Learning Curves (16 page)

And then, as she clutched the edge of her dress to the tops of her breasts, reality set in.

She felt a little silly.

Actually, make that a lot silly as she turned and nearly took out a potted plant resting near the edge of the small table. She didn’t need to make a spectacle of herself. Hell, all she wanted right now was to take him to bed and have him fuck her, fast and hard. This…this was just a joke. No one could ever be turned on by the sight of two-left-footed Leanne Galloway struggling out of her clothes.

“Look,” she said, “this is…”

“The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Brandon growled. “Don’t stop. You look fantastic.”

She was stunned at the raw arousal on his face. His desire, his excitement and was that
awe?

Awe? Seriously? Of her?

She wanted to turn and double-check that there wasn’t another semi-naked woman in the room responsible for the look of amazement and sexual heat on his stunning features.

Even in the dim light, she could see the dull flush across his high cheekbones and the glittering light of awareness in his eyes. He’d loosened his tie and it hung haphazardly from his neck. His crisp shirt was rucked from his waistband. He looked tousled and edgy and totally turned on.

He was gazing up at her like he’d never seen anything so desirable in his life, and suddenly Leanne wanted to see herself through his eyes. Eyes that saw her as sultry and adventurous and sexy as hell. It felt good.

No, it felt better than good. It felt fantastic.

She remembered how wild, how uninhibited she’d felt when they’d made love in the green room. It had been messy, unexpected and without a doubt, the best sex of her life. She wanted to feel like that again.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she listened to the lyrics pouring through the speakers and tried to let go of herself and her fears.

Edith’s knowing voice crooned the timeless love song and Leanne moved seductively to the beat. In her mind, she saw herself as Brandon did. Through his eyes, she
could
see herself tinted by rose-colored shades. When he took her in her arms, she felt beautiful and desirable. She wasn’t just a bookworm or an academic in an ivory tower. She was a woman in touch with her most intimate desires. A woman who knew how to ask for what she needed and give pleasure in return.

And now, she wanted to show him just how much she’d learned in their brief time together.

Threading her hands into her hair, she let it cascade in waves over her hands. She imagined his fingers running through the tousled strands, grasping them as he plundered her mouth. She rolled her hips and began to slowly strip away her dress, letting it fall past her breasts, her stomach and over her generous, curving hips. Inch by inch, the dress trailed lower, revealing more and more of her skin. It dropped to a puddle on the living room floor and she kicked it away. On fire with need, she strolled across the living room. She stroked her skin, letting her fingertips linger on her underarms’ delicate skin, in the hollows of her neck, the abundant flesh of her breasts, relishing the touch of her own hands across her sensitized skin.

Brandon watched unblinking, his eyes indigo with arousal.

She rubbed her hands against her nipples, hot, taunting pebbles, and rolled them in her fingers, reveling in the sharp sensation that shot through her. The look on Brandon’s face told her that he was fantasizing about touching her too. Imagining the pleasure they would both receive if it were his hands on her body, caressing, exploring, arousing.

She danced in front of him, leaning forward to brush her near-naked breasts across his face. His lips opened and his tongue darted out, trying to capture a rosy bead, but Leanne wouldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Uh-uh,” she warned as she twirled away, shooting a teasing glace back over her shoulder and savoring the desire written in his tense body language. “I told you the customer doesn’t get to touch the dancer while she’s performing. I’ll take suggestions, though.”

He grinned wolfishly at her compromise, his teeth flashing in the dim light.

“I’ve got a suggestion,” he growled. “Come here and put me out of my misery.”

She laughed. “No.”

“Please.”

“The song isn’t over yet. I want you to get your money’s worth,” she taunted. “But maybe I can give you something else to think about while I’m on stage.”

