Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (157 page)

Just before the wave crashes into me, I’m struck by a stunning realization:

He’s made me come, and he’s still fully clothed.

Then the orgasm takes me and extinguishes all conscious thought. I ride it out on his fingers and his movements and his tongue. The wet sounds the combination of the three makes beneath me is exhilarating and thrilling and oh-so-hot. So damn naughty. Somehow… almost forbidden.

And when I rise from the depth of the climax, I open my eyes to find
him
—this beautiful stranger without a name—hovering right above me.

“That was number one,” he whispers softly, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath on my lips. I can smell my pussy juices on his lips. “You stay the night, and it’ll be the first of many, many, that I’m willing to give you.”

I smile at him in a crooked, languid sort of way. Some of the alcohol’s gone to my head, I’m sure. Nevertheless I’m certain of what I want.

“I’ll stay,” I tell him, fingering the buttons on his shirt. “But only—” I tug on the V-shaped neckline, “—if we get you naked stat.”

2.

I wake up the next morning more content and happy than I’ve felt in ages. I stretch my hands out to either side. I just had the most wonderful dream of hot, steamy sex…

But when my hand brushes against the living, breathing body beside me, my eyes shoot open. I’m presented with a room I have absolutely no recollection of entering.

I look over to my side. There’s the man from my dreams. Slumbering blissfully away, half his upper body exposed by the cover tugged down his chest.

Cautiously, I reach out and poke his shoulder once. He doesn’t stir. He’s out cold.

So, not a dream, then, but reality.

I smile.

The bed sways. The motion is so unexpected I nearly topple over. What’s the bed doing swaying?

And then I realize: We’re still on the yacht. And the unfamiliarity of the room flows away as the memory of last night reveals itself to me. He pulled me up here after the party wound down. Holy hell, and we had spectacular sex. He made me come, again and again, and again…

And I wasn’t so bad feeding him his desires
, I think with a mischievous, devious grin.

I look around the room-that’s-not-a-room. It’s the epitome of luxury, with white leather and polished, lacquered wood everywhere. This is the captain’s quarters. Which means that—holy shit, it means I slept with the yacht’s owner!

But who is he? I rack my brain for a name. None comes up. When I think of last night, all I remember is our bodies, clashing with each other, consumed by each other, hot and ready for each other…

I look over at him. He’s sleeping with his mouth open. A snorer. Damn, but he looks good naked. I want to lean over and run my tongue along the contrasting hard and soft contours of his face.

I poke him again. Hard.

He doesn’t give any indication of having felt it.

Well, then I’m safe to make my escape. The worst thing is when you try to sneak out and the guy wakes up while you’re fishing for your clothes on the floor. “Awkward” doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Trust me. I’ve had plenty of experience in college.

Well
, I think on a sour note as I get up and look for my dress,
so much for acting the good girl
.

That was part of the promise I made myself when moving in with Summer. The wild spirited girl I had been has no place in grad school—not if I want to have a chance of developing a serious career.

Maybe my true reformation will start when the semester begins. I’ve still got a few weeks to go before then.

Besides, what’s one more sinful night when compared to the memories of so many others?

“Good-bye, beautiful stranger,” I whisper from the doorstep, blowing him a kiss.

I ease the handle open and step out on the deck into the glorious, late-summer Chicago sun.

3.

Two weeks later, I grudgingly conclude that “one more sinful night” was not
just
“one more sinful night.”

Every time I’ve closed my eyes since then, visions from the yacht have filled my mind. Memories of seduction in the dark. Remembrances of the stranger’s sure, strong hands on me. Flashes of the moans he conjured out of me. Glimpses of his green eyes, hints his pleasure in the dark. Ecstasy…

“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”

“What?” My eyes pop open. “Who? And no, I’m not.”

Summer gives a knowing smirk. “Your mysterious seducer the night of the party,” she says, elongating each word with a teasing twang. “Your knight in shining armor. The man you’ve been pining for ever since.”

“I am not—pining!” I tell her. I grab the iced mocha from her hands and take a long, greedy pull on the straw before she can wrestle it back.

“Great,” she mutters, shaking the half empty cup at me and trying to guilt me with her eyes. “I blew eight bucks on that! You owe me four.”

