Midnight Man (7 page)

She could feel his body heat, coming in waves and overwhelming her. Nothing like this had ever happened to her.

She liked kissing—what woman didn’t?—but it was a minor pleasure, like good food or a new dress. A kiss had never rocked her world before.

If a soft kiss, lips barely touching, a brief meeting of tongues, had her pulsing with desire, what would it be like to be held tightly as his mouth devoured hers? She’d been held tightly by him before, briefly, but long enough to feel the power of his body against hers. She’d been kissed by him, too. Gently.

She wanted to have—had to have both—at the same time. She had to know what it was like to kiss him and have him hold her tight. She wanted to feel that powerful chest against her breasts, wanted to arch against him, rub against him.

A light brief touch of her nipples in the restaurant had set off shock waves inside her. Rubbing tightly against his chest might make the ache go away. This was a degree of passion she had no idea her body could feel. She wanted more. Like a drug addict needing a fix, she stood on tiptoe, touching her mouth to his and closed her eyes.

He had aroused her in the restaurant. Everything about him excited her. His size, that air of danger, his complete…otherness from her. When his big hand touched her breast, she’d nearly jumped in her seat.

She wanted more.

She sometimes kissed a date just outside her door. Very few men made it past her door for a nightcap and even fewer into her bedroom.

Outside the door was a nice place to kiss a man goodnight. If you liked it, you could contemplate taking it a little further. If you didn’t, you just whispered “good night” and slipped into the door.

A goodnight kiss said a lot about a man and about how she reacted to that man. A nice safe testing ground.

Though nothing about John Huntington seemed safe to her.

She wanted him to kiss her hard. What would it be like to feel all that strength, all that power, all that male energy focused on her, her body tightly held close to his?

She had to find out. She wanted another kiss from him. Like before, only harder, deeper. Standing on tiptoe, she closed her eyes and touched her open mouth to his again. Her tongue came out to touch his lips and she moaned, deep in her throat.

It all happened at once. Like a whirlwind.

In a second, she was backed up against the brick wall, pinned there by his huge body. His mouth slanted over hers, hard, tongue deep in her mouth. In a second, her coat puddled on the floor and in one slashing movement, his hand moved down her front.

She heard her pearl buttons pinging on the floor and a ripping sound and then her breasts were free. She knew that because he picked her up and clamped his mouth over her nipple and suckled, hard.

The pleasure was so intense, it was almost pain and she gave a sharp cry.

He was holding her high enough so that her mound was level with his erect penis. Her back was against the wall - there was no escaping it.

He was steel-hard and ground into her, rubbing his penis over her. A hard hand reached around to her buttocks and tilted her pelvis forward until he nestled in the folds of sex and she rode him. If it hadn’t been for her clothes, and his, his penis would have been inside her.

He shifted his hold and he licked his way to her other breast. His mouth was hot, avid. He licked her nipple as he suckled. Her other breast, still wet from his mouth, felt cold. She shivered.

Suzanne didn’t even have time to be shocked or react in any way. Too late, she remembered his hard words outside the restaurant. “When I start kissing you, I won’t be able to stop.”

She opened her mouth to say “Stop”. Surely she was going to say—stop.

This was insane.

Given the type of man John Huntington was, she’d been prepared for a kiss to knock her socks off, but she hadn’t been expecting this.

You’ve got to stop this
. Had she said the words or just thought them?

And how could she ask him to stop when what he was doing was so mind-numbingly fantastic, so intensely erotic? How could she say stop when the last thing she wanted him to do was stop?

She wanted more.

He lifted his head, as if he’d heard her unspoken words and shifted her higher, until her face was almost on a level with his.

How could she ever have thought his lips soft? There was absolutely nothing soft about his face. His features could have been carved from a rock, except for his nostrils, flaring with every breath he took. They stared at each other.

This was insane. This had to stop. She gazed into his gunmetal eyes and opened her mouth to tell him. He dipped his head again, catching her mouth. His groin moved strongly against her mound, rhythmically, and she forgot everything, even her name. All she knew, all she was, was concentrated between her legs.

A flash of heat billowed up, enveloping her. Her wild cry echoed in the hallway. Just like that, she was close to orgasm, so close…she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, every sense concentrated on her loins, on the fire between her legs, just one more second and she would explode…

He pulled away.

“Not like this,” John growled. “I want to be in you.”

Holding her with one big hand, he reached around to unzip her skirt, pulled it down and off, then skimmed up her leg until he encountered the top of her stockings, grunting with satisfaction when he realized they were thigh-highs. His hand continued up and with one hard wrench tore her panties off.

His big hand moved between them and she gasped as she felt his touch. She was on the edge…

He freed himself and a second later drove into her.

Suzanne cried out, the sound echoing in the hallway, high and wild. His eyes bored into hers. A muscle twitched over his cheekbone. His hot breath washed over her face.

It was so incredibly, impossibly erotic. Except for her stockings, she was naked, completely open to him. He was fully dressed, except for where he was buried in her. Her naked breasts rubbed against his overcoat, still wet and cold from the outside, almost as exciting as his mouth.

