Jane Shoup (3 page)

Of course, all he’d ever
have of her was a thrilling, anonymous encounter…or maybe two or three, if he
were lucky. She was too pretty, too educated and too into power players to ever
consider the likes of him. Mitch Crow, he’d discovered, was an ex-pro hockey
player turned fancy restaurant manager. He was the kind of man who could always
say the right thing. Mitch Crow could be funny or charming or whatever the hell
he wanted. Not like him
—
a pathetic stutterer she felt sorry for. Of
course, he had a hell of a lot more honor than Mitch Crow. Not that honor
counted for that much. Nothing counted for that much once he spoke. Women were
interested, highly interested, until he opened his mouth. It was the way it had
always been. He shook his head, refusing to start feeling sorry for himself
again. At least, for the present, he had a way to Jenny Oliver. In fact, he had
two ways to her. And, in the basement, they were on an even playing field. In
the basement, they were each other’s secret.

* * * *

It was raining, cold and
nasty when Jenny got home from work. She retrieved her mail from the box. Even
that was wet. The antiquated elevator was down again, so she tromped upstairs
to the third floor, unlocked her door, and stepped inside, right over the
envelope that had been shoved under her door. She turned and looked down at it,
then shut and locked the door behind her. The mere sight of it had her heart
pounding.

She took off her coat, and
walked in to see if she had any messages on the answering machine. There were
two. She pushed the message button and glanced back at the envelope on the
floor as an automated message offered an ‘out of this world carpet cleaning
deal.’ She hit erase. The second message was for someone named Debbie Sharp,
regarding her appointment on the twelfth. Great. An automated sales call, a
wrong number and nothing but bills in the mail, and soggy ones at that.

She changed into flannel
pajamas and fixed macaroni and cheese for dinner. On further consideration, she
opened a can of tuna and drained it. “Protein, because we care about balance.”
Next, she opened a bottle of chardonnay. “Wine, because we don’t care
that
much about balance.”

For a six-dollar bottle of
wine, it wasn’t bad. She ate dinner, silently chiding herself that she hadn’t
eaten a vegetable all day. She would have to do better tomorrow. She cleaned up
before she finally retrieved the envelope off the floor. Her stomach felt tight
in anticipation. She got comfortable on the couch before opening it with
slightly trembling fingers.

Jenny,

It was so good touching
you. I can’t even find the words to describe it. I want more. I know it can’t
last forever, but meet me again on Saturday night.

She folded the letter again
and again, until it couldn’t be folded any more. She wouldn’t even kid herself
that she wasn’t going. This time she would try and see him. She needed to know
who he was. And she needed to be touched, the way he’d touched her before.
Hell, it was that night in the laundry room, that insane, intense episode that
had snapped her back to life. Oh, yes. She was going. Or coming. She smiled and
bit her lip at her little pun.

By Saturday afternoon, Jenny
was nervous. By early evening, she was a basket case. She mixed herself a rum
and coke to calm her nerves and downed it. It was good, made from excellent rum
that apparently Mitch had forgotten about. “To you, asshole,” she said,
thinking of her ex. “Hope you get a disease that makes your dick fall off.”

She took her time and did
her makeup perfectly. Not that it made a lot of sense, given that her
mysterious admirer really didn’t care about her face. “It’s for me,” she
reasoned aloud. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling pretty.” That was part of
her problem; Mitch had done such damage to her self esteem.“Of course, you let
him,” she whispered accusingly to her image. “People can try and trash you. It
doesn’t mean you have to let them.”

When it came time for
dressing, nothing worked. If it seemed right on the hanger, it looked terrible
on. “So what is the right outfit for a sexual fling in a basement laundry
room?” she slurred. The rum seemed to hit all at once, making her too tired to
pursue the matter for the moment. It was too early to dress, anyway.

She went into the living
room and turned on the TV.
Dirty
Dancing
was playing for the
ka-zillionth time. She wouldn’t have watched, except for it was her favorite
scene
—
the one where Baby goes to the staff party and sees staff members
dirty dancing for the first time. “I want to dance like that,” Jenny murmured
as she reached for a pillow and stretched out.