I laugh and nod at the exit door. “Should we get going? First day as grad students, we don’t want to be late.”

“Cheers to that,” Summer acknowledges, raising her cup in salute. She puts it down on the table and starts for the exit.

“Wait,” I call out, glancing at her drink. “All that, and you’re not even going to finish your drink?”

“Nah,” she says with a wink. “I was just trying to make you feel bad.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” I say sarcastically, making a big show of rolling my eyes at her.

This time, she laughs and pulls me up by my elbow to follow her.

***

“Ugh,” Summer announces, plopping down on the couch in our two-bedroom apartment. “What a fucking day, huh?”

I collapse next to her. I kick off my sandals
and rub the backs of my feet. “Whose grand idea was it not to rent a car? ‘We’ll walk everywhere together,’ you said.”

She glances at me. “Well, it’s not exactly like I let you down,” she says. “I share in your misery.”

“I know. I know,” I mumble. I take a deep breath and wiggle into the fat cushions of the couch. “How far do you think we walked today? Ten, fifteen miles?”

“Try fifty,” she groans. She rubs her hands over her eyes. “I need a comfy bed where I could sleep for days.”

“Mmm,” I say. “That sounds nice. I need a hot bath, a cold drink, and…”

“…
a fucking orgasm
,” we finish together, right on cue.

We look at each other and laugh.

She stands up. “But really,” she says. “I need to pop some Advil or something. My head’s killing me after all that walking.”

“And they say fresh air is good for you,” I scoff. “Fucking liars.”

She eyes me sideways. “You curse like a sailor.”

I show her all my teeth in a vicious grin. “Who do you think I picked it up from?” I ask.

“Oh no! Don’t blame me,” she warns. “Your cussing’s just as bad as mine, if not worse.”

“You just give me
freedom to explore my true potential
,” I quote, relishing that bullshit line from our high school graduation six years ago.

She snorts a laugh. “You
remember
that?”

“How could I not?” I ask. “I’m the idiot who gave the damn speech.”

“Yeah, but who wrote it for you?” she reminds me, taking a bite out of a fresh green apple. The juices squirt down her chin.

“You did,” I admit. “Well, in truth, we wrote it together. We thought we were such hot shit back then, didn’t we?”

“All the boys seemed to think so,” she says longingly, twirling a finger through her golden hair.

I wish my hair were as pretty as that
, I think in a vapid, self-indulgent moment. Mine’s all black and stiff and frizzy. No matter what products I use or how many stylists I try, nothing’s been able to transform it to look like Summer’s luscious curls.

“Ah, but it was all an illusion, or don’t your recall?” I remind her. “We made ourselves seem invincible. Untouchable. We could have had any guy in our class.”

“I know,” she says. Her eyes twinkle. “Did you ever take advantage?”

“Well, I went out on a lot of dates, remember? We both did. We had dinners paid for, movie tickets bought…”

“I mean, did you ever
sleep
with one of them?”

I almost burst out laughing. “In high school? God, no! But I more than made up for it in college.”

She gives a sly smile. “I know. That’s why we’re going to have such a good time together, reunited after all these years. Can you believe how long it’s been? Or that here we are, living together?”

“I told you we’d make it work,” I say. “What astounds me is we’re two literature students, for crying out loud! Shouldn’t we be talking about, I don’t know, the social repercussions of Nabokov’s
Lolita
?”

She scoffs a laugh. “Yeah, right. You try pulling that shit on me again I’m kicking your ass out faster than you can say, ‘hyena.’”

I wrinkle my nose at her. “What?”

“Hyena,” she quotes. “A doglike, nocturnal mammal of Africa that chiefly subsists on carrion.”

I look at her for a long moment… and burst out laughing. “Where’d you get that, the dictionary?”

She pretends to be affronted. “I took a zoology course at Berkeley. While you were off in la-la land earning your liberal arts degree, I was actually
learning
.”

Then she sighs. “God. What I wouldn’t give for a fucking man who could make me come on demand.”

“You think such a mythical creature exists?” I ask. I think back on all my sex-capades in college… all the experiences which have given evidence to the contrary.

