Lovers and Liars (33 page)

J
ackson Ford.

She was already throbbing with sexual excitement, swollen and wet.

Belinda was having fantasy after fantasy of Ford driving his cock into her, of going down on her, and she was having trouble concentrating on anything. Or anyone. Other than him.

He was the most magnificent male she had ever laid eyes on.

And he knew it. There was no doubt of that. The one thing he wasn’t was modest. He flirted outrageously, and the women flocked to him.

It increased her excitement.

This was long overdue.

The past two weeks, since she had last seen him, had
been a contradiction. Amazingly exciting—after all, it was her first production. And amazingly boring—without him there. The anticipation, knowing she was going to have him when they went back into production after the holiday, had been so sweet—and so agonizing. Now the waiting was over.

A while ago she had thought he was coming over to her. Finally. But he had stopped just outside her group, to shake hands and chat and flash his liquid-inducing grin with some Aspenites. He had been close enough for her to see that his cock was bulging very obviously against the tight faded jeans. She had lost her breath, mesmerized by the sight of him, the sight of that. Then he had looked past the woman he was talking to, at her. He had smiled, slowly, dazzlingly. With sheer sexual promise.

She drifted away from the group she had been talking to, searching for a ladies’ room. She wasn’t wearing underwear, and she had been emitting incredible amounts of high-voltage lubrication. She was going to fuck his brains out tonight. Nothing else mattered, not
Outrage
, not Abe, nothing.

Where was he now?

The house was full of bathrooms, almost a dozen. This particular bathroom belonged to a bedroom and was carpeted wall-to-wall. The Jacuzzi could fit six, easily, and the window surrounding it caught the dazzle of night lights from the town in the valley. She stepped inside, and faced the full-length mirror. Her face was flushed.

She patted her face with powdered paper, flicked at nonexistent smudges on eyeliner. Her makeup was very dramatic, to go with her mood—sable brown and gold on her eyes, and red, red lips that would look garish on most women, but not on her. She pulled out her lipstick, about to reapply.

And then she saw him in the mirror.

Their eyes met in the glass.

Jack smiled, his eyes moving to her reflection and then roaming down her back and legs.

She turned around. His gaze settled on her eyes, her
mouth, lingering—then her breasts and their pointed nipples straining against the knit top. And lower.

Belinda swallowed. She was very dry-mouthed. She couldn’t speak.

Jack took two steps and placed his hands on her shoulders. She could hear his breathing, feel his breath on her forehead. His fingers dug softly into her flesh, kneading. Then he trailed a barely-there finger to her neck, pausing. He briefly looked into her eyes. His finger glided down her chest and into the deep V of her top.

He ran soft, gentle hands around her back. Setting her on fire. They came back to her shoulders, toyed, moved to her neck. He cupped her face, bringing it close. His eyes, green and hot, held hers. His mouth descended slowly, agonizingly slowly.

The contact sent her to heaven.

His mouth moved with an incredible softness, and shudders racked both his body and hers.

And then he had her in an iron grip, hands moving frantically to her buttocks, pulling her against his massive prick, his mouth bruising hers. Belinda moaned, flinging her arms around him, pushing against him, meeting brutal kiss with brutal kiss.

He had her breasts in his hands. Squeezing, his tongue deep in her mouth. Belinda pulled on his buttocks, rubbing her swollen, wet pussy against his thick erection, finding a rhythm, whimpering, desperate for the orgasm she was so close to. Searching, seeking, determined. Jack’s hands moved to her buttocks, helping her stroke him.

He was suddenly gone, and Belinda was bereft. Only to realize he was on his knees, pressing his face against her crotch, his breath fanning her like hot flames. He kissed her through the slick leather, the pressure exquisite, and Belinda was lost.

“Please,” she moaned.

She was on the floor, on her back. He pulled off her boots, the hot skins of her pants. With his fingers he parted her thick, wet lips, and then his mouth was there, lapping at her, exploring the deep pink folds. With his tongue he lifted
her tumescent cht, trailing along the length of its underside, back and forth. He took it in his mouth, sucking, pulling gently. He flicked the tip of his tongue over it, around it, coaxing it into larger dimensions. Belinda grabbed his head. Moaning and sobbing as the contractions spiraled with a violence she had never felt before. The orgasm lingered for a final, startling explosion and began to fade.

Her heart was still thudding when consciousness returned. Her eyes flew open, and she lifted her head. Jack was staring up at her, on his stomach on the floor, each of her naked thighs draped across his shoulders, his chin lost in the nest of her pubic hair.

“Good God,” Belinda breathed.

“You came too fast,” Jack said. “I’m not through.”

A rush of indignation. Belinda struggled to sit, but he held her down, with a hoarse laugh, and then the laugh was gone. He lowered his head, and his tongue moved restlessly back into her moist slit, sliding lower, stiffening, plunging into her cunt.

Belinda moaned. Sinking into the carpet.

Voices.

Female voices, and even as Jack said, “Oh, shit!” and as Belinda realized that the door was opening, it was too late.

Two women stopped in midsentence, gasping, too stunned to move. Belinda sat with her legs spread and Jackson Ford on his knees, his head poised intimately over her glistening genitals.

The women ran out.

Belinda looked at his golden head. It was bobbing up and down—but he wasn’t touching her. Why hadn’t that bastard moved off of her? And then she heard a sound. A strangled sound. He was laughing.