She stroked her hands across her quivering stomach, tracing the indent of her belly button. Then, their eyes clashing in passionate promise, her hands roamed lower, brushing against the lace boundaries of her thong. She slipped her hand beneath the elastic, letting her head loll back as the sensations rushed through her body, her fingers brushing against her clit, wet with her own need. She’d never pleasured herself with someone watching. She always imagined that it would feel furtive or desperate but it didn’t. It simply increased her own desire even more, as she touched herself and fantasized that Brandon was touching her too.

“How’s this?” she asked, never letting up on the circling pressure.

His growl of lust was all the answer she needed for her to continue her daring exploration. Brandon’s eyes were riveted to her body, his breathing sharp and shallow, audible even above the music’s swell. His hands were clenched against the sofa, his face flushed and his mouth open, as if he were running a race and couldn’t catch his breath.

“Jesus! Leanne, you are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his voice so hoarse that she could barely distinguish the words. But she didn’t need to hear them to understand what he was saying.

“Do you like it?” She moaned as she drove her fingers deeper inside her slick channel, her thumb pressing against her button. “Do you like it when I touch myself, Brandon? Do you wish you were touching me right now? Kissing me? Fingering me?”

“Yes,” he hissed, his eyes hooded with passion. “I want to be inside you. Touching you.” His hands worked frantically at his fly, fighting to release the zipper. His cock, rock hard and glistening, sprang free, curving up to rest against his stomach. With a furious hand, he began to stroke his shaft, matching her rhythm with his hand, never looking away from her moist pink core, where her fingers dipped and played.

She attempted a twirl. She stumbled again but it didn’t matter. This was the sexiest thing she had ever done. It didn’t have to be perfect. It just had to feel right. And it did. With her free hand, she worked her thong down her legs and kicked it away. Her pussy began to clench and tremble, an orgasm close at hand. Turning to grasp the doorframe, she flexed her legs and bent wide, letting him see every private and concealed sight. Her back arched and she thrust her ass high, undulating to the music. She slid another finger inside, and she could feel the pulse flutter and contract round her hand.

“Please,” he begged, the sound of his hand working his flesh a counterpoint to Leanne’s own wild moans. “Please let me watch you come.”

Edith reached the climax of the song. There were no words of love in their relationship—they both knew the score and nothing could change that now—but when Brandon spoke, it
did
do something undeniable to her. At a level so deep, so personal, it made her want to weep. At Brandon’s erotic pleas, she splintered and cried out her climax, the fingers on her free hand digging deep into the wall to keep her upright. The waves of pleasure crashed over her, breaking again and again, but she wasn’t satisfied. She needed more. She needed him.

Wordlessly, she spun around. A few quick steps and she was at the sofa. His shirt was unbuttoned, his pants open, his boxers rucked aside to free his cock. Two bright spots of passion highlighted his masculine cheeks. Leanne had never seen anything so sexy in her life and she knew that she had to have him inside her right now.

Nothing else would do.

Opening her legs wide, she sank onto his thighs, her knees brushing against the velvet cushions. She could smell her own arousal, wet and glistening on her hands as she ran them over his muscled chest. Tugging at his trousers, she slipped them down over his lean, narrow hips as he scrabbled for his suit jacket, abandoned over the arm of the sofa, searching for protection. He found it and she rolled the condom over his straining penis, taking a devilish moment to stroke his straining flesh, loving his gasp of pleasure.

This
, she thought as she sank down his thick flesh, the engorged walls of her slick channel stretching to accommodate his girth.
This is what I needed. Brandon…inside…

She couldn’t complete the thought. The needs of her body were too insistent. Leanne began to rise and fall on his lap, pushing up with her thighs before plunging down again, fucking him furiously, her hands clawing at his shoulders, her head thrown back as the first rapturous tremors began to overtake her again. He thrust up beneath her and every stroke only accelerated her wild passion.

This.
She slid down, taking him deeper.

This.
She rolled her hips and the pressure against her clit was blinding, overwhelming, spectacular.

