By Appointment Only (24 page)

Her eyes flashed, but she obeyed. She put her back to him and he saw her begin to unbutton the little excuse for a dress. Then she turned around and his eyes bugged out. Her tits played peekaboo with the partially open bodice. The full, lush curves of her breasts made his mouth water. He grabbed the edge of her skirt and reeled her in. “That’s enough.”

His voice was slurred, all his attention on the dark shadow of her cleavage. He drew the sides of her top together and positioned the cloth so that once again, her nipples poked through. He bent forward and suckled them, tugging with his teeth and lips.

Something warm and slightly sweet spurted against his tongue, and Rachelle jerked and struggled. It took him a few seconds to process her groan as anguish and not pleasure. Her face was red, her mouth trembling. “Shit, Timmy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Her milk had let down. For a second he, too, was embarrassed. They had not played like this since their daughter was born. Was he an ass for getting turned on? Was this twisted?

And then he looked at Rachelle’s fresh, beautiful sensuality and knew the answer. He stood up and gathered her into his arms, holding her with every ounce of tenderness he could muster. “You’re the mother of my child,” he said softly. “That’s a miracle. And you’re also my hot, gorgeous babe of a wife. I can’t help it if everything about your body turns me on.”

She pulled back enough to see his face. “Everything?” In her eyes he saw a plea for reassurance.

He touched her nipple lightly, gathering a bead of milk on his fingertip. He licked it off. Then he ran his finger in the sticky wetness a second time and rubbed it on her lower lip. “Everything,” he muttered.

He kissed her roughly, thrusting his tongue in her mouth and crushing her to his chest when he felt her respond. For weeks he felt like she had done no more than respond to him out of guilt or duty. Today he wanted her passion, her hunger.

And she gave it to him, thank God.

He ripped the dress from her body, tearing buttons and lace in the process. But he let her keep the shoes. He was hard again, and the stupid dress clothes that made him seem like someone he wasn’t chafed suddenly.

He frowned at her. “Undress me, woman. We’re supposed to be having a seduction, right?”

Rachelle’s face lightened, and she actually giggled, a lighthearted, girlish sound that made her seem the age she really was. Her hands wrestled with his belt, his buttons, his stifling jacket.

Her task took her longer than his, but eventually they were both nude. He resisted the urge to tumble her to the carpet. He was pretending to be a successful man of the world. A man who had made fucking an art form. He put his hands on his hips. “Go bend over the pool table. And close your eyes.”

Those very same eyes widened in interested shock and anticipation. She sashayed over to the baize-covered game surface, deliberately twisting her hips as she walked. Her mouthwatering ass was curvy and firm, her legs long and slender. She paused to pull her hair over her shoulder, and now the back of her neck and the line of her spine enticed him beyond endurance.

He watched patiently as she picked up a pair of balls, cupped them in her hands, and sprawled over the table, her butt in the air. The naughty high heels were icing on the cake.

Good God Almighty. Had any man living ever seen a more delectable sight? He stalked her, his fists clenched, his groin aching. How to start . . . ? His brain was fried suddenly, probably by the incredibly carnal visual stimulation. For a guy barely out of his teens, it was the equivalent of a nuclear power surge.

He stopped just behind her and placed his hands on her ass. The skin was soft and warm. He rubbed her bottom, sliding his thumbs down her crack and plumping the flesh. Then he settled his cock in that same divide and massaged her with his dick.

With a little sigh and moan, her fingers relaxed, and the two brightly colored balls she held rolled away lazily. One found a side pocket and dropped into it with a quiet
clunk
.

He grinned. Nice shot. He urged her up on the table, hoping he wasn’t desecrating an expensive item of furniture. When she was on her hands and knees, he removed the dangerous shoes. He picked up the pool cue and used the grip end to tease her.

Rachelle spread her stance an inch wider and arched her back. He rubbed the slick enameled surface between the folds of her sex, almost but not quite penetrating. He leaned forward and bit her gently on her ass.