His jaw muscles bunched. Still pinning her with his gaze, he pressed more deeply within her and, just like that, she exploded, shaking wildly with the force of her orgasm, shuddering and crying, pulsing wildly around him.

He moved strongly then, as if released from bonds, and started hammering into her. He was big and so rough she knew he’d be hurting her if she weren’t so completely aroused.

The entire evening had been a form of foreplay, moving toward this, this wild lovemaking against a wall. Pulsing, shaking, shuddering, the explosion went on forever, until he gave a shout, grew impossibly larger and harder inside her and exploded in turn.

He clutched her so tightly she knew there’d be marks tomorrow.

Their breathing was loud in the empty hallway. His big head hung down on her shoulder. His broad chest heaved and the friction of his coat against her nipples continued to excite her body. Her treacherous body.

What had she done?

Suzanne’s head slowly tilted until the back of it rested against the wall. John leaned against her so heavily she could feel the individual bricks against her back. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but words choked in her throat.

He lifted his head. “Suzanne—“ he began.

Oh God, oh God, she couldn’t deal with this. Not in any way.

Whatever he was about to say—‘Hey, babe, that was great, let’s do it again sometime.’ Or, worse, ‘That was nice, but let’s pretend it never happened.’—she was lost. Whatever he said, she couldn’t deal with it. Her behavior had been so way off her personal radar, she had no tools, no way to cope.

“Suzanne,” he said again and she couldn’t tell what was in his deep voice—regret, smugness, desire—he was still hard inside her, after all—it didn’t make any difference. The fact that she had no idea what he was going to say made things worse.

She didn’t know what his reaction would be because she didn’t know him at all. She’d only met him this morning.

He was a complete stranger.

Who she had just let make explosive love to her against a wall. Let? She’d practically begged for it.

She had to get out of here, fast.

She dropped her legs and pushed against his chest, hard.

John’s head came up and he moved back a fraction of an inch. “Are you all right—“ he began, and she slithered past him. She couldn’t answer him, simply couldn’t.

Miraculously, she still held her key in her hand. He was holding himself up against the wall with one hand, breathing hard, head turned toward her, watching her.

A twist of her wrist, and she was able to slip inside the door and close it behind her. She leaned against it, panting, eyes filled with tears.

“Hey!” His deep voice set up a vibration in her stomach and then another vibration set up—his fist against the door.

“Suzanne! Suzanne! Open up!”

Good thing she’d used top-grade lumber for those doors.

“Suzanne!” he bellowed. “Let me in!”

Suzanne tested her legs. For an instant, she thought they wouldn’t bear her weight. Her legs were sore from having been opened so wide and she was sore between them from the hard rough strokes he’d used.

She stepped forward gingerly thankful her legs were holding. Passing a mirror she stopped, transfixed at the reflection. Her eyes widened.

Naked except for sheer black thigh-high stockings and heels, hair flying around her face, eyes rimmed with smudged mascara and puffy, red lips, she looked like something ordered up from Sex Kittens ‘R Us.

Another thud made the door rattle in its frame.

“Suzanne! Tell me you’re okay or I’m coming in! I’ll give you three seconds. One…”

She shook with shock. Okay?

How could she say she was okay?

“Two!”

She’d just had wild sex. With a stranger. Up against a wall. And had had the most explosive orgasm of her life.

“Three!” Metallic sounds. He was picking the lock.

“I’m—“ She could barely get any sound out through her tight throat. She coughed. “I’m okay. I’m, um, all right.” She breathed deeply and raised her voice. “I’m fine. Now go away.”

This was definitely a Scarlett O’Hara moment, she thought as she moved into the bathroom. She’d think about this tomorrow.

* * * * *

Damn!

John stood with his fist raised. He lowered it, and then lowered his forehead against the door.

Which put him in a position to look down at himself, wet with come, still fiercely erect and so hard he could have used his cock to knock her door down. He still wanted her, ferociously, but he’d completely blown it.

He’d been doing so well, working so hard to kiss her gently. A perfect gentleman’s kiss, even though it cost him what felt like a year’s supply of self control. And then she’d moaned, and moved and he’d…lost it.

Her clothes were pooled on the floor. Coat, pretty blouse with all the buttons ripped off, skirt, torn bra and ripped panties. Bending, he picked her clothes up and hung them, one by one, on the doorknob. Then he reached down to tuck himself back in his pants. He zipped up, wincing.

He’d lost the battle tonight.

But not the war.

Chapter Four

Finally, at seven the next morning Suzanne gave up any pretence of sleeping. She’d spent the night tossing and turning, angry and embarrassed at herself for how she’d behaved and even more angry and embarrassed at herself for turning red hot at the memory.

She tried to wipe John Huntington from her mind, and it almost worked, but she couldn’t do anything to wipe the memory of him from her body.

All night, the ghost of his mouth on hers, the memory of his strong fingers clenched tightly around her back, his body thrusting hard into hers, kept roaring back into life, her senses feeling it as sharply as the first time.