The Perfect Man Page 5

  His smile was slow and wicked. “What do you think took me so long? Had to make a stop on the way.” He got up and walked over to his coat, and I twisted onto my side and propped my head on my hand. He pulled out a box and held it up.

  Condoms. Magnums. Sweet baby Jesus, what did I get myself into?

  He stalked back to me and scooped me up, ignoring my squeak. Down the hall, into the darkened bedroom. He took a quick glance around before kicking the door shut behind him. A moment later I heard the tiny thunder of little paws and the pitiful meows. I giggled. Poor things. They’d just have to deal.

  Instead of laying me on the bed, he set me on my feet next to it. He switched on the small lamp on my bedside table and set the box of condoms down. “There’s six in there. Want to see how many we can use in one night?”

  My eyes widened. “Alex—”

  He took my mouth, swallowing my response. His tongue swept over mine, igniting a liquid fire in my belly. Perfect man or not, there was no way in hell I was going to tell him to stop. The word no longer existed in my vocabulary.

  I clung to him, certain if I let go I’d fall flat on my face. Kiss after kiss, pushing me higher, farther, faster, until my head spun and I was doing my best to meld my body to his, heedless of the layers of clothing between us. My earlier reservations shattered under the sheer want for him.

  None of my past experiences prepared me for this.

  He curled his fingers into the hem of my tank and he broke the kiss, whipping the shirt over my head. “Take your pants off for me, Hannah.”

  It took a couple tries to get my fingers under the waistband of my pants, my hands were trembling so bad. “Hey,” he whispered, covering my hands with his. “Do you want to slow down?”

  All at once, my hands stopped shaking. No, I didn’t want to slow down. I wanted him naked. I wanted his skin against mine. I wanted him in my bed, above me, behind me, under me, it didn’t matter. The way my body responded to his touch scared me, but I wasn’t going to let the fear keep this from happening.

  I rose up and pressed my mouth to his. “I don’t want to slow down.” Together, we pushed the heavy fabric down and off. I slid my panties over my hips and down my legs, then reached for his fly. “Fair’s fair.”

  Seconds later, we were both naked, clothing puddled on the floor around our feet. He lifted a single finger and ran it along my jaw, down my neck, wandering along my collarbone and down my chest, circling a nipple before continuing its journey south, dipping into my belly button, drifting down, down, down to trace a taunting circle my clit. I squeezed my eyes shut, embarrassed at how wet I was from so little foreplay. But my body didn’t care. It wanted more.

  “I like this,” he murmured. He started to stroke, slip, slide, my hips following the movement, and he nipped into my jaw. “Fuckin’ hot.”

  He caught my hand as I reached between our bodies, needing more pressure. “What’s the rush?” His finger bumped over my clit again and pressed down on the aching bundle of nerves. A wash of pleasure heated my skin. It wasn’t enough. I whined, jerking my hips.

  He dropped his hand, and I cursed, glaring at him when he smirked. “On the bed, Hannah.”

  I flipped the covers back and boosted myself up, shooting a glance over my shoulder as I crawled to the center of the bed. His gaze was fixed on my lower back, eyes gleaming darkly in the low light.

  The last tattoo.

  I rose up on my knees, holding out a hand to him. He took it, his free hand brushing over the ink. Gently, slowly, he turned my back to him, then bent me over so I was on my hands and knees. My heart skittered against my rib cage, his touch almost feather-light as he mapped the lines.

  He started at the top, tracing down over the knuckles of the fingers cupping the bleeding heart. He found every drop of blood, every wrinkle in those palms, bringing tears to my eyes and making my sex clench. He kissed a line up, up, up, until he covered my back with his chest, the hard planes of it causing my brain to misfire. It was all too easy to imagine him like this, deep inside me, fucking me slow, pressing me into the bed.

  His teeth closed around my nape, and I arched into him, the head of his cock parting my folds. “Christ. Hannah. Not yet.” He hauled me upright, palming a breast, and rolled the nipple between his fingers until it hardened. His mouth was busy licking and sucking at every part of me he could reach, the shell of my ear, the curve of my neck, the sloping line of my shoulder. He switched hands, and switched sides, tugging at my nipple to the point of pain, little pricks of it making me roll my hips, seeking relief.

