Summer Heat (9 page)

“You ache inside and
you damn well know it.”

“I can take care of it
myself,” she countered.

He smiled slightly.
“Yeah, you can, but not like I can do it for you.”

“I’d rather do it
myself than have you touch me again.”

She turned her gaze
away from the hurt in his eyes. Guilty pain washed over her, but she knew what
she’d done was for the best.

Aidan let her go and
nodded. They stepped out into the light and he signaled for the valet to bring
his car.

They rode back to the
hotel in silence, and when he stopped in front she quickly exited before he
could even get out.

“Goodnight, Aidan,” she
said quickly, slamming the door of the car and hurrying up the stairs.

She closed her eyes and
hoped fervently that he wouldn’t come after her, wouldn’t question her,
wouldn’t touch her again. If he did, she’d melt all over him.

When she reached the
safety of her room she bolted the door and sat on the bed, nearly on the verge
of tears.

What was wrong with
her, anyway? Why couldn’t she enjoy sex without churning herself into an ulcer
worrying about what would happen down the road? Why couldn’t she just fuck
Aidan Storm without thinking she’d end up emotionally involved with him?

Melissa dropped her
head into her hands, feeling shattered both inside and out. Two days. She’d
been here two days and already she’d made a huge mess of things with Aidan.

Although she’d never
considered herself a tease, she’d come awfully close these past days. Granted,
she’d made Aidan come twice, so it wasn’t like she was getting him hard and
then walking away, but she knew he wanted more tonight. More than just a grope
in the dark. But this whole hot and cold thing she gave him bordered on the
ridiculous, and more than a little immature.

How old was she,
anyway? Sixteen? No. She was a grown woman. A full-fledged sexual being. Why
couldn’t she simply reach out and grab sex when she wanted it?

The worst thing was,
tonight she 
had
 wanted it. Wanted it with every fiber of her
being. Touching Aidan had been a lesson in frustration. Sweet, satisfying, and
oh so agonizing at the same time. Every time she’d grasped his enormous shaft
she visualized his cock inside her—stroking, thrusting, making her scream with
pleasure.

He’d have given it to
her, too. So what did she do? She said no. Not only no, but
I’ve-no-further-interest-in-you no.

Now what were her
alternatives? Relieve the ache with her own hand, as she’d done so many times
over the years? Frankly, she was more than a little tired of coming that way.
Tired of being afraid to have a relationship, or even just plain old sex, for
heaven’s sake.

Not that sex with Aidan
would be plain ole’ anything. She already sensed that making love with him
would be a forever altering experience. She simply wasn’t sure how she knew
that.

She stood, no answers
forthcoming and resigned to the fact she’d made a mess of things tonight. With
a sigh she walked into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Her reflection caught
her eye and shocked her.

Her hair was unkempt –
several strands had fallen loose from the clip in back, lending a look of
complete disarray to her appearance. Her cheeks were pink, her lips swollen
from Aidan’s kisses, making her look wild and…dare she say it? Sexy.

She could have laughed
if the idea of being sexy weren’t so ridiculous.

Then again, why not?
Resting her hands on her hips she twisted to the side. Not much in the chest
department, true, but still the low vee of the dress showed off the sides of
her breasts nicely. She was slender, her belly firm thanks to the gazillion
sit-ups she did at the gym. Her legs were in good shape from running and
tennis.

She wasn’t exactly
hideous. She was desirable. And obviously Aidan agreed.

He wanted her.

She wanted him.

So what was the
problem? Why couldn’t she enjoy a little hot and sultry romp in the sack with a
man who oozed sex appeal? After all, in a month she’d be back in Boston with
fond memories and at least some sexual satisfaction. Aidan hadn’t exactly
indicated he was looking for a permanent relationship. Admittedly, he hadn’t
said he was interested in anything but sex.

And sex was something
Melissa hadn’t had nearly enough of in the past few years.

She cupped her breasts,
palming them over her dress, her nipples springing to life against her hands.
Moving her fingers in circular motions, she stroked the aching buds until they
stood out prominently against the silk.

Desire pooled between
her legs, reminding her that one hot guy had come in her hands less than an
hour ago. She’d come herself, in that bizarre, out-of-nowhere orgasm that had
rocked her senses in the casino. Was she so turned on that she’d had a
spontaneous orgasm without being touched? Maybe that was her problem.

Dammit, she needed sex.
And if she hadn’t been so stupid, by now Aidan could have had his long, hard
cock buried deep inside her, making her scream with a desperately needed
orgasm.

But no, she’d been
stupid. Now she’d have to do it herself.

The thought made her
shudder, and she contemplated lying down on the bed and stroking her clit to a
quick orgasm. Heaven knows it wouldn’t take long. The tension had been building
all day. That’s probably why she’d had that strange orgasm in the casino. She’d
held too much inside for too long and the dam had simply burst. Once it had, it
continued to refill, just like now. She knew a rapid release would be in order.

But as she started to
turn away from the mirror, a thought occurred to her.

What did she look like
when she came?

Masturbating in front
of a mirror was something she’d never done before. It had a certain wicked
appeal. Especially in a well-lit room like the hotel’s bathroom, with a
full-length mirror on the side wall. She’d be able to see everything.

Her pulse raced at the
thought, and knew she had to do it. Reaching for the clasp at her neck, she
released her hair and let it flow down her shoulders and across her breasts.
Then she slowly undid the button and pulled her dress down, sliding the silk
against her already swollen nipples.

She gasped at the
sensation of the soft fabric massaging her skin, and glanced again at the
mirror. Her hair covered her breasts and she looked like a modern Lady Godiva.
She swept her hair behind her back and examined her breasts.