Rachelle cried out and pressed toward his face. He abandoned the pool cue and reached between her thighs to stroke her intimately. She was swollen and so wet it made him dizzy with the driving urge to take her.

He pinched her ass. “Stand up.”

She tried to obey, but her movements were uncoordinated. He helped her to her feet and made her step to the edge of the table. Now he could lick her with ease. He tongued her, nibbling on her clit and anchoring her against his face by gripping her ass.

She was breathing harsh, sobbing breaths, her fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair until she was in danger of jerking him bald. She came suddenly with a wail and then went boneless so that he had to gather her up in his arms to keep her from falling.

He carried her to the chair, seated her carefully, and then dropped to his knees and buried his face between her legs for round two.

He would have liked to make it three, but he couldn’t wait. The tremors of her second climax had barely subsided before he dragged her to the soft rug, spread her thighs, and entered her with one strong surge.

It was heaven and it was hell. His whole body went rigid, even the cells in his skin were supersensitive and on the edge of reason.

He rode her slowly at first, lifting her lax body into his thrusts over and over again. He tried to concentrate on the visuals, her tightly furled nipples, her taut, full breasts, the beauty of her face washed in passion.

But a man’s body will always betray him in the end. He was sweating, panting, holding on to her hips like a lifeline, when a sudden, jagged arc of fire seized his spine, shook him like a helpless puppet, and flung him into a lake of fire that closed over his head and dragged him under until even drowning seemed like a blessing.

He slumped on top of her, near exhaustion at the end. Time had lost all meaning. They might have been in this room for days, weeks.

Something hot and gritty pressed at the back of his eyes, and he recognized the emotion and the almost-tears as stunned relief. He hadn’t lost his wife. Not at all. It was too much to absorb.

So he pressed his face to her breast and tried to remember that he was a man.

Shaun glanced up as Timmy and Rachelle appeared in the reception area. He was about to greet them when he realized that they were in a world of their own. Timmy had his arm around Rachelle. She had her head on his shoulder. They were smiling into each other’s eyes, and their postcoital glow was unmistakable.

Whatever they had done in the room down the hall had left them satiated and drunk on their love for each other. Timmy whispered something in his wife’s ear as they exited the suite of offices. Rachelle’s soft giggle lingered as the door
whoosh
ed shut.

Shaun felt the bitter taste of envy in his mouth, and it wasn’t a repast he’d ever really been exposed to. His life had been damn close to perfect. Oh, with a few bumps along the way, but nothing major.

Now he was reduced to being jealous of a barely past adolescence boy who still had zits, for godsakes.

Shaun glanced at his watch . . . again. He and Danita had a one o’clock appointment. He had offered to meet her for lunch beforehand. She had declined. Today was it for them. Their last shot. It must have been Timmy and Rachelle’s final experience as well, because the two lovebirds had not paused to fill out a questionnaire.

Shaun dreaded the Friday night wrap-up. How could he sit in front of six other people and confess that the sexual counseling had been a bust? How could he admit that he was no longer able to satisfy his wife in bed?

It was two minutes before one when Danita walked through the door. She was wearing a more casual outfit today, pink cotton shorts and a pink and white knit top. She was beautiful and put together as always, but for the first time in his memory she seemed haggard, beaten down.

She managed to smile at him, but it was a weak effort. He had already picked up the key, and it took only a few moments to find their assigned room and go inside.

He had told her it didn’t matter how the room was set up. That today wasn’t about sex. But it was going to be a hard promise to keep. Three TVs around the side walls were turned on with low-budget porn flicks running. The carnal sounds of panting and cries and other overtly sexual noises filled the room.

Shaun locked his jaw and quickly turned them off. The rest of the room was not much better. A collection of S and M toys littered the bed, including a riding crop, handcuffs, and silk scarves. Presumably this was what a man got for blowing off last Monday’s questionnaire.

Unfortunately there wasn’t a single chair in the room, unless you counted the low stool beside the case of dildos. He looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and reminded himself that a lot was riding on today’s session. Riding. Ha. He looked at the whip and quickly averted his eyes. He shouldn’t be getting any ideas.

