Silk Stalkings (7 page)

“How did you know I’d be wearing a saucy little work outfit
today?” Chances were good, saucy being her adopted style.

“Lucky guess,” he admitted, then flashed the screen of his
phone at her. His lustful stare turned somewhat judgmental. “And these rather
suggestive pictures you sent me showed a hint of clothes. Saucy clothes.”

A ripple of desire coursed through her. “You like?”

“Yes, Yancey. I like,” he said, judgment turning into more
than a hint of irritation in his tone. “But do you really think it’s wise to
send scantily clad photos of yourself out into cyberland?”

She clasped her hands behind her back and twisted to and
fro, feigning innocence. “To you.”

“Better be just to me. It’s a dangerous world out there,
sweetheart.” He set the pizza box on the kitchen table and pulled her into his
arms. “I worry about you. That’s all.” Diego brushed her curls back away from
her face. “One wrong keystroke and your milky white morsels could end up in
some other in box.”

“I’m a big girl,” she assured him. He was making a big deal
out of a little cleavage and a lacy crotch shot.

“You’re a bad girl.” He swatted playfully at her fanny.

“I know, right?” Yancey laughed. “Besides, everyone does it.
The human body is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Keep telling yourself that
until you believe it.

“I’m not ashamed,” he said. “I’m territorial.”

Yancey still felt insecure about her body, even after
showing up naked at his door. The hot sex. The shared shower. The thought of
getting naked now gave her the jitters. Women these days plastered their sexy
bits online, engaging in sex or self-stimulation. What if their mothers,
fathers or siblings saw the footage? She’d be mortified, despite her claims to
the contrary.

She gasped, having a brainstorm moment. “We should make a
sex tape.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. One eyebrow shot up above the
other.

“Why not?” she protested, complete with a pout. “It would be
a nice little keepsake.”

His brows knit together. “Keepsake?”

“Yeah. For…you know…”

“Please stop talking.” He shut her up with a kiss, his
tongue pushing her words away.

Diego tugged her shirttail from the waistband of her short
skirt while Yancey worked at the button fly of his jeans. He kicked his shoes
off in the kitchen, dropped his shirt in the living room and her blouse just
outside the bedroom door as they fumbled their way through the apartment. He
pulled the tie holding her skirt closed just as her body butted up against the
footboard of the bed.

She shuffled to the mattress and plopped down while yanking
his jeans and shorts down around his hips. Not wasting a second, Yancey took
his stiff cock in both hands, feathering the softer-than-soft skin of his
shaft.

He groaned. “What’s the hurry, sweetheart?”

Her lips wrapped around the head of his cock, stopping his
protests. She slid her mouth rapidly back and forth over his length. Diego’s hips
rocked forward, his head fell back and he groaned. His fingers tangled into her
curls.

“Easy, girl.” His voice sounded low and husky with desire.
“Let’s not rush this.”

Her lips slid away from his cock. “What if you get called
away?”

He stripped away his jeans and drawers, draping them over a
corner chair. “Lay back.”

Yancey centered herself on the bed, a little uneasy about
the shift in control. He moved too slowly and methodically, like a cat on the
prowl. The pause in action made her recall her vulnerability, lying there in
only her matching bra and panties, stockings and high heels. Diego sat on the
bed and unbuckled the ankle strap of her shoes, one followed by the other.
Slipping the pumps off one at a time, he set them on the floor with care. Good thing
because they’d been very expensive.

Why is he torturing me?
she thought. His hands firmly
massaged her sore feet, his thumb pressing into her instep. Fashion and pain
seemed to go hand in hand, Yancey lamented, yearning for the good old days when
she’d worn clogs or sneakers. Rough hands glided over her stockings from her
ankles to her thighs. Yancey couldn’t fight the tremble that followed or the
dampness she felt in her panties. Diego rolled a condom over his cock before
slowly peeling her panties away. A shudder of anticipation rattled through her.

“I love that you’re a natural redhead,” he said, petting the
patch of hair between her legs. “So sexy.”

