building. That’s part of the appeal of living here.”

The car arrived and we stepped inside. “God, I hope there’s no camera. I must look like a wild woman.”

“I like the way you look.” He tapped his temple. “Up here, I’ve got an image of you running naked through a forest.”

I frowned and gave a little gasp.

“Stop worrying. That concierge is half-unconscious.” He grinned mischievously. “He’ll never know I just found your sweet spot and finger-fucked you to multiple orgasms.

Sweet spot? Finger-fucked? Good grief!
The things he said.

And how many other women has he done that to?

I couldn’t help but wonder. He was a breathtakingly beautiful devil who knew way too much about sex.

“And if he figures it out, all he’ll do is envy me,” he added with a wink.

“Shut-up,” I said, but I couldn’t hold back a grin. Drake Lockhart might faint if he knew what his good friend and I had just done in his twelve-million-dollar condo, on a sofa that cost God-only-knew how much. My strength—and my cynical sense of the bizarre—was gradually returning.

Tack clasped my hand and interlocked our fingers.

“Cameras,” I said and tried to remove my hand from his, but he held it in a tight grip.

We rode to the bottom floor with no more conversation. Having my world rocked had left me with little to say.

As the elevator doors glided open, he let me take back my hand. I looked around for Paul, but didn’t see him anywhere. I adjusted my clothing again and tried to neaten my hair. Then I strode toward my table with bravado. He followed.

I gathered the tablecloth off the table and with unsteady hands, haphazardly folded it and struggled to stuff it back into the plastic bag it came in. The thing escaped me as if it had a plan of its own and ended in a heap on the table. I drew a shaky breath and dropped my forehead against my fingers.

He took the tablecloth and the plastic bag from me. In no time, with deft hands and fingers—and if anyone knew just how deft they were, I now did—he had the tablecloth neatly re-folded. He slid it into the plastic bag, zipped it and placed it on top of the box.

I looked up at him for a few beats. There was just something about a guy with a hard-on, who, minutes after what we had just done, could stuff a slick piece of cloth into a slick sack and make it turn out a neat square. Tack Tackett appeared to have self-possession and masculine dexterity in spades. I didn’t doubt he could build a house out of toothpicks with one hand and take a woman to an earth-shattering orgasm with the other. And continue to be flaming hot and gorgeous while doing it.

“Thank you,” I said. “I guess that does it.”

“Where does this stuff go?”

Drake’s brokers and I would need it tomorrow. The only place I could think to stash it was in the closet in the concierge’s office. But the last thing I wanted was a face-to-face meeting with the building’s keeper. “In the concierge’s office. But I don’t want—”

“I’ll take it.”

Was he a mind reader on top of everything else? He caught my chin between his thumb and finger, leaned down and smacked my lips. “You’re a worrywart. What am I gonna to do with you?”

My inner voice that I had ignored all through the episode on the sofa suddenly piped up.
More of the same?

Carrying the box, he walked toward the door labeled CONCIERGE at the front of the lobby, giving me a view of his fine butt in his tight jeans. In my mind, I pictured it sans those jeans and shorts. At this point, how could I not?

Boxers or briefs?
that ornery inner voice put in.

I closed my eyes, arched my brow and let a great breath escape, trying to reconcile how showing him around Skyline had morphed into going to his hotel and having real sex with him. I hadn’t officially said yes, but like a dumb country mouse, I shrugged into my blazer and waited for his return.

Tack soon came back to the table, clasped my elbow and steered me to the elevator. I let myself be steered. A part of me had always loved the idea of being owned and protected by a strong man willing and able to take control of events and save me from disaster. A puzzling notion because another part of me wondered if I could live with so much
machismo
day-to-day. I had been my own boss for as far back as I could remember. Except for my grandmother and a few teachers over the years, no one had ever told me I should or shouldn’t do something.

“Did Paul question you?” I asked.

“He was on the phone. He had no idea what you were doing. My guess is he didn’t know you’re still here. He’s irresponsible. Drake needs to replace him.”

Uh-oh
. The remarks Tack had made upstairs came back to me:
…Does Drake know you come up here alone?...If you worked for me, I wouldn’t expect you to take chances like this…

With Tack being good friends with Drake, I had no doubt they would have that conversation. Inside, I winced, uncomfortable with my role in what might happen to Paul. Live-and-let-live was my attitude about the people with whom I worked.

The elevator door opened into the underground parking garage and we stepped out. Only three vehicles occupied the huge empty space—my Ford SUV, a Honda sedan that I presumed belonged to Paul and a white sedan that was obviously a rental car.

While I’d had no trouble allowing Tack unrestrained access to my most private place upstairs, I suddenly had an aversion to getting into the car with him. “I—I’ll follow you in my car—” His head shook, but before he could argue, I added, “Then you won’t have to bring me back here.”

“Is somebody waiting for you somewhere?”

Only Miss Kitty
. I had been feeding a feral cat most evenings. She would be hungry and waiting for me to come home. “Well, uh…”

He looked at me expectantly. He probably wouldn’t accept a hungry cat as a reason. I frowned. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “I’ll deliver you back here tomorrow morning.”