  But he didn’t venture any further south.

  I reached behind me and gripped him, ran my nails along the underside of his cock, smiling when he groaned. If my arousal was going to go unsated and left to drip down my legs, I was going to give as good as I got. With my hands behind my back, I couldn’t touch as much of him as I wanted. I rubbed my thumb over his frenulum and cupped his balls in my other hand, testing their weight.

  He released me so quickly I almost fell forward. “You win,” he growled. He fumbled with the box of condoms, tearing open the box and ripping into one of the foil packets. Smoothing the contents over his dick, he urged me back onto my hands. The head of his cock nudged my entrance, no preamble, no teasing, and he slid inside, inch by torturous inch.

  It took everything I had not to shove my hips back at him, to take him in one swift thrust. When he was seated to the hilt, I was glad I’d been patient. After more than a year without sex, I needed to adjust.

  His broken, jagged groan sent a shiver down my spine. “This one’s not going to last, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Then he moved.

  The fluttering started almost immediately, tiny ripples as he pushed in, pulled out, rolling his hips in a rough circle on the end of each thrust. Need rose and spiraled, threatening to consume me. In. Out. The air grew thick and heavy around us, closing in. The flutters slid into a constant pulse, and he groaned again, speeding up. I couldn’t breathe. My heart tripped and settled into a wild, uneven beat, the edge of orgasm rushing up as the pulse became a throb.

  It wouldn’t last. It couldn't. Something this hot was meant to flare and consume and burn out fast, and I stretched toward that flame, wanting the devastation it promised.

  With one last, vicious burst, I fell apart. I went blind, deaf, lost in my first release, true, tangible pleasure in more than a year. My arms gave out and I twisted my head to the side as I came down, Alex plunging hard once more and holding himself inside me, cursing as he came.

  Boneless, damp with sweat, my legs began to shake. He pulled out and I winced. My legs gave out and I sprawled in an unattractive tangle of limbs in the center of the bed, watching through half-hooded eyes as he stumbled for the bathroom.

  He returned a minute later carrying a glass of water. I managed to shift onto my side and sit up. “Please tell me that’s for me.”

  He held up the glass. “What, this? Nah. You’ve got legs. You can get your own.” I poked my lower lip out, and he laughed, climbing onto the bed next to me. He handed over the water, and I drained half of it. He downed the rest, put the glass on the bedside table, then pulled me into his arms.

  We lay back, and I molded myself to his side, my head on his chest, his heart thumping under my ear. “So tell me more about this perfect man.” His chest rumbled with the words, the vibrations rolling through me.

  My breathing hitched in, and I swallowed hard. The click he’d spoken of had only gotten louder with the sex, to the point I had to strain to hear past it. I needed a wall. A barrier, to hold myself back, because clicks aside, I had to be sure what was between us had staying power. “Well,” I said, drawing the word out, “he’d be tall. Handsome. He’d have superb dragon slaying skills, and his horse would be a Pegasus. It’d be nice if the horse pooped rainbows, but it’s not a requirement.” He snorted. “He’d cook and shoo me out of the kitchen if I tried to help. He’d—” Alex’s hand had wandered down to palm
my ass, stroking it possessively. Breathe. I needed to breathe. “He’d know my favorite color and my favorite movie without having to ask, and he’d let me control the remote.” I traced hearts over his chest. You. You're perfect. You're perfect and you scare the crap out of me but I don't want to let you go. Not yet.

  He slid his hand so it was under my thigh, and shifted my leg up. “I stand corrected. The perfect man is a myth. You’ll just have to settle for mere humans.” I laughed, and he rolled us so fast the laugh ended on a gasp. “And we’ll have to find out the answers by asking the questions.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “Favorite movie?” He started kissing his way along the side of my face, pausing to nuzzle at the soft spot under my ear.

  “Thomas Crown Affair.” I splayed my hands over his back, tilting my head to give him better access. “The original, with Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway.”