This!
She screamed at the final thrust and when she came, it was as if everything—her name, her identity, her very sense of self—was obliterated by the tidal wave of need. Nothing remained but the sense of rightness that engulfed her. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, her worries and her insecurities were annihilated, unable to breech the circle of Brandon’s strong arms, drowned out by the sound of his riotous breathing.

She laid her head against his shoulder, nuzzling aside his sweat-soaked shirt, and waited for the world to right itself again.

Leanne’s curls tickled the underside of Brandon’s jaw. He wanted to reach up and brush the teasing strands away but knew that he would have to loosen his arms and he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go.

Not yet. Not after the unbelievable experience they’d just shared.

He’d been with plenty of women. Kissed them, pleased them, had sex with them. But until tonight, he’d never understood the difference between having sex and making love.

He’d never seen anything as beautiful as Leanne when she’d stripped for him. She’d been apprehensive and uncertain at the beginning but she’d persevered, and her performance had been magnificent. Not technically, perhaps—his lips twitched as he remembered her abortive attempt at a twirling climax—but there had been something in her unveiling that he’d never experience before.

Emotion.

Caring.

A deep connection and trust that made what they shared different than anything he’d ever shared with any other woman. When Leanne had danced, she’d been dancing for
him.
Sharing an intimate, hidden, sensual part of herself. She gave of herself without thought, without expectations. She only wanted him to be happy. She didn’t need anything else from him yet she still valued him. For who he really was. That was why their couplings were so incredibly intense. The selflessness of her gift moved him, and a tear pooled in the corner of his eye.

A tear?
What the hell?

He’d made it through his childhood hell, his parents’ divorce, his grandmother’s death, and in all that time, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d succumbed to the weakness of tears. Yet here, in the quiet aftermath of their lovemaking, he found himself on the brink of crying, but not with sadness. It was with gratitude at Leanne’s priceless gift, at her generosity, at…at the
love
he felt for the incredible, sensual woman he held in her arms.

I love her.

He said the words to himself, over and over, waiting for the usual sense of scorn or panic to overtake him. But the only sensation he felt was warmth pervading his entire body, dispelling any fear or doubt.

He loved Leanne.

Brandon brushed his fingers along her delicate spine, tracing the vulnerable column with his fingertips as the tear ran down his face and disappeared into her hair. He sniffed, hoping she wouldn’t notice his emotional state, but he should have known his mood couldn’t escape her perceptive nature.

“Brandon? Are you okay?” she asked, leaning back, her features creased with concern. She brushed a hand across his face, and he tensed when her probing fingertips found the single, salty trail bisecting his cheek.

He smiled and hugged her tight, relishing the feel of his softening cock still buried deep inside her, of her full breasts crushed against his chest, of the scent of her hair filling his senses.

“I’m fine,” he promised and he meant every word. The worry in her eyes eased a little and he took the opportunity to kiss her again. His tongue slid between her lips and he tasted her. Thrusting a little deeper, he angled his head and intensified the kiss. She moaned softly, the sound curling inside his brain and inflaming him further.

He loved her.

Acknowledging his emotions was a new and unfamiliar sensation but with Leanne, it felt too right for him to doubt. Hell, he’d been falling for her from the moment he’d seen her from the stage. And because he loved her, he knew it had to end. Because he wasn’t someone who could give her forever. He’d only hold her back. Professionally and personally. And she deserved better than that. Her goals, her ambitions, her dreams. They mattered to her, so they mattered to him.

He loved Leanne, but all too soon he would have to end it so she could follow her own path. The dull ache at that frank acknowledgement tempered his happiness and his joy and he wished, somehow, it could be different. That he could go on loving her for more than one night or one week or one month.

Forever.

He knew it couldn’t. They’d only ever agreed to a fling and he couldn’t renege on his promise now. He couldn’t say the words in his heart, because they would tie her down and ruin everything she’d worked so hard and so long for. But for right now, he could show her and maybe then, when she left him to make her mark, she would look back and remember him as someone special too.