* * * *

A phone was ringing. Her
cell phone. Jenny sat up, surprised at the darkness. She clicked off the TV and
got up to go in search of her phone. “Hello?” she answered in a hoarse voice
when she found it.

“Are you coming?”

It was a man’s whisper. It
was him.

Her jaw dropped. She’d
fallen asleep and he was calling. He had her phone number. She couldn’t think
of a response and, panicked, she hit the end button, disconnecting the call.
She turned, hugging her arms, and saw that it was 11:38. The phone rang again.
She stared at it before hitting the talk button.

“Jenny, please,” he
whispered. “You don’t have to go downstairs, if you don’t want. Unlock your
door.”

“No,” she replied, more
forcefully than she meant to.

“Then come back down.
Please.”

“I can’t.” She hit the end
button again, her heart hammering. She’d slept for the last few hours and now
she was wide-awake and on edge. She set her phone down and went into her room.
She needed to take off her makeup, get into bed and go back to sleep. She
looked in the mirror and saw she looked prettier than ever. Or maybe it was
that her sight was bleary. Slowly, she approached her closet. Maybe she could
go…just to talk to him, to explain that she couldn’t continue seeing him. She
breathed out slowly, realizing she was growing wet thinking about it.

She got into a pair of
sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Totally unsexy. They would talk. Nothing else.

* * * *

He’d given up hope that she
was coming, but he still couldn’t make himself leave. When he heard her coming,
he retreated in between two ancient vending machines that still housed a few
old soap products. It was the perfect place to hide, while still being able to
see her when and if she assumed the position he’d told her to.

“Are you here?” she called
softly. She looked around. No one was here. She felt sharp disappointment,
which made no sense at all, since she had been planning to announce that there
would be no more encounters. “Because I am,” she whispered.
I’m here, I’m
lonely and I want to be touched.
She blew out a slow breath. Her insides
were knotted up. Was the problem that she’d been too long without sex? Her
stranger had given her her first orgasm in more than a year, and now she felt
desperate for another.

Desire had dried up between
Mitch and herself long before he’d taken off. Of course, he’d blamed her. For
her birthday, he’d even bought her an electronic dildo and announced, “Maybe it
can get you hot.” It wouldn’t have been a bad gift, but he’d ruined it with
that statement. She moved to the dryer she’d been stationed at last time and
leaned over it. Last time she’d assumed the position, he’d shown. God, but she
wanted him to show. However sick that made her.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

She jerked, once at the
sound of his whisper and once when he grabbed the sides of her hips. “Where
were you tonight?”

“I…fell asleep.”

“Stand up,” he whispered.
“Slowly.”

She did. He ran his hands
up her sweatshirt and felt her breasts. He unhooked her bra and rolled her
stiffened nipples between his fingers and thumbs. She leaned back slightly on
him and closed her eyes. “Good girl,” he praised, kissing the top of her ear.

The words caused a sharp
thrill to pulse through her.

Ryan reached into his
pocket for the silk scarf he’d purchased for the occasion. “I want to see you.”

“I want to see you, too,”
she said, beginning to turn.

He stopped her.
“
No.
Not yet.”

“Why?”

“I want you to fall in love
with me like this.”

His answer silenced her,
and she started when she saw his hands come around with the scarf.

“For your eyes,” he
explained. “So I can see you.”

“That’s…not fair,” she
protested weakly, while allowing him to secure the scarf around her eyes. Her
entire body was throbbing to the rhythm of her heart.

He slipped her sweatpants
down, and was momentarily surprised to discover she had no panties on. “Step
out of them,” he instructed.

She did, holding onto the
dryer.

Her mouth formed a small,
pink ‘o.’ She worked to control her breathing, unsuccessfully. He set her
sweatpants on the dryer, then removed her sweatshirt carefully so that the
blindfold would not come off. She was trembling. It was so empowering to be in
control of her. He stroked and calmed her, whispering how beautiful she was. He
slipped her translucent, pale blue bra off and shoved it into his pocket.

