The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (13 page)

The voracious man under me roared his climax as if he might die of pleasure. “Ah, Gracie…” His arms wrapped around me, crushing me to him. He pressed his lips to the curve of my throat.
 

We rested a moment, legs tangled together, until our breathing returned to normal, both of us jerking periodically from post-coital twinges.

Bradley eased out of me, tucking my rag-doll body in beside him. “You’re so sensitive,” he whispered, stroking my body.

Languidly, I reached down and found his cock. Not dancing around hard, but stiffer than any man should be after his second orgasm. “Jeezus.” I snorted a soft laugh into his shoulder.

“It’s the Gracie effect.” He brushed his lips across my temple. “The poor chap doesn’t get a moment’s rest around you.” He reached for the champagne and dripped ice-cold water over the two if us.

 
I shoved the bottle away. “Bradley, that’s freezing cold.”

“We’re going to swill this down like a couple of drunken Portuguese sailors and then we’re going for your second.”

He kissed me on the mouth, sweet and brief. “I want to experience you in that lovely Parisian bed. Make you beg for mercy with my face between your legs.”
 

He untwisted wires and rocked the cork back and forth. The very idea of twice caused belly flutters. The stopper shot out of the bottle and hit the ceiling of the limo.
 

With this man, anything was possible.

I DEPOSITED MY phone into the charger/player and selected a playlist. Instantly, Usher’s sweet, seductive voice filled the apartment. And Usher had it bad.
 

Bradley shot me one of his “get ready to fuck” looks. A light-headed tingle of anticipation rippled through me. The attraction between us was mysterious and seemingly insatiable.

Maybe it was because Bradley just kept getting sexier. Slightly rumpled, he held an open container of ice cream. We’d stopped the limo on the way home and picked up a pint of Java Chip. He appeared younger, less tense as he turned the plastic spoon upside down and licked. His body moved with an easy swagger like he’d just been well-fucked.
 

Smiling, I joined him near a shelf crammed with picture frames. His gaze swept from one to the next. “This is amazing, who shot this?” He picked up a large black and white of me.

“Bruce Weber.” The photograph had turned out better than I ever imagined. “I dropped by his studio at the end of a shoot. When the master offers to take your portrait…” I made a goofy, self-conscious face.

“Whose idea was it to unzip your jeans and expose the silk knickers and that lovely curve of hip and thigh?”

My jeans hung open, pushed down on one side. The reveal wasn’t hard-core, but I could feel the heat sweep over my cheeks. “The idea didn’t seem quite so risqué when we styled it that way.“ I tilted my head. “The cropped, mesh top contributes to all the skin exposure.”

Bradley studied every detail of the portrait. “The wide stance. The way you confront the camera. You look strong and beautiful.” His gaze shifted to me. “I want one.”

“I’ll send you a jpeg.” My eyes narrowed some. “Just don’t make it your wallpaper.”

Chuckling softly, he set the picture down and picked up a sleek silver frame hidden behind a snapshot of Mitch and Hannah.

 
“That’s my brother, Hale. And Carly is over here.” I pointed to the picture of my baby sister mugging for the camera. Hard to believe Carly was graduating from UCLA this year. “The other actress in the family.”
 

He looked at me. “So, the whole Taylor-Scott clan is beautiful.”

I nodded. “Pretty much.”

He picked up another frame. “That’s you—in the second row.”

I nodded, amused at the look on his face.

“You were a Laker Girl?”

“For about five months. Early in the season there was a pregnancy and an injury. They held a special tryout.”

He stared at the picture. “Was this between high school and university?”

“I took a leave of absence my freshman year. Everyone—relatives and family therapist thought that being a Laker girl might keep me busy, pull me back into the world.” My voice steadily grew weaker. “I returned to college the following year.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?” He tracked my evasive gaze.

Knowing I probably looked a little pale or lost, I reached deep and got a grip. “Maybe another time. This has been such a perfect night, let’s not ruin it.”

 
I recognized an over-protective frown as he set the picture frame down.

