A Fine Specimen (13 page)

She looked startled as she sat up. “Oh! Okay. I haven’t
actually done this before, but…”

He nearly groaned when she put her small, soft hand around
his cock and gently pulled it forward so she could work the condom over it. He
was so stiff, he worried for a second that his dick was going to break as she
tugged it away from his belly. Just crack off at the base from the pressure.

Sweetly awkward, Caitlin fumbled the latex ring over him.
The wrong way around. “No, no,” he said.

“What?” Her hands stilled as she looked up at him, eyes
flashing silver in the moonlight. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“No, not that way,” Alex urged, “turn it around.”

Caitlin said, “What?” again and pushed down, hard.

The condom bounced off his cock—which was as hard as a steel
club—and flew across the room.

Alex followed it with his eyes in disbelief until it
disappeared into the gloom. His heart beat hard and heavy in his chest as he
contemplated utter and total disaster.

Oh God, this was terrible! He was feeling her, smelling her,
touching her. Every sense he had was on overload. Visions of her on her back,
legs open, soft, warm little cunt glistening with desire—all filling his head.
All he could think about was tumbling her onto her back and entering her—a
second later!

Jesus, putting on another condom meant…meant leaning over,
pulling one out of the drawers, ripping it open… Whole seconds! Maybe a
minute
!
He didn’t have a minute, he was just about ready to blow.

With shaking hands, Alex was reaching for the bedside table
again, hoping he could hold out long enough to get another rubber on, when her
soft voice sounded in the darkness.

“I’m on the Pill,” she offered. “I was having a few health
problems, and the doc—”

Whatever she was going to say was drowned out by his mouth.
And anyway, she probably wouldn’t have had the breath to continue because he
landed on her in a rush, kneeing her legs apart, holding her open—and slamming
into her.

He was coming even as he entered her, in hot, uncontrollable
spurts, shaking and spilling liquid from every part of his body—vast amounts of
come from his cock, sweat out of every pore, even his eyes were leaking with
the intensity of the experience.

He had absolutely no control over his body, over what was
happening. It was like being on a freight train with no brakes. Every muscle he
had was tense, strained, hard. He was digging his toes into the mattress in an
attempt to drive even more deeply into her, though he could feel her clamped
tightly around the root of his cock. He couldn’t possibly go deeper, though he
was trying like hell.

If he could, he’d have punched a hole right through her to
get in more deeply.

Smooth, smooth Alex, who knew all the moves, who prided
himself on being good in bed—was totally out of control.

He couldn’t even move inside her, because that would mean
pulling out a little and his cock refused. It wanted to stay where it was,
deeply embedded, pouring out come in hot, hard jets while he shuddered with
excitement.

It was so intense, it couldn’t last. Finally, finally, he
calmed down a little and his heart stopped trip-hammering with excitement…and
just settled down to the normal rhythm it would have after a five-mile run.

It was like floating in space. For a long moment, Alex even
forgot who he was, all consciousness wiped out, the frontal lobe of his brain
turned to cream of wheat while he reveled in his senses, which were more alive
than they’d ever been in his life, shooting wild messages of utter joy back to
him.

His face was buried in the soft cloud of pale hair that
smelled like apple shampoo, his lips just brushing the incredibly soft skin of
her temple. She smelled so amazingly delicious—like fruit and candy and
flowers—the smell of a desirable woman. Some unique scent that went straight to
the most primitive part of his brain.

His breathing hadn’t settled yet. He was still breathing in
short spurts that moved a curl of hair lying across his lips. Each breath
brought his chest into closer contact with those luscious, round breasts, the aroused
little nipples stabbing into him. Even his fucking
toes
rejoiced, curled
up against the bottom of her small, delicate feet.

His cock—ah, his cock was the happiest of all, deeply
embedded into the sweetest, wettest little cunt it had ever been in.

Ah yes, he was one happy camper.

Until the blood returned to his head and he was able to put
two thoughts together. Once that was a physical possibility, once his brain
started working again, the joy and sensual delight fled. Time to take stock—and
it wasn’t pretty.

Alex prided himself on treating his women well. He wasn’t
long-term mate material and he made sure his dates knew it, but that didn’t
mean he didn’t treat them like ladies—even the ones who weren’t—while they were
with him.

Caitlin was a lady from the top of her head to the bottom of
her pretty little feet—and he’d treated her like a two-bit whore.