He lifted his head, and she saw that he was choking with laughter, tears in his eyes. Belinda smiled. Jack rocked back on his heels. Hysterical.

“Can you imagine!” He sputtered. “Can you imagine!” He was holding onto his stomach.

Belinda began laughing too.

61

G
oing back downstairs would have amused Jack terribly, if he weren’t so insane with desire for Belinda. They didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to make plans. Jack kept a firm grip on her arm, glancing at her admiringly. Belinda looked like the cat that had lapped all the cream. Not in the least bit embarrassed. In the foyer they waited for her coat.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“My place is out—my father’s there, and we also have company.” She was looking at him out of intense brown eyes. He felt a kind of pang, something deep and tugging and not at all physical.

“I have to go tell my friend I’m leaving,” he said. He knew that Melody wouldn’t mind.

“So do I,” Belinda said, grinning conspiratorially.

Jack found himself smiling back.

Melody just stared when he told her to enjoy herself and that he’d leave the door open. He was wishing he had come alone, so he could have glorious Belinda all to himself for the entire weekend. They would make love all day and all night—to hell with skiing. Maybe once he buried his dick deep inside her he would never come out. God!

His ache was bad. What had happened before was only a tease. He needed more—a lot more.

He wanted privacy. Lots of privacy. Days and days of privacy.

He had the feeling he had just touched the tip of an iceberg.

That he was about to step into a pond, only to drown in an ocean.

No one in Aspen used cars except for the rare times they went out of town to parties like this. The cab came
immediately. The tension was so thick in the car he could feel it—and he could smell it. Her smell. The smell of female dampness, of her arousal, of her need for him. It was heavy and heady and delicious.

He put his arm around her, and before he knew it they were making out like kids. With her hand she traced the outline of his cock. “Don’t,” he whispered. “I’ll never make it.”

She smiled.

Jack paid the driver; then he took Belinda’s arm. He was wearing sneakers, and they both skidded across the icy sidewalk until they made the safety of the stairs. He unlocked the door, and Belinda moved ahead of him into the living room, pausing, proud and graceful and sensuous, looking at him with intense promise. She moved into the bedroom. Jack followed.

With one movement she pulled off the gold knit top.

Her nakedness was perfection. Luscious round breasts, hard-tipped. Narrow waist. She bent to remove first one high-heeled boot, then the other. Her breasts swayed. Round and full and white, they brushed her leather-clad thighs.

He watched her hands, unsnapping then unzipping her pants. She paused long enough for him to glimpse the tangled, damp nest of curls he had tasted briefly. And then she skimmed off the pants, stepping out of them proudly.

She’s performing for me, he thought, startled with sudden comprehension. She knows how hot she is. She’s not afraid of me, not awed by me, and she never has been. The thought thrilled him. He felt himself being sucked in deeper and deeper, fascination rivaling his arousal.

Jack undressed quickly, and she watched his every motion. He wished he weren’t so eager, wished he could give her a show, but he couldn’t. He liked the way her gaze roamed over his powerful torso, rippling with every movement. He knew exactly how he looked—he had seen himself on film a million times.

“Jack,” she whispered, coming forward.

He closed his eyes when her hands slid over his hard stomach and up into the furring of brown hair on his chest.
She inhaled. Her hand drifted down, moving over the huge bulge in his jeans. Jack was filled with pride. Anticipation.

Fingers found the zipper and slid it down. His cock rocketed out, red, massive, and straight.

She stared.

Jack stumbled out of his pants. As if he had no experience, no control. He was more than proud. All women seemed mesmerized by him, and it was this moment that was perhaps the most exciting of all. He moved toward her.

“You don’t wear underwear,” she said unevenly.

Jack laughed harshly. “Two of a kind,” he said, pushing her back on the bed.

It was an explosion.

One moment they were apart, and the next they were together, straining wildly at each other, entwined, gasping, desperate. He held her face in his hands and kissed her mindlessly, losing all coherence, all detachment, overwhelmed by sensations, by a gaping emptiness he knew only she could fill.

He raised himself up on his forearms and rubbed the head of his prick against her belly, stroking her soft, damp flesh, each stroke taking the straining purplish head lower, until it slid between thick cunt lips, over her clit again and again. The head was huge, growing larger. She made a wild, desperate sound. He couldn’t delay a moment longer. He was mad with his need to ram himself deep inside her—and he no longer had any control. For one brief instant he poised the tip of his prick against her cunt, trying to tease, trying to wait. He plunged into her.

This was what God meant when He promised heaven.

And then the unthinkable happened.

He came. It happened so quickly, and he was helpless to prevent it. It was an incredible orgasm, the like of which he had never experienced before. It seemed to last forever, that hot, hot pumping, that emptying. But it didn’t matter. He knew she had come too. There was no doubt about that. He had felt every single one of her violent contractions. He looked at her.

Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, her hair very
damp. He reached up to touch a wisp of hair, move it aside. Her eyes fluttered, opened. He locked onto them, drowned.

She smiled.

He smiled.

He lay his cheek on her shoulder and explored her body with his hands. He was suddenly filled with doubts. He was with one of the most beautiful, confident women he had ever seen, and he had orbited in a couple of minutes. Less. What was she thinking? Was she disappointed? Christ! How in hell had that happened? Talk about a straight fuck. He hadn’t even said any of those words—love words, sex words—that women loved to hear.