“I still get weepy and agitated when I talk about it.” I exhaled a sigh. “I don’t want to put you through that, not tonight. Another time, please?” I put my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Tonight, I just want to think about you and me in my bed together.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched. “I want us to be open with each other, and I want you to feel like you can tell me anything.”

 
When I pushed away, he pulled me back.

 
“I understand some things are painful to talk about.” He held onto me in such a comforting way it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

I turned within his arms and leaned back into his body, feeling the unrelenting hardness of him. His steadiness. Would he be my fortress when needed, my defender?
 

“Thank you.” I whispered.

 
He kissed the fuzzy hairs at my temple, as he rocked me in his arms. “When you’re ready, Gracie.”

“I want a shower.” I tugged on his arm. “Come, I’ll scrub your back if you scrub mine.”

“I’ll join you in a minute. I’m just going to finish this last spoonful.” He let go reluctantly, as I moved away.

“Do you like your shower on the hot or cool side?”

“After years spent in boarding schools with antiquated plumbing, I’m not too picky—as long as it’s wet and you’re in it.”

Grapefruit and mint body wash spiraled down the drain, rinsing away nagging worries. A steady rain of steamy droplets poured over my shoulders, as I considered this new man in my life. How quickly he had slipped under my skin and wrapped me in his spell.
 

A scary thought for someone like me. I contemplated how I might begin to share some of my bleak and sordid past, and quickly gave up. No sense in revealing much of anything yet. If Bradley and I worked out there would be plenty of time to share youthful indiscretions and childhood trauma. We both had abandonment issues stemming from an early age. And Bradley showed signs of a repeat pattern with his daughter.

I leaned back into the mist and mulled over what little I knew about him. An obviously lonely childhood, a troubled marriage, and an adorable seven-year-old daughter. His iPhone picture had revealed a smiling happy girl and for what it was worth, they seemed close.

And something else. He was remarkably good with Hannah. By turns, he’d been funny, attentive, even parental. And so far, Bradley had not exhibited any of the usual signs of metro-male narcissism.
 

He was not a defensive deflector, nor intimacy phobic—one of those men who runs hot and cold and is never ever there for you when you need him. In almost every category I could think of, he was batting close to a thousand. But then, we were new and on good behavior.

All these worries, concerns and doubts—I rinsed off the curl enhancer—when we barely knew each other. I sucked in a deep breath of steamy air and exhaled slowly.
 

This evening had been one for the record books. Bradley had stayed with me right to the finish. His skilled fingers and whispered words had allowed me to trust, let go and experience an earth-shattering orgasm.

The door clicked and I opened my eyes in time to check out the naked Adonis who stepped into the shower. Another first—seeing him completely nude. Strong, virile—with definition and just the right amount of bulk to his muscular frame. Definitely a wow, just wow moment. We both paused to openly admire each other before he swept an arm around my waist. He kissed a few beads of water off my nose.

“You smell like mint”—he sniffed again—“and citrus.”

“Grapefruit.” I turned to let him move under the showerhead.
 

He pressed his hands to each side of the control and let the warm water beat down on his neck and shoulders, which also gave me a view of his gluteus maximus. Nice shape—with great dents at the hip. He must have played soccer as a kid and lots of it. Inspired, I ran soapy hands over muscled buttocks and narrow hips, tracing a ridge of groin muscle down to a growing erection.

He turned and took my face in his hands. “See what you do to me, Gracie.” Wet lashes blinked as he studied every feature.

He dipped lower and licked the underside of my cupid’s bow, teasing my lips open. Sensuous, and unhurried, his kisses mingled with the warm shower droplets. Finally, a slow grin surfaced. “Grapefruit-mint body wash, please?”

I poured a good amount in both our palms. He soaped both breasts and plucked at my nipples until I whimpered. Cupping a breast he lifted a nipple, flicking his tongue over the slippery tip as his hand slid between my legs.

When I gasped and my knees grew wobbly, he wrapped an arm around my waist. “Steady, girl.”
 

“My turn.” I soaped his chest, moving over his shoulders, to his underarms, and back down that rippled torso.

“Hold on to him.” I ordered.