Treating a woman right did
not
include jumping her
like a rabid wolverine in rut. No foreplay, no easing in gently, no sirree.
He’d just slammed into her with all the force of his hips. She was small too.
She’d been aroused, no mistaking that, but he’d entered her so hard and so fast
he might even have hurt her.
Jesus!
The thought made him slightly sick.

He was clutching her ass tightly, so tightly he was probably
leaving marks on her delicate skin. He’d grabbed her ass in an attempt to get
inside her as deeply as possible. Well, stopping his fingers from digging into
her soft flesh might be a good first step toward reparation for the damage
done.

With a wince, Alex opened his hands, braced them on the
mattress and lifted his head, ready for anything.

Whatever she wanted to say to him, he deserved. Caitlin had
every right in the world to be mad at him and he wouldn’t blink at whatever
name she wanted to call him. If she wanted to slap him, he wouldn’t even try to
duck the blow. He’d do anything she wanted, give her anything she needed, except
for one thing.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—pull out of her. His cock wanted to
stay right where it was, forever. He hadn’t even begun to get her out of his
blood.

Trying to convince her to let him have another chance was
going to be hard though, after slamming into her and coming one second after
that. He was marshalling words and trying out possible angles and excuses in
his head when he looked down at her.

His heart nearly stopped at the sight. Jesus, what a beauty.
He’d looked down at countless women beneath him in his life, but never one as
lovely as this one. The light from the full moon outside the window lit her
face with a pale, unearthly glow, as if she were a pearl under water, silvering
her pale blue eyes. She looked more like a mermaid than a flesh and blood
woman.

She was silent, simply looking up at him, his face a mere
inch above hers. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. She wasn’t
smiling and she wasn’t frowning as she stared up into his eyes.

“Caitlin,” he whispered, hoping that she’d let him tell her
how sorry he was for treating her like this before she started screaming and
biting him. He had to let her know that—

“Oh God,” Caitlin moaned and then said his name on a low
whisper that raised the hairs on the nape of his neck. “Alex.
Alex
.” Her
back arched and her hips tilted upward, grinding against him, eyes
half-closing. Then he felt her clenching around his cock in short, rhythmic
bursts, like a little velvet vise, and his heart nearly stopped.

She was coming.

She was
coming
! Her legs and arms tightened around
him in a silken embrace, the hot perfume of her skin filling his nostrils, soft,
warm skin everywhere he touched her. Fuck, it was unbearably intense, feeling
her little pussy contracting around him, milking him of the last spurts of
come. He lowered his head until their foreheads met, feeling the sharp
contractions of her cunt all over his body. It seemed even his heart pulsed to
the same beat.

Caitlin sighed his name again, her breath sweet on his face,
and closed her eyes.

Most women, in Alex’s experience, looked tense while coming,
as if coming somehow hurt. Their faces scrunched up and the veins in their necks
stood out and their mouths turned down. Not Caitlin. Her face softened into a
dreamy expression, as if she were reading poetry by the lake instead of lying
under him, climaxing.

He buried his face in her hair and hung on.

“Are you okay?” Alex’s deep voice was right in her ear, so
close his breath made her shiver.

Was she okay? Caitlin took stock, wriggling her fingers and
toes. Moving anything else was impossible, since he lay sprawled on her and he
weighed a ton.

She had to consciously expand her lungs to breathe and could
feel her joints creak from the weight.

“Peachy,” she gasped.

He felt delicious on top of her though. Her arms could
barely encompass his shoulders. Even under those boring work clothes it had
been clear that Alex Cruz was a fit man, but she really hadn’t suspected all
these muscles. Thousands of them, deep, hard as steel, covered with acres of
the most luscious golden brown skin she’d ever seen.

“I want to go down on you,” his deep voice announced in her
ear, and her whole system jolted at the idea. God, could she stand it? Her
heart had nearly stopped as it was with the force of her orgasm. He hadn’t even
had to do much. Nothing, actually. Just…be inside her. That had been enough to
push her right over the edge into the strongest orgasm she’d ever had.

“That’s nice.” She did her best to pull in another chestful
of air, pushing against his weight on her. “I’d like that.”

She might not
survive
it, but she’d certainly like
it.

“In just a minute,” he said, words coming out slowly. “I’m
on it.”

He certainly was. On her, actually. And in her too. Still
hard.