Danita fidgeted, her gaze darting around the room nervously. She still held her purse in front of her, gripping it like she dared not let it go.

He sighed. “I’ll clear off the bed, and we’ll sit there to talk. Is that okay with you?”

She nodded briefly, but didn’t respond otherwise. It didn’t take him long to gather up all the provocative sexual equipment. He dumped it en masse on the hot-pink shag rug that had been turned into a love nest with mounds of purple and black throw pillows.

When the bed looked more utilitarian than erotic, Shaun held out his hand. “Shall we?” Feeling Danita’s small hand slip into his gave his heart a jolt. He needed her. In every way. It was as simple as that.

When they were settled side by side with their backs against pillows and the headboard, he stretched out his long legs. Danita had preserved a distance of eighteen inches or so between them, but he didn’t protest.

He raised his arms above his head and rolled his neck, feeling the tendons pop and crackle. Then he put his hands on his thighs. “I’ll start.”

“Okay.” Her quiet whisper held relief.

He drummed his fingers. “I’m a one-woman kind of man. From the first day I saw you, I knew you were my other half. And in all these years, that has never changed. But
you’ve
changed, Danita. And I don’t know what to do or how to act. It seems to date back to when the boys left for college, but I thought you handled that . . .” He trailed off, not really knowing where to go from there.

He’d expected her to be reluctant. He’d anticipated having to drag information out of her. But she surprised him. Her voice was low but steady as she started to speak.

Danita had rehearsed what she wanted to say. It was important that she make him understand. She wet her lips. “I know you think I don’t want sex anymore.”

His eyes flashed with an emotion she couldn’t name. “Well, do you?”

She exhaled on a long, ragged breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Do you remember the week the boys went off to college?”

He frowned. “Of course. You cried for three days. And I think that was when I started losing you. I tried cheering you up, but nothing worked.”

She shook her head. Men, even the good ones, were blind at times. “Do you remember how you tried to cheer me up?” she asked wryly. She could talk about it dispassionately now, but at the time it hadn’t been at all funny.

He propped up one knee and slung an elbow over it. “As I recall, I told you how sexy and desirable you were.”

There was indignation in his voice. As if he couldn’t believe she hadn’t appreciated his heavy-handed efforts. She smiled briefly, though the memory wasn’t the least bit humorous. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at them. “It seemed to me that you were glad the boys were gone. And that made me angry.”

“Glad?” He said the word with a blank look of confusion on his face. “God, no. My heart was breaking.”

Her fingers clenched tighter, her knuckles white. “Well, you sure didn’t show it. As far as I could tell, it was good riddance and don’t let the screen door slam your butt on the way out.”

He was genuinely shocked. She could tell. “You thought I didn’t love our boys? That I was happy to see them go? Hell, Danita. It was tearing me apart, but I was trying to be strong for you. You were grieving and I couldn’t bear to see you so unhappy.”

She half turned to face him. “That’s not the impression I got at all,” she said somberly. “All you could talk about was how much sex we were going to have and what a novelty it would be to walk around the house naked. You claimed we would be like newlyweds again. Having sex all day long. It seemed to me that you thought our children had been cramping our style all these years and now they were finally gone and we could screw our brains out.”

“And that made you—”

“Angry. Hurt. Confused.”

He ran a hand over his forehead, his expression troubled. “Good Lord. All I was trying to do was get your mind off the fact that our big, noisy house was suddenly empty and quiet as a tomb.”

She shrugged wryly. “Well, you failed. Nothing was going to make me forget. It’s called
empty nest
. All parents go through it. And I dealt with it. I found new interests, made adjustments, changed along with my life.”

“But?”

“But I couldn’t get past the anger and the hurt. I had poured my life into raising those two wonderful boys and when you seemed to bid them goodbye without a single qualm, it was as if every bit of mothering I had ever done was worthless. And even worse than that, you apparently wanted a sex goddess at your beck and call, and I was nothing more than a middle-aged housewife.”