  He licked a burning line down my throat. “Favorite color?”

  Arousal flickered and caught, spreading slow heat through my veins. “Green.”

  “Favorite book.” A nip into the crook of my neck, and I dug my nails into his back.

  “Perla.”

  He’d kissed his way to my breasts, and he flicked his tongue over a nipple. “Haven’t heard of it.”

  “It’s by—” dear GOD he needed to do that again— “Carolina DeRobertis. It’s about the lost children of Argentina’s Dirty War.”

  “Hmm.” His lips were sealed around my nipple as he hummed, and the sensation arrowed straight to my core. I wound my legs around his hips. “Favorite cartoon from when you were a kid?” The question came out a little ragged, and I rocked my hips against him, smiling when he hissed.

  “Thundercats,” I murmured.

  He resumed his torture, scraping his teeth over my other nipple, chuckling when I squealed. “Favorite 90’s band?”

  I wanted him to stop talking. I wanted him to recite the phone book. Because his voice, in between the sensual taunts he lobbed at me with his mouth on my skin, had my hips rocking in greedy little thrusts. “Garbage,” I gasped.

  His mouth moved over my stomach, and I tensed with anticipation. He wasn’t— Was he? He’d taste the latex, left over from the condom. He couldn’t—

  He did.

  The broad flat of his tongue swiped over my labia, parting the slick skin. “Alex.” I propped myself up on my elbows. He lifted his head, fire in his eyes. Using his fingers, he held me open and traced the sensitive flesh with his tongue. On a moan, I fell back. If the taste didn’t bother him, who was I to complain?

  He took his time, trying this or that, gauging my reactions, repeating maneuvers and discarding others. I squirmed as the pressure increased, seeking an outlet. My hips rose. Over and over. Pumping against his mouth. He lashed his tongue over my clit, then pressed a kiss to my inner thigh. “You gonna come for me, Hannah? You going to come all over my tongue?”

  I was. He slid two fingers inside my cunt, crooked them, twisted them, scissored them to spread the swollen tissue. I cried out, the orgasm knocking me down in a brutal, hard punch.

  Panting, I watched Alex prowl up my body, wiping his mouth and chin with his hand. He reached for a condom, but before he could roll it on, I took it from him, working it down his cock, circling the base with my fingers and squeezing tight.

  “Lie back for me,” he rasped. I held out my arms for him, needing him close, needing his weight, his hips pinning mine. With a long, slow push, he stretched me again, and I wanted to weep, it felt so good.

  I tilted my hips up and he growled, sliding in just a bit further. “Did I mention I love your cock?” I rasped. I clenched around him, needing to hear him moan. Needing everything. Needing him. “How thick it is. Fits me so well.”

  To silence me, he plundered my mouth, tongue thrusting in concert with his hips, his cock stroking places inside I didn’t know existed. He hit something deep, over and over, the head of his dick rubbing it. “Fuck!” Whatever he was doing, it spun the dial on my arousal all the way up, and the power of it raced through me. I slid my hands down and pressed on his ass, trying to take in more of him. If I could tear myself open and swallow him whole, I would.

  He licked a line up my throat. “You feel amazing. Tight. Hot. Will you come for me?” I would; the throbbing was almost unbearable. I whimpered in response. “Hold on just a little longer, sweetheart.”

  I didn’t think I could. He plied me with deep, unhurried strokes, nerve endings lighting up with anticipation. He had me almost blind with need, the orgasm growing and growing, never breaking. I couldn’t take much more of this. I had to come.

  “Bear down, Hannah.” He pushed the command out through gritted teeth, and I did as he asked. Release scorched me from the inside out, robbing me of air, of thought, of consciousness. There was nothing but the bright white fire, licking my bones and turning me to dust. As the fire receded, my hands slipped off his ass, and he stiffened above me, his groan low and broken.

  I was ruined. Utterly ruined.

  *

  The scent of sex hung in the air, the musk of it clinging to the sheets. I cracked an eye and took in the light in the room. Morning, from the looks of it. I considered snuggling under the blankets and going back to sleep. Or maybe I’d take advantage of Alex. I rolled over.