They were swollen, as
were her nipples. Her breasts might be small, but she had nice nipples. Little
pink areolas and large rounded nipples that were extremely sensitive to touch.

Most especially
sensitive to Aidan’s touch. Her nipples tingled as she recalled his hands, much
larger than hers, sweeping over her breasts, enticing the buds to stand up and
beg for his mouth.

Oh, she wanted his
mouth on her aching breasts so much right now.

But, Aidan wasn’t
there. So she’d have to imagine him there, wish for him there, want him there.
At least in her mind. She closed her eyes and conjured up a vision of him,
standing with her in the bathroom.

What she wouldn’t give
to make that vision a reality.

A sudden shock of
electric desire coursed through her body. Nearly painful in its intense
pleasure, it rocked her until she had to brace herself to keep from wobbling.

Wow. What was that? Was
she so turned on at the mere thought of Aidan that just picturing him and
wishing for him could set her senses on fire?

The room heated
suddenly, as if all the air had been sucked out through the vents. A fine sheen
of perspiration settled between Melissa’s breasts as the humidity in the room
rose.

She was hot. Burning up
inside and out, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop. Sliding her hands over her
stomach, she pushed the dress down her hips, letting it puddle on the floor.
Then she turned to the full-length mirror and surveyed her body.

A patch of fine, blonde
hair covered her mound. She shaved everywhere else, preferring smooth pussy
lips despite the fact that they were rarely seen, touched or kissed by a man.
But Aidan had touched her there.

And now, she would as
well. Only her touch would be his. She spread her legs and looked in the mirror
as she moved her hands toward her sex, teasing herself just a little, knowing
what was going to happen but wanting to delay the pleasure for a few more
seconds.

The room was covered in
a fine mist. Humid droplets rained down on her hair and face, covering her
breasts and lower. She could barely breathe from the blanket of heat
surrounding the room.

But still she didn’t
stop.

Tentatively, she eased
her fingers between the folds of her labia, jumping when they slid over her
clit. She paused there, circling the erect nub with her thumb a few times, then
threw her head back and moaned with the wicked delight of sensations spiraling
through her.

Her pussy was damp,
like the rest of her, her juices flowing over her fingers as she slid a couple
between the soft folds and stroked.

“Why aren’t you here,
Aidan?” she whispered to the empty room. “I need you to touch me.”

No one answered, but
the mist enveloped her, briefly cooling her heated skin. It seemed to soak deep
inside her, becoming a part of her.

She gasped when another
shock of pleasure raced through her, and quickened the pace of her fingers
along the folds of her pussy. Every time she brushed her clit she sucked in her
bottom lip and whimpered, wanting desperately for Aidan’s lips to cover the
swollen nub and suck it deep inside.

“Oh dear God,” she
moaned when a wet warmth surrounded her clit, almost as if in answer to her
silent pleas.

With relentless pursuit
of a climax she continued on, her movements increasing in time to the pressure
against her sensitive bud. Pressure she wasn’t putting there, but remained
nonetheless. She’d given up trying to figure out where the incredible
sensations came from, only that it was as intense as anything she’d ever felt.

Unable to stand upright
any longer, she leaned over the bathroom counter and braced her hands on the
cool, misty marble.

Then she spied the
wooden hairbrush near the sink, peering at her reflection through the wet fog.

Yes, she needed
something inside her pussy, something to pound away at the ache that wouldn’t
go away, something hard to take her over the edge before she dropped to the
floor in sexual agony.

She smiled at the
wicked woman in the mirror and reached for the brush, its smooth, thick handle
a cool relief as she grasped the bristled end in her palm and brought the brush
behind her.

Bending over at the
waist, she slipped the brush over her buttocks and further down, knowing as
soon as she’d found the mark she sought. The brush slid easily between the wet
folds of her pussy, and without another thought she slipped it inside.

Oh, it was heaven.
Heaven and hell and sweet, blissful torture. She pulled it out, just a little,
stroked her clit and lips, then slid it back in a little further this time.

“Yes, like that,” she
whimpered, not sure to whom she was speaking, but wishing that she could look
in the mirror and find Aidan’s handsome face smiling behind her, his hands
holding her hips steady as he rocked his hard shaft deep inside.

The brush was his cock
sliding inside her. Long and thick filling her until she could take no more. She
imagined Aidan’s grip intensifying on her hips as she pulled back the brush and
thrust again. Her body sucked the handle deeper inside, refusing to let it go.

“Fuck me, Aidan,” she
whispered. “Fuck me hard.”

The huge object plunged
deep inside, eliciting a scream of pleasure from her. She pushed back against
the imaginary Aidan, rewarded when she imagined hearing a male grunt of
pleasure.

“Yes, oh yes, harder,
“she cried. “ Make me come, Aidan.”

The hands on her
buttocks squeezed hard, ramming the long, thick member so deep inside she felt
it in her belly. She gave what she got, bucking back against him as the first
waves of her climax washed over her.

The mist began to fall
like a soft rain, soaking her skin, her hair, the entire room as jolt after
jolt of pleasure arced through her. Her pussy flooded with the juices of her
orgasm and the hard object inside strained. The Aidan she imagined in her
fantasies groaned loudly and shot a hot stream of come deep into her core.

She panted, nearly
breathless, and held on to the countertop until the world stopped spinning.
When she finally opened her eyes and peered in the mirror, she was completely
dry. Her skin, other than a fine veil of sweat, had no more been rained on than
the dry French Quarter outside. There was no storm, no thunder, no lightning,
no rain—inside or outside.

The hairbrush, soaked
with her juices, lay on the floor next to her feet.