Oh, hell!
I might be ready, even eager, for a roll in the hay with the delightful Tack Tackett, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for the intimacies of a sleepover. “I can’t stay the night. And I can’t leave my car in this parking garage. It might get towed.”

He hesitated, his dark eyes assessing me. No doubt he was trying to figure out if I would really follow him. “Look. What you said upstairs,” I told him. “We’re both grown people who know what we want. I’ve already agreed to…it isn’t necessary that I spend the night to—to…well, you know what I mean, okay?”

I couldn’t bring myself to bluntly say it’s just sex and as soon as we do it, I need to go home. He hesitated a few seconds. I doubted he had conceded the debate, but he said, “Which one of these rigs is yours?”

“The SUV.”

He placed a hand on my nape as if he feared I might escape and we walked to my SUV. At the driver’s side door, I dug in my purse for my keys. He took them from me, opened my door and held it as I scooted behind the wheel. He handed me the keys and closed the door, then leaned down, his hands braced on the roof. “I’ll follow you. I’m at the Hilton. You know where it is?”

Mental eye roll
. I had lived in Fort Worth ten years and knew the city well. I drove all over everywhere alone and unescorted, but I smiled and nodded.

He poked his head through the window and tenderly kissed me. “Stop worrying. Everything’s okay.”

“I know.”

“Be careful driving.” He kissed me again, then stood back and watched me back out.

I drove up the ramp to the exit and sat waiting for the electronic gate to open. That inner voice couldn’t resist taking advantage of the silence.
This is bad. As bad as a college hookup, which you said you would never do again
.

The short trip across the city gave the time for me to compose myself. It also gave that protective inner voice more time to lecture me….
Are you cheap or what?
….
You’re doing this for a meal?

“I haven’t eaten since this morning,” I mumbled under my breath, watching Tack Tackett’s rental car headlights in my rearview mirror.

You can’t afford to buy your own supper? This can’t go anywhere. Why don’t you just go home?
You have to get up early tomorrow, dress and come back to the open house by noon.
You’re causing yourself unnecessary inconvenience. And there’s no one to feed Miss Kitty.

I refused to listen. I enjoyed attention from a sexy, good-looking male. Other than a handshake, I hadn’t felt a man’s touch in more months than I could count and I had been in a state of lust for it all-day. For some reason, my body had chosen
this
man over others, even if it was only for a one-night-stand.

Maybe my subconscious was at work. Maybe deep down, a “hookup” was all I wanted. Like him, I didn’t have the time for anything more and I didn’t want the hassle of having a demanding man in my life. Been there, done that.

Besides, my car was on autopilot. It didn’t want to change directions.

Fifteen minutes later, I parked in a slot in the Hilton’s parking lot. He came to my door, offered his hand and assisted me out of the car. “I look terrible,” I said. “I hope no one I know sees me.”

He placed his hand on the small of my back and urged me along. “You look like you just had a helluva good time. But that’s only for me to know and others to wonder about.”

I gave him a pointed look over my shoulder. “Seriously?”

We reached the entrance to the hotel and started across the lobby toward the elevators. The lower two floors were familiar. I had been here a few times for various parties and events. Formerly the Hotel Texas, the old building had been remodeled and updated by Hilton, but it still had an historic air about it. People who had been around downtown Fort Worth years back had told me that much of its original appearance remained.

With it being the dinner hour, the lobby teemed with milling people. I was certain every visible person on the lower floor stared at us and knew what we were up to. My heart drummed a steady tattoo inside my ears. I prattled aimlessly, trying to show nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Did you know this hotel is where JFK spent his last night on earth? He and Jackie slept in an executive suite the night before they flew to his doom in Dallas.”

“I did know that, but that’s not why I picked it. There’s a Ruth’s Chris steakhouse here and I’m in the mood for a good steak. You like steak, don’t you?”

And what if I didn’t?

I was starting to realize one thing about Tack Tackett. He didn’t debate or discuss. Whether the reason was because he had a touch of OCD or something darker, I hadn’t yet figured out.

“I’m a total carnivore,” I answered.

“Good. I like a woman who’s willing to kill to eat.”

I glowered up at him. “What?”

He squeezed my side and gave me a wink. “I’m kidding, baby, I’m kidding. My corny jokes are supposed to make you chill out a little.”

As the elevator door glided shut, he pressed the button for the twelfth floor and the car lifted off. He took my hand and interlocked our fingers. Only the two of us being in the elevator was a good thing. So much anticipation and sexual tension charged the air around us, sparks could start flying any minute. With great effort, I settled my mind on the fact that I had never been above this hotel’s lower two floors.

“You’re too quiet,” he said.

I might have suddenly lost my voice, but my nerves were jangling like a dinner bell. The closer we got to our destination, the worse the anxiety got. My good-girl persona didn’t want to face why I was here. I wished I could blame it on alcohol, but I hadn’t had a drop. “I, uh…I’m fine.”

“Look at me,” he said and I looked up into his eyes. “You can still chicken out.”

