Black Butterfly (17 page)

He leaned against the wall drinking from a water bottle; he smiled as his eyes dropped to her long legs.

“I thought you wore nothing but black?” Sydney asked, unable to conceal her disappointment in the little joke she thought they’d share.

“What made you think that?” he asked, giving her a half smile.

Todd, who had changed as well, handed Trish a bottle of water.

“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile.

Nolen lowered his water and grabbed Sydney by the hand. He pulled her toward him. “Ever play squash?”

“No,” she admitted. But I bet I can play as well as you can skate, she added silently.

“How about you, Trish?” Nolen asked.

Trish bit her bottom lip. “Yeah, I’ve played.”

“You have?” Sydney asked, shocked.

Todd chimed in. “Well, then, I’m really looking forward to playing against you.”

“You’re on!” Trish said.

Nolen rubbed Sydney’s hips, keeping her in front of him, and she felt her heart quicken from the intimacy of his touch. “Come on. I’ll show you,” Nolen said, rising off the wall and leading her by the hand with Trish and Todd following them out.

They walked into a room with ten stadium-type seats facing a large window. Through the glass Sydney could see a divided court facing a wall. It allowed for two games to be played at once. Todd led Trish to the room to the left, and Nolen opened the door to the room on the right. The hard, glossy floor shone like polished glass under the glare of the bright florescent lit ceiling. It reminded Sydney of a basketball court. Squash racquets and a bag of balls hung on the stark white wall. Nolen grabbed two racquets and a blue squash ball.

“Blue’s for beginners,” he said, passing her a racquet. “You know how to play tennis?” She twirled the racquet in her hand. “Knowing how to play and playing well are two different things, right?”

He laughed, and she blew him a kiss. Nolen bounced the soft ball against the court with the racquet, turning his back to her. “Instead of facing each other like in a tennis match, we play off this wall here. You miss a swing; it scores against you, just like in tennis. This is a nine-point game. Each time you successfully serve back, that’s a point.” He looked back over his shoulder. “But, first, come here, my butterfly.” He tossed his racquet aside and she walked around him. Standing behind her, he put his hands over hers, trapping her between his strong arms, then gripped her wrists to help her hold the racquet. She felt his breath on her neck as her rump brushed against his groin. Sydney swallowed and tried to remain unfazed by the position. She was doing pretty well until he put a foot between her closed feet, forcing her legs apart, then bent her over.

“Never hit a ball standing up straight. Always remain in a leaning position, surging forward.” Letting go of the racquet with his right hand, he placed it gently on her right thigh, rubbing it upward and inching her skirt up to reveal more than she had ever intended. He then whispered in her ear. “The leading leg is this one. When the ball comes at you, step forward from here, and then strike it with your body parallel to the side walls, not dead on.”

With his hand on her thigh inching so dangerously close to forbidden territory, she felt faint. Her hand trembled, and she tried to hold on to her racquet. Before the creep of his fingers reached all the way up, he moved it, and she nearly cursed him in disappointment. His hold never lessened. He held her arm, and continued to press into her. Sydney swore she felt the beat of his arousal pushing into her from behind.

“Your forearm should form a ninety-degree angle, with your wrist turned back as far as possible.” He gently bent her wrist to demonstrate. The heat from his breath against her ear and the deepening sound of his voice made it impossible to follow his instructions.

“This puts your swing in a ready position that allows power behind your shots.” He released her, and cool air replenished her lungs allowing her to breathe normally once again. Trish’s laughter and the thump of the ball in the neighboring room told her that their game was in full swing. Standing up straight, she looked back over her shoulder at Nolen, half-expecting to see a full erection like the invisible one she had, but he looked calm and collected.

He smiled at her and picked up his racquet. “I’ll go first.”

Trish bounced from foot to foot, running forward and whacking the soft, yellow ball, sending it back with rocket speed at Todd who panted hard, trying to keep up. With her ponytail swaying, she swung one-handed to give her shots more power.

Todd wheezed. He kept missing the ball. Once he nearly took it in the face. He backed up and fell against the sidewall, struggling for his breath.

