A Taste of Pleasure (10 page)

“I know, the storm has knocked out cell service.” All she could think about was getting out of this rain. “I'll help you,” she replied quickly. “Do you think you can walk?” she asked.

He stumbled and she guided him to the comfort of the SUV. Once inside, both dripping wet from the storm, London eyed this burly stranger in her passenger seat with caution and
curiosity. He wore a long black trench coat and a black rib knit beanie hat, with a few wisps of his blond hair trying to escape from underneath. He was adorable. Then she noticed the blood on the side of his face, coming from a cut above his eye.

“I'm London. Are you sure you're okay? You have a cut on your face,” she said, reaching over to gently stroke his cheek. He turned and looked at her, still bewildered, but smiling now.

“London?” He exclaimed as he removed his hat. “It's me, Max!”

“Oh my God, Max. I can't believe this.”

She leaned over to embrace him. Max Callaghan was her old flame from high school, and she hadn't seen him since graduation, which was nine years ago. They had dated awhile and had gone to the senior prom together. She sat back to get a better look at him and assess his injuries.

“Max, you look great, but that's a nasty cut.”

“You look fabulous, London. It's great to see you too, but what a way to meet.”

“I've seen better days,” she laughed. “I look like a drowned rat tonight.”

Max chuckled and eased the visor down to look at his wound in the mirror.

“It's not that bad,” he argued. “But my truck, well, that's another story.”

“I'm taking you to the hospital. You have to get that checked out.”

“No, I'll be okay. I just need to bandage this up and I'll be fine. Then get a hold of roadside assistance to tow my truck.” He fished out a card from his wallet with the phone number and attempted to call out on his cell again with no luck.

“I can take you to my house. We can treat that cut, and you can use my home phone.”

“That would be great.” He proceeded to explain to her how the lightning had flashed and the tree had come crashing down right in front of his truck. He had no time to stop and ran his truck right up onto it. She drove extra carefully, as she was blinded by the frequent flashes of lightning that lit up the entire sky, and the darkness that fell between them. Some of the streetlights were out.

“I'm sure glad I didn't shut off my landline,” she said, once they got to the house. “I haven't really used it much since my grandma passed many years ago. It comes in handy at times like this.”

“Oh, you still live at the château? That's such a great place.”

“Yes, Grams left it to me and I didn't have the heart to sell it. It's been my home for almost as long as I can remember. So what were you doing out in the storm tonight?”

“I was at my construction site. I own a contracting business, and I met my crew at the job so we could secure the cranes and other equipment before the storm. We were running late and just got caught up in it.”

She hit the button and the gates swung open. She felt a sigh of relief to be home safely, and she was not alone. She unlocked the door and headed straight for the laundry room. He followed behind.

“We'll fix up that gash in just a minute. First, let's get out of these clothes.” She peeled off her soaking-wet jacket and suit as he looked on. “You haven't changed a bit,” he said as he flashed a complimentary grin. He caught himself and felt a tad bit guilty for thinking this way at this moment. He stripped away his wet garments too. He was built like a lumberjack, with broad shoulders and abs of steel, humbled only by his tousled, wavy blond hair that hung just above his piercing blue eyes. Even though he wasn't her usual delicacy, just the sight of him
had her steamy already. Her flame was rekindled—just that quickly—and she recalled just what it was she had seen in him so many years ago. She tossed their clothes into the dryer and threw on a robe, handing one to him with his wallet and keys, and ordering him toward the bathroom with a smile.

She sat him down in the chair at the dressing table in the bathroom and retrieved her first-aid kit. She pulled up a chair in front of him and nursed his wound. He groaned and winced a bit. She giggled and teased him as he flinched, but she took her time, gently stroking as she cleansed the skin around his cut. He wriggled around at her touch, their robes sliding back and their bare legs brushing against each other's. His breathing became a little quicker, and his eyes sparkled at her. She applied the bandage with a little pressure and sealed the moment with a small peck of a kiss on his cheek. He smiled and she knew he was captivated all over again. So was she.