His condom was on, her panties off. What was he waiting for?
Caressing her legs again, he tenderly skimmed her stockings off, leaving a kiss
on her thigh. Diego trailed the silky stocking over her torso, making her
shiver. Longing for him, Yancey spread her legs, wrapping them around him as he
centered himself above her. He continued dragging the stocking over her skin.
Thighs. Breasts. Arms. The delicate fabric tickled and tantalized, raising
goose bumps on her skin.

The wisp of stocking slid along her palm. Her fingers closed
around the fabric, trying to put a stop to his game so he’d fuck her already. She
clutched at the other stocking too and he wrapped the silk loosely around her
wrists, binding her to him with a strip of fabric. Leaning over her body, he
laid his hands flat against hers on the mattress above her head. Poised on his
knees between her legs, he eased into her pussy. She released an anguished
breath of fulfillment.

Diego’s fingers folded around her hands. He pulled his cock
nearly all the way out of her cunt. She held him with her thighs and glided
along his shaft, desperate to have him deep inside her again.

“How do you like being my captive?” he asked.

“I like,” she whispered.

His tongue dipped into her mouth. His cock drove deeper into
her pussy. He pumped harder each time.

“Too rough?” he asked.

Yancey shook her head, speechless from his powerful thrusts
coupled with the sensual kiss and the intimacy of his hands clasping hers. He
had her twisted and knotted inside and out. He’d weaved a path straight to her
heart, damn him. For all she knew he might have a stable of women on his speed dial,
Yancey being the flavor of the month. And the month was nearly over.

Failing at acting aloof, she curled her fingers around his.
He enjoyed controlling her, pulling her arms taut above her head, if his
devilish grin was any indication. Releasing one of her hands, Diego let loose
of his hold on the stocking to loop it around the post of the headboard. Sort
of like tethering a horse to a hitching post. She had no fear of permanent
imprisonment, only playful captivity.

He used one hand folded into hers to prop himself up, like a
one-handed pushup, the bulk of his weight held up by his powerful legs. His
free hand explored her body, caressing softly here and kneading brutally there
until her skin tingled and her pussy ached for release. His hand settled between
her legs to fiddle with her swollen clit. The pads of his fingers rubbed in a
circular motion. Yancey bit at her lip and clutched the headboard, using the
stability to move against him.

He plunged his cock into her pussy again. “You like it
rough, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, she replied, “Oh yes.” She’d never known
she liked sex, rough or otherwise, until she met him. “Again.”

Poised on his knees, he let go of her other hand to press
his palm against her inner thigh, spreading her wider, and thrust again and
again, all the while rubbing her clit with his other hand. For some reason her
climax bubbled inside her but refused to erupt. Too many doubts and
insecurities muddled her mind. All because she found herself caring for Diego
and feared he’d break her heart. All the reasons she’d chosen him were the same
reasons she couldn’t be with him. He was gritty, hardened and dangerous. He was
sweet, considerate and flattering. She knew him too well and not at all.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured. He leaned in and latched on to
her nipple with his lips. The tip of his tongue flicked at the hard pebble. He
drew her areola into his mouth, sucking lightly.

Yancey arched her back. “There it is,” she whimpered. It was
as if he’d plucked the perfect chord on a guitar. Her orgasm hit her hard and
fast, reverberating through her body. Heat and wetness converged between her
legs. The flawless combination spiraled together, fogging her brain from any
reasonable thought. For a moment, time stood still. Worries vanished, replaced
by bliss.

“Yes,” he whispered under his breath, not letting up for a
second. One last thrust and he sank into her body with a guttural groan of pure
satisfaction. For the longest time he stayed connected to her, nestled between
her legs, his hot breath caressing her neck. “Too heavy?” he finally asked.

“Not at all,” she replied.
Stay. Please, stay.

Chapter Seven

“That was a tough one,” Diego said.

Her orgasms should come easier the better he knew her, knew
her body. Yancey was a mystery. A puzzle. She pretended to be easy but she was
nothing if not complicated.