Trish whirled; excited she pointed her racket at him. “Point!” Todd braced himself against the wall, bent over with his hands on his knees, and looked up at her. He was breathing through his mouth, his hair falling in his eyes. “Hell, I can’t do this with you. What are you, some kind of professional or something?”

She shook her head, and a look of concern melted her smile.

“I’m ok,” he reassured her. “Just give me a minute.”

“What happened to your face?”

The question delivered a sucker punch to his gut. At some point he’d have to tell her who he was. Did Portia mention him by name when she shared the story of her incarceration? He smiled weakly and stammered a reply. “An accident.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“Only if I think about it.”

Trish shrugged and walked away, her tennis skirt spinning around her hips. He stared at her creamy thighs as she crouched down, reaching for the water bottle. Most women he knew would have bent over, putting on a free peep show.

Trish picked up the water and brought it back to him. “Here you go,” she said, and tossed him the bottle.

“Thank you, Trish,” he said as he caught it mid-air. He opened it and downed the cool drink.

Trish twirled the racket in her hand. “I can play alone if you need a break.”

“I think I might like to watch you play. See your moves,” he mumbled, with pointed desire.

“Ok take a seat,” she responded, ignoring the flirt and pointing at the seats behind the glass. Todd picked up his racquet and headed to the lounge facing the court where he plopped down in one of the seats.

The girl was better than Nolen when she played, and her energy seemed boundless. Watching the muscles in her thighs and enjoying different views of her rump as she hit the ball back and forth, he wondered how long it would be before he could get a taste.

Sydney missed Nolen’s serve three times in a row, and he couldn’t stop laughing.

“You’re hitting it too fast and hard,” she said and pouted.

Laughter echoed off the walls louder than the strike of the ball. Nolen dropped to his knees unable to stop. She couldn’t believe he would laugh at her. Wasn’t he trying to seduce her? He failed miserably. He shook his head, trying to stop the laughter, and then fell over onto the court. “No, butterfly, you just don’t have the rhythm.”

“Oh, I’ve got rhythm!” she gasped, appalled.

Nolen wiggled his brows at her. “I’m afraid not. It’s a dance with your feet, a coordination that you seem to be missing.”

“The hell it is!” she said. She pointed the racquet at him. “You get up."

Nolen rose on his elbows. “Make me!”

Sydney knelt beside him to grab his hand, and he pulled her down on top of him. She gasped, but before she could respond, he rolled her over onto her back. His face came in close, his lips closer. Sydney shut her eyes and lay very still. A soft brush of his cheek to hers made her warm all over for him and he whispered in her ear, “I want you to be mine, Butterfly.”

Sydney’s lids flashed open. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, taut against the pressure of his chest. “I um, wait!” Before she could say more, the moist tip of his tongue crept into her mouth. She parted her lips and invited the kiss to go further. The game was exhilarating but her heart pounded harder when pressed against his, and intense passion swept through her within the kiss. Each moment of their kiss allowed vitality to seep through her love-starved body. Nolen slid his hand up her exposed thigh, pushing up her skirt as he rolled on top. Sydney, now losing control, parted her legs and felt his maleness press at her center. Her mind willed her body to break the kiss, but instead her hips moved, causing his hardness to stoke the heat spreading through her core. Desperate for him now, her hands in his hair she tugged hard, lifting her ass to feel more of him.

Raising his mouth from hers he gazed into her eyes. “You taste and feel so good.” he pressed his groin down to emphasize his point.

“Maybe we should stop,” she whispered, tilting her head up to capture his lips once more.

“You don’t want this?” he asked, leaving her lips yearning for more. His eyes are a sensual warm shade of brown, vibrant and alert.

She let go a thoughtful sigh. “I’m sorry, seriously, I can’t.” She sucked in her bottom lip for a brief pause before continuing. “It complicates things for us, and I just can’t afford that right now. I know I encouraged you by um, giving you mixed signals and all, but I really want to stop.” Nolen appeared disappointed. He didn’t move away from her. Instead his hand slid over her then under her thigh. He pushed it back so that it was bent at the knee. His actions opened her up to him. He buried his face against her neck and breathed his kisses there before saying words she could barely understand. “It can be good between us Sydney,” he groaned. She didn’t respond. She believed every word.

