End of the Innocence (14 page)

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A
lexis ended the call, a smile spreading on her face. So, Brad had finally called. She was ready: shaved, moisturized, and naked. She slid a silk robe over toned shoulders, slid her feet into stilettos and fastened them. Unlocking the front door, she positioned herself on the couch, the robe open, in full view of the front door. She closed her eyes and ran a hand softly down her body, lingering over the soft skin, running a finger down her shaved slit, teasing the lips of her sex, feeling moisture as she dipped a finger inside. She sighed deeply, fully opening her legs, spread eagle facing the door, and let her mind take her back to the last time Brad was there.

It had been winter, the cold air bringing a blast of refreshment after the long, hot summer. He had enjoyed his night at Saffire, fought over by the girls, every dancer wanting a shot at his attention. Then, an after party, champagne shared by all, the DJ pumping music through the speakers and turning down the black-lights. Brad had a slew of white-suited chefs take over the kitchen, wheeling in carts full of still-moving lobster. They had all dined, new bottles of bubbly popping every few minutes, eyes starting to shine as the night progressed. And, when the sun started to come up, his limo was put to good use, twelve dancers piling in for a ride home. The car had turned into a sea of sexuality, drunken hands roaming over tan bodies, tops pulled off and bottoms pulled aside. The car sang along to Black Eyed Peas, a sea of naked euphoria. It had emptied slowly—twosomes and threesomes dropped off in the Vegas suburbs. Then it had been just her and him and Lida, a Puerto Rican beauty who had been jockeying for Brad since he bought the club. And they knew, as if by preplanned design, the future of the evening, the limo coming to a stop and all of them spilling out, Brad supporting both of them until they stood, the three of them in her bedroom.

He had stood in front of them, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, his hair mussed from one too many lap dances. And then they had all feasted, this time not on champagne, but on skin, and somehow, with two of them and one of him, he had made it about them, and they had ended the night entwined as three, their hair spilling over his muscular naked body on her soft bed.

Her body was tightening, responding to her touch, and she was panting by the time the knob turned and the door opened.

♦♦♦

A
lexis had texted him, the message coming through as he drove down the suburban highway that led to her neighborhood. The text was short, indicating the door was unlocked and he could come right in. The text should have alerted him, should have warned him of what to expect, but it didn’t, and he opened the door to silver stilettos leading to glistening legs, open and spread for him, her fingers inside her, the pink of her sex framing her motion, her eyes opening and meeting his, a heavy gaze that instantly communicated her need.

Fuck.

He stepped inside and shut the door.

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I
let out a quiet breath. Willed my body to loosen, willed my tense muscles to stop telegraphing my stress. Why was this so difficult? Maybe I could blame it on the fact that we were in a bedroom instead of a spa. But more likely it was the tan Adonis whose hands were feeling a little too perfect.
Mr. De Luca left very particular instructions.
Trouble. I was definitely in trouble.

My nervousness melted a little with his movements, confident strokes of sensuality, attending to safe areas: my hands, forearms, and biceps. When he moved higher, I tensed; his hands kneaded me back to butter, his focus on my neck and shoulders. He slid his hands into my hair, used his fingers to massage and release tension. I exhaled, my lips parting slightly, and he traveled, a scent of candlewood and eucalyptus trailing behind him, and ended up at my feet, starting at my soles and working upward.

Ten minutes later I fully relaxed, still on my back, almost asleep, almost convinced that this was a standard service and not some fantasy come true, when his hands started their massage of my upper thighs. The sheet was tucked tightly around my body, and the flow of his hands over and around my thighs created a small puff of wind under the sheet, hitting my bare and waiting sex. It was a reminder, suddenly alerting me that I was, in fact, naked, his hands inches away, nothing but air between them and me. He moved higher, his hands separating, one on each thigh, and he slid them upward, dipping slightly under the sheet before continuing—his hands on top of the sheet.

I breathed easier, having the sheet between us—a barricade of sorts, and one that should keep my sinful thoughts at bay. His hands traveled, two palms across my body and then, I lost my breath.