No! I want this
. He had given me a taste of how sex could be and I was hooked. I inhaled deeply and willed myself to try to relax. “I don’t want to.”

“Thank God.” One side of his mouth turned up in that smirky grin. “Because baby, if you walked off, I think I’d break down and cry.”

Then, four doors up the hall from the bank of elevators, we were at the door to his room. He unlocked it with his key card and stood back for me to enter a richly decorated sanctum that looked huge even though furnished with two king-size beds. He no sooner shut the door before I kicked off my shoes and we went at each other, mouths plundering, breaths soughing, his arms holding my body tightly against his, his hands kneading my bottom.

We parted long enough for my blazer and blouse to disappear. “I should let you know I’ve never been very lucky at sex,” I said breathily, as I fumbled to unhook the last of his shirt buttons.

He whipped off his shirt and tossed it onto a chair. “What’s luck got to do with it?”

His arms slid around my hips and he gripped my bottom, lifted me off the floor and lugged me to the edge of the nearest king-size bed. Reaching down with one hand, he threw back a thick duvet and deposited me on the sheets. He clicked on the lamp, shedding amber light across the room.

I quickly sat up, my greedy gaze locked on his honed biceps and sculpted chest, tanned and glowing golden in the room’s low light. My elevator assessment hadn’t been wrong. His body was even more beautiful than I had imagined.

His smoldering eyes burned into mine. He bent over, hopping on one foot, then the other, prying off his boots and stripping his socks, his arm and chest muscles rippling with his movements.

He straightened, removed his watch and laid it on the bedside table. Then he pulled a black wallet from his back pocket, dug out foil packages—I couldn’t see how many—and dropped them and the wallet on the table. Thank God he had condoms because I had none. Some of my girlfriends carried them in their purses, but I did not. Why would I? Unplanned sex—or for that matter, sex of any kind—wasn’t routine for me.

With no hesitation, he unbuckled his belt, shucked his jeans and tossed them to the side. A gray knit tent hugged his manly shape in the front of his boxer briefs.

My mouth went dry and I swallowed hard.
That will not fit
, my inner voice told me.

He sank to the edge of the mattress opposite me. The knit tent stood like a column between us. Surely his erection couldn’t be as enormous as it appeared.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” He reached out and tugged my cami’s spaghetti straps down, but couldn’t drag the skin-tight Spandex past my breasts. For a few seconds, he stared at the lacy garment. “Jesus, this thing’s worse than a suit of armor.”

“Just a minute.” I quickly pulled the straps back up on my shoulders, crossed my arms, grabbed the hem and pulled the obstructive garment over my head, baring my upper body. My breasts were larger than most women’s of my stature and I was happy to say, they didn’t sag. They trilled at being freed after being bound all day and my nipples instantly peaked.

Before I could lower my arms, he made a guttural sound, grasped my elbows and shoved them above my head against the headboard. “Christ, Miranda, I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you.”

Before I could say a word, he leaned into me, claimed my mouth and filled it with his tongue. I was still hanging onto the camisole. It slid from my fingers and I neither knew nor cared where it landed.

His tongue explored every part of my mouth. When we parted for breath, he still held both of my wrists in a vise-like, one-handed grip against the headboard. With the other, he cupped one breast in his palm and gently lifted it, brushed my firm nipple with his thumb. “I knew your breasts would be beautiful.” He looked up into my eyes. “But you shouldn’t wear that thing. It’s too tight. It’s left imprints on your skin.” His fingers lightly moved over my breast. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

For the second time he had remarked about my comfort, but I had no interest in how tightly that cami fit. “I don’t notice,” I murmured, lost in the feel of his fingers on my skin and the distant quickening that had started between my thighs.

He pressed his nose against my underarm and inhaled deeply. Then he licked me.
Licked
me! Little prickles pinged through my body and a silent
O
formed on my lips.

His mouth moved over and he drew the flesh of my breast into wet, wonderful warmth and I shivered. He tenderly licked, gently sucked. The deep tingle inside my sex had become a drumbeat. I wanted badly to touch him, to comb my fingers through his soft hair. I flexed my captured hands. “Let me go.…”

“Not yet.” He pulled back and watched himself roll my nipple between his thumb and fingers, plucking and molding until the rosy nub was outrageously extended. “Amazing,” he mumbled. “Will this make you come?”

After multiple stupefying orgasms on the sofa back at Skyline, if he had asked me if I was ready for another, I might have said no, but with his hand owning and caressing every part of my breasts in places I hadn’t even known were so sensitive and sending current straight to my core, another climax was all I could think of. And I was growing edgier by the minute. “I don’t know,” I breathed.

“Let’s see…”

He ducked his head, took my nipple into his mouth again and tongued it madly. His fingers tugged my opposite nipple, then firmly squeezed. At the same time, he pressed the sensitive nub firmly against the roof of his mouth and sucked it hard, only just bordering on causing pain. A sweet pleasure-pain zinged straight to my clitoris and a mini-orgasm hit me unexpectedly. My sex clenched against a profound hollowness and I let out a little cry. I squirmed and flexed my hands. “Please,” I panted. “Let me go…”