Nolen’s lips seared a path down her neck to her shoulders. She thought he’d lift and help her stand. He didn’t. Instead he kissed her bent knee, he lifted her leg straight into the air and she pointed her foot in a dancer’s move to show the definition of her sculpted thigh. This pleased him. He brushed his lips across her inner thigh and under the crease by her knee while keeping her pinned beneath him. Sydney closed her eyes and suppressed the urge to bolt. Feeling him lower her leg and pull down her skirt, she opened her eyes and met his stare.

“You don’t fool me, beautiful. I know you want this, and I can be patient and wait until you accept it. Or I can touch you like this—” he put a hand between them and rubbed two fingers against her swollen clit. The vibration of sensations he stirred had her curling her toes in her tennis shoes.

“Ok, I’m attracted to you. Who wouldn’t be? But if I give in, then what?” she asked, wanting him to convince her that she meant something to him.

“We’re having fun. Does every single moment have to be analyzed? If you give yourself to me, I don’t know how far this thing between us will go. I’m drawn to you, have been since I first laid eyes on you. I won’t throw in the towel until we find out what that means,” he added, the last words said against her lips as he initiated another kiss.

She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. She sensed the exaggeration in his words but loving them all the same. Reclaiming his mouth she was crushed beneath him. The kiss was now slow and thoughtful, giving her a full sample of his desire for her. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips, explored the recesses of her mouth, it sent the pit of her stomach in a wild swirl. A knock against the Plexiglas shattered the moment. They ended the kiss and looked over to see Trish and Todd watching them. Trish was grinning, and Todd was smirking. Nolen looked back down at Sydney. “I guess the games are over.”

“I hope so,” she said, somewhat relieved.

Chapter 8

Save the Last Dance

After a cold shower, she returned to the changing area of the locker room and put her tennis outfit in the hamper. As she dressed, Sydney thought about how quickly things were moving between her and Nolen. It had been nearly three weeks since they first met and already the man was stroking her between her thighs. Her thoughts were flooded with reasons to indulge while warning whispers invaded her mind with reasons to run.

“So you’re falling for him, huh?” Trish asked, slipping on her boots and pulling her pant legs down over them.

Sydney buckled her belt. “What makes you say that?”

“That little make-out session on the court, for starters,” Trish answered.

Sydney sat down next to Trish. “Can you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Today—our coming here and doing all of this—can it remain between us for now? Until I figure out this thing with me and him.”

“You mean keep it from Portia? We don’t keep things from each other.” Sydney blew out a frustrated breath and sat back on the bench with her hands resting on either side of her. “This morning she all but said that I got the part because of him, and she’s talking to Ricky. I don’t want him thinking that I’m sleeping with the man financing the show.”

“But you aren’t, are you?”

“Of course not.” Sydney blushed, reminded of how close she was to giving in. “I don’t know the man.” Trish studied her face. “A relationship that you have to hide from the people who care for you isn’t healthy. I don’t like secrets, Sydney. They eat away at you.” Sydney looked at her, irritated. “Then why don’t you tell me why you ran away from home when you were seventeen? Or what your full Christian name is?”

Trish flinched.

Sydney immediately regretted her harsh tone. She touched Trish’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s ok,” Trish said, blinking away tears. “You’re right. Who am I to talk about secrets when I can’t share mine?”

Sydney moved down the bench and put her arm around her. “Hey, some things are better left unsaid, and I get that.”

“Yeah, some things are.” She flashed a weak smile. “Portia loves you. She just has a hard time showing it.

I understand if you don’t want the drama. I won’t mention anything about today. Besides, Todd asked me to do sort of the same thing.”

“He did? Why?”

“Oh, he wants me to paint him. Willing to pay, but he doesn’t want Nolen to know. I guess it’s a macho thing.”

“Yeah, they’re both oozing with testosterone.”

Trish nodded. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Sydney smoothed over her ponytail, then pulled on her sweater. Trish held the door for her and they walked out where Nolen and Todd greeted them.