They moved, in practiced, perfect paths, skimming across my breasts, the sheet underneath his hands only an additional weapon in the game of seduction. My nipples responded, instantly hardening, every light sweep of his hands a throb to my lower half. They swept, twin weapons of passion, down the sides of my stomach, the sheet dragging a little with them, hands moving back and forth, from breast to hip, a delicious sweep that moved a little lower with every pass, my pussy tightening in response, the thin sheet sticking to the moisture between my legs. I fought my pelvis, which, with each stroke of his hand, seemed to tip upward, trying to shorten the length and allow his fingers to reach my sex.

His hands slowed, his strokes shortened, and then, to my utter dismay, stopped.

“Ms. Campbell, if you could flip over, I will start on your back.” His voice was professionally calm, an embarrassment, since I was at the point of practically gasping with need.

Flip over? Are you fucking kidding me?
“Sure. That’s fine.” Miraculously, I didn’t sound like a wanton slut, barely hanging on to her sanity. I sounded almost, practically, normal.

“Thank you, Ms. Campbell.”

I turned over carefully, and he repositioned the sheet, exposing my back.

“You’re so tense,” he whispered, running his hand down the scoop of my back, his hands fanning out along the curve of my ass.

Shocker
. I tried to relax, letting out a breath that ended up sounding like a moan. A sexual moan.
Fuck
.

He massaged, slow circles along my spine before making long swipes of his hands from one side of my back to the other. Traveling up along my back, he moved closer and closer to the sensitive skin along the side of my breasts. He slowed his movements, his fingertips grazing the outer swells of my breasts, my breath hitching despite myself.

Oh my God.
I was getting wetter. I was naked, underneath the cool sheet, and could feel the moisture pooling between my legs, threatening to drip from my shaved lips. This was so bad, and I did some kegels, trying desperately to stop my body from reacting to his touch.

This was bad. This was bad in one of those ways where bad was good, and I didn’t know if I wanted to be bad, or if I was even being bad if I followed temptation. Temptation was currently running his fingers slowly up my ribcage—my body still facedown. Temptation was now gently tracing the side of my breast, and I let out a moan despite myself.

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W
hile she’d often pretended to know a lot about Brad De Luca, there was only one thing she did know. And that was that he needed, with a primal urge that oversaw any rational thought process, to please a woman. Sex with him was not selfish; it was an extension of his soul, and he showed everything through it. Anger, happiness, love, and compassion. If she needed him, he would be there for her. It was in every ounce of his DNA. Alexis met his eyes and let out a sigh, spreading her fingers and begging with her eyes.

“Alexis.” Brad’s eyes closed briefly, an insult, and she closed her own eyes in response, dropping back her head and exposing her neck to him. She moaned in response, her legs closing slightly before opening again. He
would
open his eyes, he
would
look at, admire, want her. He had to.

“Alexis, please put on some clothes.” There was a tremor in his voice, and she tried not to smile. Yes, she may not know his parents, or his dog’s name, or how he liked his steak cooked, but she knew men, and she knew Brad. He would start with fingers, start with making her come, but that would only be the beginning. He would not be able to stop, his arousal at her orgasm making him pliable, vulnerable. She may lose the war, but she would win this battle.

Footsteps, moving closer, and then he stood, between her legs, his scent making her mouth water, a new rush of moisture between her legs. She opened her eyes and moaned, her legs shaking slightly and reached out with one leg, hooking it around his thigh and pulling him closer.

“Alexis—”

“Shhh. Don’t say anything, Brad. Just please. Please give me what I need.”

♦♦♦

T
he masseuse’s fingers stopped their tease over my back and moved, trailing down the edge of my side, growing more aggressive as they reached the bottom of the sheet, dipping slightly underneath the fabric before gripping it.

Then he spoke, his voice unexpected in the candlelight darkness. “Ms. Campbell, may I remove the sheet?”