“Now that you're all patched up, how about some coffee?” she asked.

“Thank you, and yes, that sounds great.”

They headed down to the basement to the soda bar. She giggled as she pointed to the reproduction rotary dial pay phone that hung from the wall.

“You can call from there while I make our drinks. You don't need coins for it. It only looks like a pay phone.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled back. He pulled up a stool and took out his wallet. He dialed each number and waited as the dial rotated, eyeing her with one eyebrow cocked and a smile. She fired up the espresso machine and began whipping up two hot caramel mocha lattés. As Max sat on hold with roadside assistance, he checked out the surroundings. The room had a 1950s theme, with red shiny seats on the stools that lined the old-fashioned soda shop counter. Three gooseneck chrome-
plated handles for the soda bar shimmered, accenting the historical Coca-Cola signs and matching metal chairs adorned with the logo at four small round tables positioned around the center of the room. The floor was black-and-white checkered tile to complement the tiled backsplash on the wall behind the counter that outlined a huge mirror.

The entire room reflected in the mirror, and he could see numerous photos of classic cars hanging from the walls, and Betty Boop smiling down above him. Beside him was a vintage jukebox loaded with 45 rpm records offering a trip down memory lane with an assortment of melancholy music to choose from, mostly from Grams's musical archives. He leaned against the machine, making arrangements to have his truck towed.

“It's all set. They will get to it as soon as they can, but the driver said it could be a while as they've had a lot of calls tonight,” he explained as he made his way over to the counter, watching her putting the finishing touches on their lattés. “They'll take my truck to a nearby garage about three miles away, and I can just get a cab home soon.”

“Or you could stay, and call one in the morning after the storm clears,” London said as she handed him his coffee.

He smiled. “Sure, that would be great. I just don't want to impose on you any more.”

“Max, you're not imposing. It's great to have your company tonight.”

They sat down to sip their coffee and chat at one of the small round tables. The conversation flowed as they caught up on the past nine years. They talked about the upcoming ten-year reunion and contemplated how much things had changed in such a short time. London got up and strolled over to the jukebox.

“Do you remember the contest we had our senior year to select the best nostalgic songs for our graduating class?” she inquired.

“I do. And I remember your song was one that was chosen.” He hummed a few notes.

“I'll Be Seeing You,” a song written by Sammy Fain and sung by Billie Holiday. The vinyl 45 slipped into the slot and filled the room with sound. Max grinned as he rose from the table, taking her by the hand and leading her out past the tables to an open area of the tiled floor to dance. He was an excellent ballroom dancer, something that was hard to find these days.

Her body relaxed as his breath brushed by her neck, sending chills up her spine. His breath was shortly replaced by his warm lips, on her neck, her ear, and the side of her face. Then he cupped her face, looked deep into her eyes, and kissed her wanting lips. His lips were soft and tender, surprising for such a rugged, brawny man.

After the song, she led him upstairs. She lit the fire and they curled up on the bamboo love seat, cuddling into the warmth and comfort, enjoying the port in a storm that they offered each other. She sipped at her coffee, feeling his eyes on her lips as they brushed the rim of the cup. Their words fell away as his eyes told her everything. She put their cups on the coffee table and leaned in, kissing him fully on the mouth. He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her onto his lap in one swift motion. She was right: he was all man. She was sitting on his lap, kissing him softly as he untied her robe, revealing her perky breasts. He breathed in her intoxicating fragrance.

“My God, you smell delicious,” he said as he kissed her neck. His hands slid up to her shoulders and pushed her robe off, sliding it down her back. She tipped her head back as
he worked his way down to her breasts, kissing and sucking until her nipples stood at attention. He was so gentle, and that familiar ache was burning deep within her. She had been so lonely for weeks and distraught over missing Deacon. The attention she had been longing for had finally arrived, and she savored the moment.