He lounged against the footboard of her bed in his boxer
shorts, his third slice of pizza in his hand. Yancey lay sprawled against the
headboard nibbling on her first piece. Her curls fell over her cheek in a sexy
mess. She valiantly pulled the bedsheet over her nakedness, but every so often
the flowered cotton sheet would slip away. As soon as he finished his pizza,
he’d be ready to fuck her again and again, only taking breaks to eat.

“I wonder why,” he persisted. She’d seemed preoccupied
during their romp. Yancey struck him as distant now. “Not in the mood?”

“It was fine. Good.” She shrugged. “I mean great.”

Maybe she needed the oral or the fingering. Diego blamed
himself for not giving her enough foreplay. Or the right foreplay. He’d thought
she’d get off on the stockings binding her to him. He had, which surprised him.
Maybe she wanted to be seriously tied to the headboard with tight knots that
cut off her circulation and left a mark. What did she want from him? And how
far would he go to please her?

“Fine,” he muttered. “Good.”

“Did you know there are over three billion pizzas sold in
the US every year?” she asked.

“Stop trying to change the subject,” he said. “We don’t have
to have sex every time we’re together, you know.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “What would we do?”

“Go out to dinner. A movie. Stay in and watch TV.” He had no
idea what she was into, except sex and trivia. “We could meet each other’s
friends. Barbecue. Sports. Hobbies. There are plenty of things we could do
together.” He wanted to explore her interests and find out what made Yancey
tick. He’d sample her hobbies, she’d hopefully share his. Or they’d discover
new pastimes. Together.

Yancey brightened and laughed. “Stanley says I’m your booty
call.”

“What? No.” Diego tossed his pizza crust onto the plate and
brushed his hands together. Stanley needed to get a life and mind his own
business. “That guy would say just about anything to throw me under the bus.”
Although Yancey had sounded delighted about the prospect of being his booty
call.

Yancey waved her hand at him. “He would not. Stanley…Stan is
complex.”

“I don’t like that guy,” he said. More to the point, he
didn’t trust him. Saying so would sound too much like jealousy, but there was
something off about the guy. There was something off about every guy who looked
at her like a sweet treat on a dessert cart at a fine restaurant. Starting with
the guy at the grocery store the night he’d met her, and ending with that
glaring security guard from her office building. In the middle was every man
who did a double take when she passed. And then there was Stanley. “I think
Stanley’s got a little thing for you.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“You know?” he asked.

Tilting her head adorably, she said, “It’s obvious.” Tilting
her head in the other direction, she added, “So I’m not a booty call?”
Strangely, her question thudded in his ears with a quality of disappointment.

“No,” he protested. “I like you. A lot. You’re fun. Funny.
Smart. I want to get to know you better. Spend time with you. Doing other
things besides having sex.”

“Like date?” Her tone indicated that the idea was too
ridiculous to consider.

“Yes, like date.” He tried to hide the heat and hurt in his
words. No matter how much he changed, he couldn’t seem to put enough space
between him and his past. A woman like Yancey would never take him seriously.
“Is that a problem?”

Diego braced himself for her to tell him he wasn’t good
enough for her. His tattoos were vulgar, his occupation too menial or manual
and his heritage not pedigreed enough for the upper-middle class college
graduate. Her parents would probably stage an intervention. He and Yancey were
opposites, her job very cerebral and his mostly labor intensive. He came home
tired and dirty more often than not. But he wanted to come home to someone.
Her.

“Well…” She glanced at the ceiling and the floor, avoiding
his eyes, it seemed. “Dating doesn’t fit with my immediate plans.”

“Plans?” He fought a frown. Getting angry or defensive would
be counterproductive. “What plans?”

In his mind he pictured a boyfriend she’d forgotten to
mention. A wedding. Maybe she was moving away because of a job opportunity. He
could see her studying abroad. Italy or France. He couldn’t blame her for not
considering him suitable dating material. He found the idea of the two of them
together nearly as unlikely as she obviously did. People would secretly wonder
what she saw in him.

“I’m…” Looking away again, she tapped her chin with her
index finger. “I’m sort of sowing my wild oats.”