Except for one stranger on the yacht,
I think. I wish I hadn’t been in such a hurry to disappear. Then again, if I had stayed… I doubt he would have wanted anything to do with me. That’s why I left. It was a one-night stand. One sinful night. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Besides, I have my rules.

“Anyway,” I continue, brushing the memories aside. “You’d have better luck reaching into your Kindle and plucking out a hero from one of those mommy porn books you so adore.”

“Hey!” She scowls. “Don’t knock Sylvia. She writes hot shit!”

“I heard,” I tell her in a conspiratory
voice, “that your favorite author is actually a guy masquerading as a woman. I heard, that he’s actually past fifty, balding, and overweight.
I
heard he plays StarCraft all night while munching on Cheetos and that the crumbs give him one of those, you know, bright orange mustaches.” I stick a finger above my upper lip and bring my eyebrows up. “I heard he gets a kick out of having legions of female fans, and when he’s lonely, gets off by jerking off to the profile pics they all have accompanying their reviews!”

“Umm,
gag
,” she says, sticking a finger down her throat and making the appropriate noise. “That’s disgusting. Don’t ruin Sylvia for me!”

“Well, why else do you think she never shows up to conventions?” I tease.

Summer claps both hands over her ears. “La la la la la, I can’t hear you!”

I laugh and roll my eyes. “You’re so juvenile.”

“And you, Celeste Adams, are a damn cynic. What, you don’t believe in happily-ever-afters?”

“Not in this world,” I say.

“Anyway,” she tells me. “I’m getting some hot water running and spending the rest of the night in the tub.” She gives a crooked smile. “You’re free to join me, if you like.”

“Hmm, let me think about that. How about
no
?” I laugh. “You know I prefer penises to pussy.”

“Oh, trust me babe, so do I.” She winks. “But in the absence of one, I’m not entirely opposed to the other.”

I reach under the couch and pull out our secret, little, stainless steel box. “There doesn’t have to be an absence of one…” I remind her.

“I prefer my penises
attached
to male bodies,” she smirks. “Not motorized.” She turns away. “But if you say you’ve got
company
tonight, I’m not going to interrupt!”

“Hmm.” I caress the lid of the box as I watch her go.

Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad to retreat to the fantasy of the yacht, locked away in my little room.

4.

Two days later, at breakfast, Summer is buzzing.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” she says. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Um, the third day of classes?” I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“No, dumb-dumb. Today is the day we get to meet Professor Landon. He’s our first lecturer.”

“Landon? Who’s that?”

Summer’s jaw drops. “‘
Who’s that
?’ Are you kidding me?”

I eye her bowl of cereal and give a little sigh. I wish I had the metabolism for sugary crap each morning.

For now, I’m stuck with grapefruit and egg whites.

“No. Why? Should I?”

“Celeste, he’s not just any professor! He’s absolutely brilliant. He’s the sole reason I applied to grad school here.”

“Gee whiz, thanks for the confidence boost,” I quip. “And I thought you were here because of me.”

She gives me a dry look. “That too. But Professor Landon? G
aw
d!” Her eyes go all dreamy. “He’s unbelievable. He wrote a series of books in his twenties—
Little House by the Sea?
You’ve never heard of them?”

“No,” I say.

“Well you’ve been living under a rock in that case,” she declares. “I’ve been reading his stuff for more than half a decade! My God! Have you really never heard of him? Not even in passing?”

“Not once,” I say.

She smiles. “Celeste, you’ve
got
to read him. He’s ridiculously smart. The stuff he writes is just… it’s so…” she trails off, and brings both hands to her chest to give a swoony sigh. “It just speaks to you, you know? It speaks to your very soul.”

I offer a sideways smile. “Your soul, or my soul? Whose soul? Everybody’s soul?”

She fixes me with a pointed look. “Don’t tease. He’s also extraordinarily handsome. Like, on some Henry Cavill level shit.”

I give an impressed whistle. “So, he’s hot?”

“Oh, he’s more than hot,” she chuckles. “He’s like, panty-dropping, fuck-me-right-now level of hot.”

“Wait, but I’m confused.” I pick at my eggs and tilt my head sideways. “Do you like him because of his mind, or his looks?”