  The other side of the bed was empty.

  I sat up and pushed my hair behind my ears. Remy and Lucien were curled around each other at the foot of the bed, and I glanced at the bedroom door. It was cracked open. I distinctly remember him closing it the night before after he’d dealt with the last condom. I pushed the blankets back and padded out of the room.

  He wasn’t in the kitchen. Or my office. Or the living room. His clothes were gone. I went back to the kitchen, where I’d left my phone. There was a piece of paper on it. A sticky note.

  I'm sorry.

  This wasn’t funny. It was funny on Sex and the City. It wasn’t funny in real life. I crumpled the note and swiped my phone awake. I found the text string we’d started last night and sent him a message. What do you mean, you're sorry?

  My hand trembled as I held my phone, waiting for his response. I set it on the counter before I dropped it, only to scoop it back up as it chimed with a new text.

  I thought I could do this. Too fucked in the head, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I should have stopped.

  The world swayed and spun. Had last night been horrible? Were all those words, those pretty, pretty words, were nothing more than lies?

  The phone clattered on the countertop as I dug my fingers into the unforgiving surface, seeking purchase. One night. A fantasy. One perfect night. It hadn’t been real. I hadn’t met a man at a speed dating event and taken him home. He hadn’t danced with me in the snow or made me come so hard I saw stars. It was a dream. A really fantastic one.

  The sooner I accepted that, the better off I’d be.

  Cold, wrapped in a fog, I walked into the bedroom. I should take a shower. Get dressed. I pulled on my robe and turned to the bed.

  His hands on my skin. Those hot, broken groans. The vague soreness between my legs, a keen reminder that last night had definitely happened.

  My mind shut off. I stripped the sheets from the bed and dumped them in the washing machine, added detergent and turned it on. I cleaned up the pots from dinner, rinsed our dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher, put away the marshmallows, and, once the washing machine filled, got in the shower and scrubbed my skin raw.

  I picked up my clothes and threw them in the hamper and made up the bed with fresh sheets. I had things to do. Projects to finish. If the streets had cleared enough, I probably ought to do some grocery shopping. Who knew when the next storm would blow through?

  On my way through the kitchen, I picked up my phone.

  You and me, this is real.

  No, it wasn’t. My mistake had been believing it could be. Alex was a blip on my radar, already out of range. With surprisingly steady fingers, I deleted our texts, then located his conta
ct information and deleted that as well. Errands. Projects. I didn’t have time to put my life on hold, even for a day.

  I burst into tears.

  *

  I ended up moping the whole weekend. I left my phone off and ignored my deadlines, watching every Joseph Gordon-Levitt movie I owned. By Monday, I couldn’t put off those errands any longer. My cupboards were running on empty, and I was down to my last scoop of kitten food. Delivery was sketchy, due to the snow, so I bundled up to wade down the street to the store four blocks away. Getting out of the house would probably be good for me, too. Show the world I wasn’t grieving for a relationship I’d never have.

  Someone in the building had cleared off the front walk, deadending at the sidewalk no one had bothered to shovel. Huddled against the light pole was a tall man, hat jammed over his ears, scarf up to his nose, posture so stiff to keep from shivering he’d likely be sore the next day. It was cold.

  I gave him a cursory glance and turned toward the store.

  “Hannah.”

  I never thought I’d hear that voice again. I pushed the pain down, smashed it back into its box, and faced him. “Hi, Alex.”

  He pushed his scarf down from his nose and took a step forward, stopping when I stayed where I was. “I tried to call you.”

  “I had my phone off.”

  “Oh.” His breath clouded the air. His next forward step was halted when I backed away. “Christ. Hannah, I’m sorry. When you wouldn’t answer the phone, I came here to apologize and explain.”

  “You already said you were sorry,” I pointed out.

  “I mean for leaving in the first place.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t—”

  “No.” The force in the word had me taking another step back. “I need to say this. I screwed up. I woke up that morning, it was barely light out, and I panicked.” He swallowed audibly. “The only other time I’ve felt like this about someone this quickly was with my fiancée. She was killed in a car accident three years ago.”