Bradley gripped the thick base of his jerking erection while I squeezed more soap into my hand. Working up a good lather, I applied the suds to his cock, loving the sound of his pleasure—so honest and primal.
 

I wanted to check out his shower technique, so I encouraged a bit of self-pleasuring. He took long strokes, sweeping his thumb over the crest as he teased out a bit of pre-cum.
 

While he stroked, I slathered his testicles with soap, running my fingers over his heavy sack, I manipulated gently.

“Fuck, Gracie—don’t stop.”

 
I circled his anus, with a soapy finger. “Like?” I asked, mimicking his earlier question to me.
 

“Oh yeah.” He wrapped my hands around his impressive cock. “Long strokes, love—and harder.”

I applied everything I’d observed. A slow glide down the shaft and a little squeeze at the tip. He braced himself between the shower glass and the wall.

“Christ, baby doll.” The sound of his orgasm echoed off the shower tiles. His face, so handsome even when contorted by pleasure. “Keep stroking,” he growled and thrust forward, rubbing out a last bit of pleasure.

 
He angled his head back and let the water flow over his hair and face. With one hip higher than the other, he looked beautiful and so very male. A languid Greek statue standing out in the rain. Rivulets of water ran over his chiseled jawbone, down his chest and torso, to the impressive cock I still held in my hand.

One hundred percent. Spent.

“You have such a strong effect on me.” He nuzzled me with his nose, adding a prickle of beard scruff.
 

I reached behind him and shut off the water. “I was promised a second orgasm.”
 

He lifted me out of the tub, wrapped me in towels and carried me back to my room.

“I’ve been dying to see this.” He tossed me onto the bed.

Bradley inspired me to be beautiful for him. I shook the towel off and thrust my hips up and my head back—arching, undulating, and thoroughly suggestive. Angling up on my elbows, I directed my most seductive smile at him.

Invitation sent.

His eyes narrowed as he toweled off. “Careful, Gracie, another look like that will get you fucked hard.”
 

He stood at the edge of the mattress all broad-shouldered and sinewy muscle. His gaze turned darker, fiercer as he reached down and pushed my legs apart.

“‘And when at last she lay naked before me,

not a stitch of clothing,

I could not fault her body at any point.

Smooth shoulders, delectable arms,

Nipples inviting caresses, the flat

Belly outlined beneath that flawless bosom,

Exquisite curve of a hip, firm, youthful thighs.

Nothing came short of perfection.’”

I smiled. “My lover doth recite erotic poetry to me.”

The ends of his mouth curled upward. “Ovid got me through Latin translation. The second-most checked out volume of ancient poetry, after Lesbia by Cattalus.”

“I imagine all the naughty pages were stained and dog-eared.” My eyes slanted—a sure sign of my growing desire for the man standing over me. Slowly, I moved my knees apart so that he might see more of me. Pink folds of moistened flesh, framed by pale-beige lips.

“Such a pretty cunt deserves a nice, slow orgasm.” Threading his fingers with mine, he restrained my arms. I arched up, and he drew a nipple into his mouth. He sucked gently, then harder, teeth rasping across the distended tip.
 

“Yes-s-s-s-s.” I hissed softly, nearly breathless.

He ran his hands under my buttocks and lifted, bringing me forward, inch by inch. “Open more,” his raw whisper sexy as sin.
 

 
I put up enough resistance to give him pause, and he stopped to check my expression. “You wouldn’t by any chance be interested in a little practice submission?”

An extra tingle of arousal shot through my body. “Possibly.”

Holding my hands down, he kneed my legs open. Slowly, he kissed his way down my trembling belly, past skin scented with citrus and mint—to the slippery flesh that was ready for him.

He found my clitoris and licked, teasing me without mercy. I squirmed under his velvet hot tongue. He alternated quick, light flicks with longer strokes, sucking my engorged clit into his mouth and releasing the sensitive, throbbing flesh with a kiss.

 
“Careful,” I gasped, chasing an elusive orgasm. I needed to relax or I would become oversensitive to his pleasuring.

 
“Too much?” he whispered.

A loud knock at the door jerked us apart.