His brows drew together. “Excuse me?”

“Did you have a wild youth, Diego?” she inquired.

No sense denying the obvious. His ink gave away his messy
history. If they stayed together she’d find out about his crappy credit
directly due to his poor taste in women. The regrettable drunk-and-disorderly
charge that had cost him a weekend in jail, although the charges had later been
dropped, would almost certainly come to light. And then there were the crazy
ex-girlfriends who sometimes called or stopped by to haunt him. He’d have to
come clean eventually.

“Yes,” he admitted without further explanation.

“Lots of steamy sex with hot women?” she inquired, not at
all accusatory as he’d expected.

He narrowed his eyes at her, suspecting he was talking
himself into some sort of trap. “Yeah.”

She winked at him. “Did you learn some of your best bedroom
moves during that time?”

“I suppose so,” he said slowly, his throat as dry as a
desert.

She shrugged. “That’s all I want.”

He blinked several times, processing. “You want to sleep
with numerous strangers of dubious character in a variety of compromising
positions and potentially risky locations?”

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” she said. “Do you
regret your past?”

“Yes,” he said emphatically, including a wild hand gesture.
“Without a doubt. Yes. It’s reckless and dangerous. My past, which people often
refer to as baggage, is heavy and painful and I wish I could leave it in my
rearview mirror but I can’t.”

“I have a plan,” Yancey protested. “I have a list.”

“A what?” A throbbing headache began to build at the base of
his skull. “You have a what?”

“An Excel spreadsheet,” she said quite matter-of-factly.

“Of course you do.” Diego shook his head. Her organizational
skills amazed him. Her mind fascinated and sometimes mystified him. Leave it to
Yancey to analyze, classify and categorize her personal life. Her sex life. And
his too, probably. “May I see this list?”

“It’s personal,” she said. “Private.”

“What’s this really all about, Yancey?”

“What do you mean?” She pulled a pillow against her body.

“You think you’re missing out on something?” He reached out
to stroke her ankle. “You’re not, sweetheart. You’re missing out on
morning-after regret, the walk of shame and possibly some sexually transmitted
diseases. You’re better off without all three.”

Her fingers steadied her quivering lip. “I’m not good at
sex.” She pursed her lips. Her eyes glistened with tears.

“Who says?”

She swallowed back the emotion he could see testing her
control. “My college boyfriend. The boyfriend before that and the—”

“I get the picture.” Diego held up his hand. “Idiots. All of
them idiots. You’re perfect.”

“Well, yeah, now I am.” She snorted a laugh. “I got rid of
my glasses, highlighted my hair and invested in a bikini wax.” She held up her
hands. “You have no idea how much time and money it takes to achieve these
awesome nails. And check out my toes.”

“Nice.” His thumb and index finger massaged her toes as he
admired the red polish that matched her nails and the paint job of her car.
“The bikini wax is my favorite, though.”

“Have you ever walked in three- to four-inch heels?” she
asked.

“No. Never.”

“And still I’m not quite perfect,” she objected with a
sniffle. “I may look okay, but I’m not always sure what to do in bed. I hate
for you to see me naked with all my freckles and my pale skin. I’m not perfect.
I’m a mess.”

Diego chuckled. He couldn’t help it, although he could see
how serious she was about the matter. “You want to know how perfect you are to
me?” he asked.

She bit her lip and hesitated, finally nodding.

“I’ll show you all my cards, baby. I’m forgetting about my
ugly baggage, all the hurt and pain and betrayal of every other relationship.”
His fingers looped around her ankle. “I’ll brave the possibility of your
rejection and just say it, Yancey. I’m crazy about you. I don’t want this to
end.”

“Really?” she squeaked.

“Yeah, really.”

“But what about my list?” she asked. “There’s still so much
I don’t know…you know…about sex.”

“Show me this list,” he demanded. “If it’s that important to
you, we’ll figure it out together.”

She paused, staring into his eyes, biting her lip again. If
he had to guess, he’d say she was trying to determine whether she could trust
him with the damn list. He was leery himself. What was on that list?