His breathing was slowing down, heavy breaths shifting her
hair. A lock of it tickled her cheek but she didn’t dare brush it away. Didn’t
dare move.

This was just so wonderful, she wanted to commit it to
memory. The feel of his steely muscles under her hands, the thick mat of hair
covering his chest tickling her breasts and stomach. The feel of his hot, hard cock
inside her, a touch softer than before but still much harder than Marvin had
ever managed on his best days.

“Give me a second.” His voice was slurred, as if he were
drugged.

“Take your time,” Caitlin said softly, running her fingers
through his thick hair.

He grunted.

His weight somehow settled more heavily against her and he
let out a soft groan. A second later, a faint buzz-saw sound echoed in her ear.

He was snoring.

Caitlin grinned at the ceiling, arched her back to get a
little oxygen into her lungs and turned her head until her lips met his massive
biceps.

Inside of a minute, she was fast asleep too.

Caitlin realized that up until now, she’d woken up beside
boys. Alex Cruz was
definitely
not a boy.

She tried to stretch but he was still sprawled mostly on top
of her, her legs still around him. His golden-toned skin made a fabulously
interesting contrast with the white sheets.

Alex looked intimidating and powerful. Even sprawled on a
bed, fast asleep, he looked like what he was—a predator.

His subconscious was telling him that there were no danger
signals in his immediate surroundings so he slept through the small noises she
was making. But Caitlin had no doubt that at the first sign of real trouble,
Alex would be instantly awake, alert and dangerous. And reaching for the gun
which was kept in its holster, hooked over the bedpost.

Strength and character were carved into the harsh planes of
his face. She turned her head and examined the hand splayed next to her. Large,
graceful, long-fingered, with thick veins rising on the back. And yes, she’d
seen correctly that first morning in his office. He had a barbwire tat on his
wrist, obviously a relic of his gangbanger days. Barbwire tats were the mark of
the Eightballs, a particularly vicious gang whose members’ average life
expectancy was nineteen. He’d been lucky to get out in time.

On the adult Alex, Mr. Straight and Narrow, Mr. Law and
Order, the tat looked unbelievably sexy.

She shivered, remembering how that hand had touched her last
night.

There was a gentle hum in the air, a soft murmuring like…

Rain.

Rain?

She turned her head to look out the window and saw that it
was indeed raining outside. The light that filtered in through the open window
was silvery and dim. Cool air drifted in through the partially open window. The
rain created a gentle, upbeat patter which suited her mood.

She wanted to get up, dance around the room, take a shower,
go get some coffee.

And, well, go to the bathroom.

Caitlin wiggled, hoping she could get Alex to roll off her
without having to wake him up. He was so amazingly heavy. She pushed gently on
his shoulders, trying to roll him enough to slide out from under, but it didn’t
work. He was dead weight, so deeply asleep he could have been in a coma.

She, on the other hand, was revved. Energy pulsed through
her veins and she felt tinglingly alive from her hair to the tips of her toes.
Staying in bed one second more was not an option, she had to get up.

He was breathing very heavily. Snoring again, actually, if
you wanted to be technical.

“Alex.” Caitlin dug her fingers into his shoulder, finding
little purchase. The man’s muscles had no give at all. Louder now. “
Alex
.”

He gave an inelegant snort and his eyelids flickered. She
put her lips close to his ear. “I need to go to the bathroom. You need to
move.”

It must have penetrated into the deepest recesses of his
brain, because he rolled, just a little, just enough for her to slide out from
under him. His semisoft penis had still been inside her. Her movements pulled
him out of her and she missed him immediately. Her nether muscles had
instinctively clenched, trying to keep him inside.

Caitlin stood beside the bed, just a little shocked at what
her body was feeling—stiff, sore, whisker-burned, with a heaviness in her
breasts and between her legs. In some insane way, her body was still feeling
his. Between her legs, it was as if he were still inside her. She felt
stretched and a little sore there, as if he had somehow branded her.

He’d branded her in another way, as well. Caitlin couldn’t
even begin to imagine any other lover pleasing her, fulfilling her the way Alex
had. She’d spent twenty-eight years without having a clue as to what sex was
really about. After Alex, she would undoubtedly spend the rest of her life never
finding anything like this ever again.

