Good Girl Gone Wild: When Lust Turns to Passion... (Good and Wild) (4 page)

Christine
ignored her, regarding her image in the full-length mirror. She looked
conservative, she knew, but she wanted to keep their physical contact to a
minimum until she got to know Nick better. The violence of her reaction to him
triggered red flags all over her psyche, and she wasn’t about to lower her
defenses (what defenses, haha!) just yet in case he turned out to be a jerk.

“I
like this outfit,” she said firmly. “And since I don’t know where we’re going,
it’s better to go for a neutral look. But I’ll wear the heels,” she conceded. She
also did something Lisa knew nothing about. Just in case.

Almost
before she knew it, and an interminable time later, it was 7 o’clock. As if on
cue, the doorbell chimed, making her jump a little. She scanned her face
anxiously. She had put on just a touch of blush and lip gloss, seeing no point
in emphasizing her already full lips, which she considered too opulent for her
personality. She saw nothing out of place (or out of the ordinary, for that
matter) and sighed.
Oh well
, she thought fatalistically. She took a deep
breath before stepping out of the bedroom.

Lisa
was with Nick, interrogating him adroitly, but he was holding his own quite
nicely. He parried her questions with playful wit, frankly laughing at her.
Lisa was unruffled, claiming a sisterly right to be rude to any potential
boyfriend.

Or
so Christine read in the challenging look Lisa gave her as Christine tried to
frown down her irreverent sister. Lisa whispered as she passed by walking back
into the bedroom, “Maybe you’ll have better luck, I can’t get anything out of
this guy.”

Christine
looked up at Nick apologetically, but whatever she was about to say just flew
from her mind and scattered to the four winds. He was looking at her and was no
longer smiling. If anything, he looked rather grim, and Christine wondered what
had displeased him so. Maybe she
should
have worn a dress…

Fashion
sense was the furthest thing from Nick’s mind. He did not even notice what she
was wearing at all.

On
the drive over, he had convinced himself that he had been exaggerating the
force of his attraction on the previous day. Christine was a nice, attractive
girl but hardly the most beautiful girl he had ever met, and when he saw her
again, he would not want to rip her clothes off and run his hands all over her
body at all. At least not until after a few more dates and a little foreplay,
he temporized, relishing the thought. They would have a nice date, and maybe a
kiss goodnight, but whatever happened, he will be in control of the situation
and will not get carried away.

And
now she was here, and he knew he was in big trouble. He had never seen her with
her hair down, and his befuddled mind was murmuring
goddess
over and
over again. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and nuzzle her neck. How he
was going to get through a proper first date with his blood running as hot as
this, he couldn’t imagine.

“Is
anything wrong?” Christine asked as he continued to stare at her with that
queer look on his face. “Should I change? I didn’t know where we were going, so
if a dress is more appropriate…”

Nick
shook his head as if waking up (and that wasn’t so far wrong) and tried a
smile. It was obviously an effort, but better than that starey look. “No, what
you have on is fine. I just suddenly remembered something, and I sort of
drifted off. Nothing important,” he reassured her.

Oh,
yeah?
Christine thought
satirically,
You didn’t see your face. Whatever it was, it was important.
But she didn’t pursue the matter, but obediently got her purse so that they
could get going.

Nick
had chosen a small restaurant that was known only to a handful of people, and
had no set menu. You had to reserve ahead and order what you wanted, and the
chef would prepare it for you. It was like having a private chef at your own
home; all parties are given a private dining room. Needless to say, it cost the
earth, but well worth it.

It
had seemed like a good idea in the cold light of day, but as they were being
led to their dining room, Nick realized it was too intimate to be safe. But he
couldn’t welsh on the reservation; the head chef was a personal friend, and
would never forgive him.

Christine
grew up middle class, so fancy restaurants were not unknown to her, but the
understated elegance of the restaurant impressed her more than any opulent
display of wealth. She had a shrewd idea that this was not a place where you
simply walked in, and she was gratified to have her hunch confirmed when she
saw the wine and appetizers being laid out as they came in.