“I want you to be happy, Yancey.” He tamped down his
jealousy and possessiveness and said something untrue. “Even if that means
losing you to someone else. Someone better.” Despite his words, he couldn’t let
her go without a fight.

Yancey burst off the bed. “Okay.”

* * * * *

They nestled in bed together. Diego wordlessly scrutinized
her list with a world-class poker face. If he judged her, he didn’t say
anything. Might be in shock, she decided. The list was unfiltered and for her
eyes only.

“I can help you with most of this,” he finally said.

“But don’t you think it lessens the experience if it’s all
with the same person?” she asked, biting on her manicured nail. “I mean, don’t
I need variety?” And then she mumbled something about it being the spice of
life, but the stony look on his face stopped her from pursuing that theory.

“I’m not going to sit around waiting for you while you’re
out banging other guys,” he objected.

She pointed at number thirty-eight. “And possibly a woman.”

His glare cut to her. There it was—the judgment. “That’s
negotiable,” he said.

“And what isn’t? Negotiable, that is?” she inquired, gnawing
on a different nail, a nasty habit she thought she’d broken.

“The bad kind of three-way,” he said hotly, pointing at her
list.

Grinning mischievously, she said, “I didn’t know there was a
bad kind.”

“I don’t get naked with other men. Period.” He scrolled
through the list. “Besides, two guys just means twice as much work for you. In
one end, out the other, like a Pushmi-pullyu.”

“No,” she complained, a whiny inflection in her objection.
“It’s supposed to be all about me.”

“It wouldn’t be. Trust me.” He took a deep breath, letting
it out slowly as he perused the spreadsheet. “I don’t do hot wax,” he muttered.
“Sounds painful. Won’t spank you with anything other than my palm. I won’t do
anything potentially dangerous. And I won’t hurt you.”

“Hurt me?”

Pointing at the screen, he said, “I think number
twenty-seven would hurt. I foresee too many ways it might go wrong and cause
potential injury. Just my opinion. Can I ask,” he hesitated for a couple
seconds, “how long you’ve been working on this list?”

“Awhile,” she admitted.

“Sooo…” His fingers gripped the laptop. “I’m afraid to ask
and maybe it’s not my business, but how many guys have helped you with the list?”

She could tell he was fighting a total meltdown over her
potential answer. Yancey wanted to argue that the past was in the past, but
what would be the point? Training her index finger on the column of the
spreadsheet that listed Diego, Diego, Diego and no one else, she said, “Just
you.”

“Me?” His eyebrows shot up. “But I thought you said—”

“I’ve been compiling the list for some time. Doing research.
Working on a strategy. Working on me.” A smile blossomed on her face. She
couldn’t suppress it. Her cheeks flamed with heat and probably color. “It
wasn’t until I saw
you
at the store that I worked up the courage and
committed myself to tackle the project full-on.”

He matched her smile with one of his own and leaned in to
kiss her. “That…that is…it’s…well…it’s the best news I’ve heard…ever.”

“I wish I’d met you toward the end of my list,” she
lamented. “You know, when I was more ready to settle down.” That was what guys
usually said to her.

“I’m sort of glad you didn’t.” He kissed her again.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “we’ll attempt number thirteen.”

Sneaking a peak at the screen, she said, “Really? That’s
ambitious.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I’m an over-achiever.”

“Do you own a pair of handcuffs?” she enquired.

“I’ll find a pair,” he replied, conviction in his tone. “And
after we tackle number thirteen, maybe you’ll teach me a little something about
Excel. I could really use it for my record-keeping.”

Yancey stroked his jaw. “Sure.” She leaned in to kiss him.

An alarm sounded from the hallway, making her flinch.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, looking all around.

“The fire alarm.” Yancey rolled her eyes. “Goes off too
often. Like when I’m in bed or in the shower.” With a wave of her hand, she
said, “Ignore it.”

“No.” Diego hopped off the bed. “Just to be on the safe
side, we should exit the building.” He tossed her a pair of velour lounge pants
she’d left slung over a chair.