It wasn’t so much his technique. Last night there hadn’t
been any technique at all. It had been more of a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind
of thing. It didn’t make any difference. He’d been massively overexcited and therefore
fast. She forgave him—and how. That someone like Alex, who could have any woman
he wanted, could be incredibly excited about
her
was its own turn-on.

Not to mention what
she’d
felt. If he’d been fast, it
didn’t matter because the entire evening had been foreplay. Just being near
him, breathing the same air, touching him, was foreplay. She’d had no idea her
body could respond like that to a man. It hadn’t ever before and probably never
would again.

She shook her head. No sad thoughts. Not today. Alex was
like a comet flashing through her life, showering it with heat and light. The
comet would burn itself out, because that was its nature. So she had to hug
each moment tightly, appreciate it, and be able to let it go at the end,
because that was
her
nature.

Gingerly, she made her way to the bathroom, wincing a
little.

Alex’s en suite bathroom was big, with a huge window looking
out over a garden, privacy guaranteed by a row of tall poplar trees fencing in the
garden. Caitlin opened the window and took a huge breath. The rain had almost
stopped and the air was clean and fresh. It might turn muggy later if the sun
came out, but right now it was like air at the dawn of time, fresh, rain-scented,
brand new, rich with promise.

Unsurprisingly, Alex’s bathroom was decorated with black and
white tiles. The fixtures were white porcelain with old-fashioned brass taps.
Beyond a good brand of soap, a cache of disposal razors and shaving cream, shampoo,
a comb and a brush, toothbrush—one, she was happy to see—and toothpaste, he had
no personal care items. No cologne, no aftershave, no creams, nothing. A big
open shelf held a stack of folded white towels, and that was it.

She couldn’t find a shower cap, so she wrapped a big towel
around her head and stepped into the shower. The strong jet of hot water
soothed her sore muscles.

She stretched, on top of the world. Turning around under the
spray, she couldn’t remember when she had felt as great as this. Her experience
in mornings after was limited, but this morning after very definitely topped
her personal list of favorites.

Once she’d dried off, she contemplated her nakedness.

Her dress was still downstairs. Caitlin thought of it
fondly. She’d had to give up breathing to fit into that nipped-in waist but the
look on Alex’s face when she had emerged from the elevator had been worth it.
Like the ad said, it had been priceless. Who needed breathing anyway?

Smiling, she lifted Alex’s shirt from the floor and put it
on. It hung to her knees. When she rolled up the sleeves, it was as modest as a
summer dress. She inhaled deeply. There was a faint scent of soap and something
that was unmistakably Alex. No aftershave. Alex didn’t need aftershave. He
emitted godzillions of utterly male pheromones all on his own. An eau de
cologne would have simply masked it. And there was no commercial cologne on
earth as riveting as Alex’s smell. God, it was enticing.

She closed her eyes and inhaled again. Smells go straight to
the limbic system—the dark, primitive part of the brain that operates on the
senses and has no use for thoughts. For an instant, thoughts fled her brain
entirely as the smell evoked powerful memories of the night before. Alex’s
smell was unique—slightly woodsy, slightly musky, laced with clean sweat.

For a second, Caitlin stood there, electrified. Her legs
wobbled and her thighs clenched. Breath whooshed out of her and she found it
hard to breathe, remembering. Her vagina contracted once—a sharp, muscular movement
as if it was clenching around Alex’s penis—and a soft sound escaped her.

She whipped around to see whether she’d woken him up but
Alex was sleeping like the dead, one arm off the mattress, hand curled on the
floor, the other spread over the rest of the bed, as if she were still there.
His strong back rose and fell regularly, his dark, thick lashes didn’t even
flutter. He was out like a light.

A predator like Alex only slept like that when he knew there
was no danger in the room. And there wasn’t. The danger was all in the other
direction. To her, not to him.

Caitlin caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror
and the expression of yearning on her face was…embarrassing. This man was going
to break her heart if she wasn’t careful. Sleeping with him had been fantastic.
Incredible. Overwhelming.

And, well, a terrible idea.

The mirror showed a pink-faced Caitlin, mouth swollen and
red, whisker burns on her cheeks, hair a wild cloud around her head. A walking
advertisement for sex.

Needing a distraction, she checked out the bedroom,
searching for clues to the endlessly enticing mystery that was Alex Cruz.

Last night she’d been too blasted by lust to look around
her, but in the soft morning light the room spoke volumes. Alex’s bedroom was
like his office and his living room. Clean, neat, with just the essentials to
be able to function as a bedroom. Oddly enough, the bedroom had artwork on the
walls—a series of black-and-white photographs in simple, narrow black frames.