“Very
nice,” she murmured. “I bet you know the owner,” Christine said after they had
been seated and wine had been poured out.

The
room was small, intended for just two people, but it was tastefully furnished
with a large settee and covered with a good quality burgundy-colored carpet.
There were small oil paintings placed strategically along the walls depicting a
dancing couple in various poses in what seemed to be a Regency period drawing
room.

“You
could say that,” Nick nodded, toying with his wine glass. His mind was clearly
on something else, and Christine wondered miserably if he was regretting asking
her out. He was looking at her, but there was a hooded quality to his gaze, as
if he didn’t want her knowing what he was thinking. It was unnerving, and she
started nibbling on a piece of toast with salmon mousse for something to do.
Soft music was being piped in and it soothed her frazzled nerves. She had been
so looking forward to this evening, and it seemed doomed from the word go. She
sipped her wine, found it delicious, and emptied it.  As she put down the
glass, Nick seemed to come to a decision. He leaned across the table, his hand
outstretched. “Dance?”

Christine
hesitated a moment, but the temptation to have him close overcame her doubts.
She put her hand in his, and felt his smooth palm warming her suddenly cold
ones, his fingers long and well-manicured. Christine felt an impulse to check
her own nails, which were unpolished and clipped short as usual. Inwardly she
grimaced, thinking that Lisa was right after all.  As he pulled her up, his
fingers curled around her own, and suddenly she felt warm and protected. She
placed her free hand on his shoulder, and she felt his other arm go around her
waist, pulling her closer.  Sighing softly, she relaxed against him, placing
her head on his chest as they swayed to the music.

Nick
wanted to touch her; it was an all-encompassing need that was impeding his
thought processes. Dancing seemed to be a safe alternative to what he really
wanted to do, and hopefully would help clear his head. Now with an armful of
Christine, he closed his eyes in pleasure, drinking in her smell and the feel
of her body molding into his. The inevitable soon happened, and as he felt the
stirring in his groin, he made a move to step away, afraid that she would feel his
arousal.

Christine
felt the sudden withdrawal, and without thinking pulled her hand free and
twined both hands around his neck, tilting her head to look up at him. “Don’t,”
she whispered, softly stroking the hair on his nape with her thumbs. She felt
him shudder and he tensed as if to move away again. She loosened her hold a
little, suddenly doubtful.
Maybe I smell funny
she thought in dismay.

Nick
saw the way her eyes, dreamy as she looked up sharpen in anxiety when he made
to pull away, and then cloud over. He saw how she might get the wrong idea
about why he needed to move away, and saw no way of explaining it without sounding
like an idiot, or a goat, or both. He tried anyway. “Christine, I—“

At
that moment, there was a discreet knock on the door, and two waiters came in
with their soup and salad. Christine moved out from the circle of his arm,
smiling slightly.

“Smells
good,” she quipped with determined cheerfulness, taking her seat in front of a
steaming bowl of French onion soup. Nick joined her slowly, feeling bereft,
scolding himself for pulling away.

Christine
was miserable, and she masked it by talking far more than she usually did. She
was all praises for the dishes that came out, although they all tasted like
ashes in her mouth. She downed glass after glass of wine, but it didn’t seem to
help her feelings of inadequacy. She couldn’t wait for the evening to end so
that she could indulge her misery in peace.

Nick
listened to her chatter, smiling at all the right places, responding when
necessary, and feeling her withdrawing further and further away from him. Over
a delicate lemon gelato, Christine looked up to see Nick watching her intently
and suddenly felt that it was just too much to bear. She placed her dessert
spoon carefully on the table.

“I’m
really very tired, could you take me home now,” she said in a small voice, not
looking at him. Tears were very near the surface, and she blamed the wine she
had consumed for her weakness. They threatened to spill over when she felt him
drop down on one knee beside her chair and take her hand. She tried to draw it
away, but Nick held on firmly.