I swallowed, trying to bring some moisture to my dry mouth, then spoke, all offhanded casualness gone. “Yes. Please.”

He tugged on the sheet drawing it slowly down the length of my lower half, every inch of exposure one more step down the staircase of desire. Then, it was off, my ass and body fully exposed to him, and I heard his breath quicken in the quiet bedroom.

♦♦♦

B
rad stared down at the woman, his brain competing wildly with his cock. She moaned beneath him, very near to orgasm, her leg around him, body flushed, fingers slick, hips grinding slightly. If he placed his hand on her chest he’d feel her heart, beating with need; if he slid his hand over hers, replaced her fingers with his, she’d collapse beneath his touch. It would be so easy, so quick, her heat quivering tightly around his fingers, her release perfect. He could do it with his fingers alone. No mouth, no cock. Julia could have her legs wrapped around Tyler right now, his cock inside of her, his mouth on hers. Just the thought of it made him hard, which was a dangerous transition right now. Sarah, or Alexis, or whatever she wanted to be called, didn’t regard sex as anything but an act. He could take care of her quickly, reassure her, end this, and then leave.

No
. He fought an inner battle with himself, pulling his leg from her, taking several steps away. Then forced his eyes to hers, his voice to strengthen. “What are you trying to do, Sarah?”

“It’s Alexis. You know that.”

“I didn’t come here for this.”

She closed her eyes briefly, her fingers continuing their movement. When she spoke, her words were more breath than articulation. “Whether you came for it or not, it is something you will always need.”

“No.” The strength in his voice caused her to open her eyes. “Sarah, you and I have history, which is why I came to speak to you in person. I will always be your friend, but any sexual relationship is officially over.”

“Over.” She propped herself up, met his eyes, and spat out the word, disbelief in her tone.

“Yes.
Over
. That’s how it has to be.”

She exhaled, standing, her long legs accentuated by the heels, and walked across the room until she stood before him. “You and I will
never
be over, Brad. We are cut from the same cloth; we are two sides of the same coin. You and her ... she will never please you in all the ways that you need it.”

He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “Sarah, don’t presume to know me because we have fucked in the past. I assure you that I know exactly what I am doing, and Julia is exactly what I need. Don’t presume to know anything about her either; she doesn’t deserve that.” His voice softened a bit. “Your job at Saffire isn’t going anywhere. I just wanted to let you know that I am marrying Julia, and our relationship has to change as a result. Friends are all we can ever be now.”

She bristled at his soft tone, crossing her hands over her chest and glaring at him. “I’m not a child, Brad. I don’t need you to sugarcoat it. You want to make a huge mistake with your life, go ahead.” She turned, grabbing a robe from the couch and shrugged into it.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

She stopped in front of him, her eyes searching his before she turned away, her shoulders stiff under the red silk. “You can show yourself out,” she called over her shoulder.

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M
ay I remove the sheet?

With his question, with my response, I had given more than just permission to remove the sheet. I had opened the door, and I was slightly terrified about what would walk through it.

I lay on my stomach, my head on the pillow, grateful for the hide of my face, the layer of protection it, like my blindfold, gave. He started at my feet, behaving, normal kneading movements that shouldn’t have been sexual, shouldn’t have made my heart race and my pussy wet. Then he gently lifted and moved, one leg and then the other, spreading my legs slightly, the cold air of the room hitting my folds, alerting me to the fact that I was exposed, open to his eyes. His hands ran along my calves, oiling up my skin, his touch incredible on my tense muscles. I wondered how much he could see, if the moisture glistened between my legs. He worked silently, his touch slow enough to be sensual, practiced enough to be effective. I should have been relaxed, my muscles putty in his hands, but the fight to stay unaffected was only making me more aware. Aware of my open legs, aware of his strong hands, his masculine presence, the fact that I was naked before him. What would I do when it was time to turn over?

He moved closer, his hands sliding over the back of my knees and starting a slow, leisurely knead of my thighs, his large hands running and gripping their whole width, each movement insanely close to
me
, to the spot between my legs that was now soaked.