They were very good—a shell on the beach, an old bicycle against
a crumbling wall, a close-up of a branch in bloom, all showing an excellent
sense of proportion and balance. Had he taken them himself or had he bought
them? Either way, it was a little window into an unexpected artistic streak.

Curiosity about the man who had just become her lover
overcame her.

She wrenched the closet door open. It was so different from
her own closet it could have been intended for another species. But it was
definitely Alex Cruz’s closet. A thick, black cashmere trench coat hung neatly
from a padded hanger, together with four pairs of neatly pressed black jeans,
ten pairs of slacks and ten men’s jackets, all black and all identical. In neat
stacks on shelves were piles of identical, white long-sleeved shirts, white
short-sleeved shirts, a pile of black turtlenecks, white tee shirts and black
tee shirts. The closet smelled of starch and clean fabric. Looking down, she
saw eight identical pairs of black lace-up shoes and two pairs of Nikes. The
one pair of loafers he had were clearly for living dangerously. Like last
night.

Stripping the laces from one of the shoes, Caitlin tied her
hair back and, humming softly, made her way downstairs to the kitchen. The rain
had finally stopped and she could see large, fluffy clouds rolling across the
pale blue sky through the kitchen window. Magnificent sky. Magnificent clouds.
Magnificent morning. The best morning ever, since the beginning of the world.

A shaft of bright sunlight glanced off one of the poplars,
making the raindrops glisten as if the leaves were made of diamonds. She hugged
herself in delight at the sight. It was all so wondrous, so perfect. Life was
so exquisitely beautiful.

Caitlin was perfectly familiar with the biochemistry of
infatuation. The technical term for it was
limerence
—and it was a
killer. Right now, norepinephrine was cascading wildly through her system,
triggering the breakdown of glycogen and triacylglycerols, providing a massive
spurt of energy, making her heart beat faster, her senses more acute, switching
off the logic circuits in the brain.

In all the important ways, the biochemistry of infatuation
mirrored insanity. She knew that academically, but
feeling
it, for the
first time—well, that was something else.

Opening the back door, she stepped out and took a big breath
of the clean, pristine air, feeling the oxygen flooding into her system right
down to her toes.

This particular back garden could only belong to Alex. If he
could have had a black and white garden, he would have. Still, he had the next
best thing. The garden was a small, neat expanse of close-cropped grass in a
square area. Each corner had a box shrub pruned into a severely square topiary.
Not a blade of grass out of place. Not one flower or ornamental plant besides
the box shrubs and the poplars backing them. The garden practically cried out
for some color and shapes.

For an instant, Caitlin let herself go and imagined creating
a small herb garden off to the right, near the kitchen door, a rockery straight
ahead and a flower garden on the left. She would plant pansies right about now,
the soft purple and fuchsia kind—

Whoa.
Talk about hormonal overload and the insanity
it brings! Caitlin shook herself and turned back into the house. Who even knew
if Alex would want to see her again after last night—and here she was planning
his garden? That way led to heartache and it was way too nice a day for that.
Besides which, she was hungry and it looked like Alex wasn’t going to be doing
the honors.

Cooking breakfast was fine with her, she liked cooking. It
was the cleaning-up-afterward part she didn’t like.

Caitlin checked the fridge, frowned, then checked the
shelves.

Preparing breakfast was going to be a major undertaking.
Alex didn’t believe in food shopping. Finally, after a thorough and disgusted
check of his supplies, she managed to put together the makings for French
toast. The bread was stale, with suspicious green flecks, the butter was almost
rancid and she didn’t want to think too hard about how old the eggs might be.
But—technically—it was food. And including the major food groups too—grease,
carbs and cholesterol.

She cracked the eggs into a clean white bowl and whisked
them. The yolks were anemic-looking, but they’d have to do. The coffee machine
was in a cupboard, together with a radio. Caitlin twiddled the dial until she
found a soft rock station and settled in contentedly to a program featuring the
best of the ’90s.

Madonna. “Ray of Light”. Perfect.

Humming softly, hips moving gently in time with the beat,
she put on the coffee and lit a burner for the French toast. She turned to the
cupboard again—then gave a start at the large, dark figure standing in the
doorway watching her out of dark, unreadable eyes.