“Christine,”
he said gently. “It’s not what you think.” Christine was unable to speak, so
she just shook her head, and tried to take her hand back again. Nick responded
by grasping her chin and forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were brimming
with tears, and one spilled over, travelling to the corner of her quivering
mouth. Nick followed its path and his eyes locked on her slightly parted lips.
With a groan, he leaned in and licked the teardrop, tasting the salt and the
sweet-tangy remains of the lemon gelato and wine on her soft mouth. Her breath
fluttered past his cheeks. He threw caution to the winds and fastened his
hungry lips on hers, his hand on her nape, cradling her head as she filled his
mouth with her sweetness.

Christine
felt herself melting into the kiss, tasting his tongue as it ran across her
lower lip, filling her senses with his smell and the feel of his lips. He
inserted his tongue further into her mouth, tentatively touching it to hers.
She closed her lips to suck him gently, and heard him groan again. It was a
sound filled with need, and she could feel her nipples start to harden and
tingle at the sound. She moaned at the sensation, and felt the warmth between
her thighs spreading.
Oh, dear God, I’m horny! s
he mused wonderingly.

Nick
drew back, his breathing ragged, and his erection complete and uncomfortable.
He looked at her flushed face, her lips fuller and red from his onslaught, her
eyes dark with desire, and he felt himself drowning,

“Christine…”
he breathed, burying his face in her neck, where he could feel her pulse
fluttering. Christine moaned softly, her spine tingling deliciously from having
his lips move against the sensitive skin on her neck.  His hand moved to her
breast, cupping it gently, and his thumb brushed against her unbearably
sensitive nipple. She gasped, a hand flying up to his head to grasp a handful
of his hair, arching her back so that he could have fuller access to her breast
which was straining against her bra.

Nick
raised his head to look at her, wanting to take her there and then, but needing
her to make the decision. “I want to make love to you. I have ever since I
first saw you. Do you want me to?”

Christine
knew no hesitation. Sex was not something she had needed before, and probably
would have continued not needing it before tonight.  But she needed to have it
with this man. She knew she wouldn’t get any peace of mind until she did.
Anything else was secondary to releasing this pent-up desire.

“Oh,
yes,” she breathed. “Can we do it here?”

Nick
laughed shakily, and in response got up , said something to someone outside and
locked the door. He came back to find her standing before the settee, slowly
unbuttoning her blouse, her pants already on the floor, still wearing her heels.
He watched her undress, hands clenching as he saw the black lace under the prim
linen material of her blouse. She let the blouse fall and let him look his fill
of the see-through black lace of her underwear.

“You’re
so beautiful,” he whispered, coming to her to release her breasts from their
prison , lifting them over the top of the bra. Her nipples were dark and hard
as pebbles, and he bent his head to take one and then the other into his mouth,
sucking and nipping gently.

For
Christine, all thought was gone. All that was left was the sensation of Nick’s
mouth enveloping her aureoles and pulling gently. She arched her back, urging
him to take in more of her breast in his mouth, and he responded by slipping
his free hand under her lace panties to grasp her ass, squeezing rhythmically
as he suckled. Christine felt weak, one leg wrapping itself around his hips to
press herself closer to him, and she clung to him to keep from falling down. He
lowered her gently on the settee and started to unbutton his shirt. Christine
sat up, looking at the bulge in his pants, and put out a finger to stroke it.
Nick’s hands stilled, and he closed his eyes as she continued to stroke him
through his pants. She then tugged at his belt and unhooked his pants, his slim
hips no hindrance to the loosened pants, which pooled around his ankles. He
kicked them off together with his shoes, and Christine leaned forward to kiss
the bulge that was now clearly outlined by a pair of white bikini briefs
between muscular thighs. It twitched and pulsed under her touch, and she wanted
to rip his briefs off with her teeth.