Suddenly, the wind outside whipped and howled, lightning flashed, and thunder boomed, followed by the long groaning sound of a transformer surging electricity through the wires, then everything fell silent as the power flickered and the room went dark. Except for the warm flickering of the fire, the house was eerily pitch-black.

“Oh, that was a horrible sound. The backup generator should have kicked on immediately,” London said, wondering why it hadn't.

“Well, let me first take care of you, and then I'll be happy to check on your generator for you,” he said in a husky voice, pulling her tighter to him.

“Sounds good to me,” she replied with hunger lingering in her tone.

She could feel his growing lust. She sent her tongue searching for his and found it. Their tongues played tag as he massaged her back. He held her close and she felt their feelings beginning to merge, feelings that had been locked away long ago.

Once burned, she learned—but did she? Here she was, her passions flaring up again, thinking
I like this man
, as she studied him. Something about his look . . . his deep-set crystal blue eyes, shimmering blond hair, and mustache that made his soft lips even more inviting. He had captured her, and her heart surrendered, a bit anyway. She still belonged to Deacon. Max smiled as he studied her face, seemingly aware of the deep thoughts consuming her.

“Is something wrong?”

She shook her head and gave him a tiny smile, feeling almost shy for a moment as he seemed to peer into her mind. She kissed him again and again, on his face, his neck, his lips—those wonderful soft lips. He pulled her to him and cuddled her in his arms.

“I won't do anything you don't want me to, okay?” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

He held her in his strong arms, kissing her, rubbing her, overwhelming her, physically and emotionally. She shooed away the voice in her head reminding her that Max was not a date. He was simply here by circumstance as a result of the storm. She didn't care. He had captured her heart for a moment, and this moment was all she needed right now.

He laid her down and kissed her more passionately than before. His arms around her, pulling her into his center, she felt all of him . . . his chest and the wonder that was being born between his legs. She wanted him. He explored her, touching her places she hadn't thought about for quite a while. The neglect had taken its toll, and she was ravenous for him.

He kissed her tummy and worked his way down, carefully observing her reactions as he proceeded. She was comfortable, and he was gentle with her as he kissed her down there. She opened up her legs to him. He smiled as he kissed her tenderly, inciting so much emotion within her that she almost cried. He touched a part of her that needed attention, and she was aflame. He was skilled and she relaxed, enjoying every moment of his tongue, playing with her, taunting her, her body moving toward that mouth and the tongue that was holding her captive.

“Yes,” she moaned as she felt passions flare up, her life juices flowing—opening up and allowing her to feel again.
“Please. I need you so badly . . . take me please.” She felt slightly embarrassed as she heard the words coming out of her mouth. But she was hot and needed him now. In this moment, she didn't care about anything else but the feelings between her legs and that he had something she wanted. It was close to her mouth and she took her tongue and licked the end of it. He moaned. She moved closer, sliding her lips over the end. He moaned louder and took it out of her mouth. He came up and kissed her gently.

“Not this time, baby—you're going to come for me,” he whispered as he slid her to the edge of the couch and she felt him enter her. She had almost forgotten how good having someone inside her could feel. He slid into her with one push and stayed right there, collecting himself as he was overwhelmed by the intensity. She wiggled her body for some action, but he was very much in control. She adjusted her body around him, moving herself into a comfortable position for the act.

He waited for her and kissed every inch of her that his lips could reach while holding his hardness in position. Then slowly, he withdrew and pushed back into her. She felt all of him, and he took her breath away. He was so hard and wonderful as he reached behind her, placing his hands on her buttocks to pull her even closer and tighter to him. She gasped as he entered, more deeply with each thrust. He took her slowly, holding on to her the whole time, penetrating deeper and deeper, pausing as she reveled in his manhood. His pace was so sensuous, his manliness so luscious and gratifying. She wrapped her arms around him as their pace quickened and she moaned, hugging him tightly as they came together, a long and wet climax that seemed to go on forever.