She licked her lips
nervously. “Will you tell me your name?”

He maneuvered her hands
behind her back and held her wrists with one of his hands, then bent to kiss
her breasts. She let out a shuddering breath as he took as much into his mouth
as was possible and sucked vigorously.

He savored one pink nipple
and then the other. He sat her up on the dryer. His muscles were all taut and
he could feel himself shaking. It had nothing to do with fear, unless it was
the fear he would never get this close to her again. “Lay back,” he instructed,
even as he put an arm around her and eased her back.

Her sweat clothes were underneath
her, but one shoulder rested on cool metal. He gently spread her legs apart.
Her breath caught. With one of his hands wrapped around both her wrists, he
lowered his mouth onto her moist, throbbing vagina, licking at first then
forcing his tongue deeply inside her. She heard herself moaning and then tried
to stifle it, afraid someone would hear. He pulled back and slid two fingers
inside her and probed deeply. “Maybe I’ll torture you all night like this,” he
said. “Would you like that?”

Yes! God, yes!
She couldn’t bring herself
to say the word.

He saw her eyebrows knit.
She wasn’t used to talking, to asking for it. It felt so good to be in control
of her. It was a job he would have signed onto for life, had he been given the
choice. “I’d like to hear you say it. You want me to lick and suck your pussy?”
he asked before going at it noisily.

She heard herself
whimpering and could not stop it. Nothing had ever felt so good.

“You
want me to finger you?” he asked a few minutes later. He inserted two fingers
and worked them, watching her face and listening to the sounds she tried to
muffle. Oh, yes, he would learn her body and make her need him. Already, he
could make her come if he wanted to. He withdrew his fingers. He didn’t want
her coming just yet. He dropped his hand lower and teased her tight asshole to
get a reaction.

“Uh, no,” she objected. “I
d-don’t
—
”

Slowly, he pushed inside
with one finger, ignoring her plea. “
Sshhhhh.
I’ve got you. I won’t hurt
you.” He withdrew his finger, watched her exhale, and inserted it again. He
needed both hands free. Next time, he would have to restrain her.

“No, please, I don’t like
that.”

He withdrew his finger and
then plunged in again. He would not hurt her, but she needed to know who was in
control and he needed to know just how much she liked him being in control,
even when it pushed her out of her comfort zone. “I like it,” he whispered
harshly. “It’s so tight. So...forbidden.”

She felt out of balance, without
a sense of reality because of the situation and the blindfold. She only knew
what he was doing a split second after he was doing it. She had never been made
so sexually hungry before. She needed this. She
needed
this.

He put his mouth back on
her pussy, actively working his tongue, while continuing to finger her tightest
passageway. He’d started a fire raging inside her and she thrashed without
realizing it.

He backed off, not wanting
her to come yet.

He pulled her up again,
setting her back on her feet. Her knees were weak, but he braced her.

“You need someone to belong
to,” he whispered, teasing her ear with his warm breath. “And I need for you to
belong to me.”

The words stole her breath.

“I want to fuck you,” he
continued.“And I have a condom on. You can feel it if you want to.” He brought
her hand forward to prove his point.

His cock was large, rock
hard in arousal, and covered by a condom. He was big; bigger than Mitch by a
long shot.

“Tell me you want it,” he
urged. “I won’t fuck you unless you want it.”

“I do,” she managed. A
second later, he turned her around and bent her back over the dryer. She felt
the swollen head of his cock at her opening and she grabbed a breath as he
pushed into her.

He didn’t have to hold her
wrists, she had grabbed the dryer, her knuckles white with tension.

It was too much, she
thought as he filled her. No, it was almost too much, she realized as he
withdrew. No, it was too much. She went back and forth with every thrust. She
almost could not take it, and yet she did and wanted it again. It made no sense
and it made perfect sense.

“I’m going to c-come,” he
stammered aloud. It was the first thing he had said full voice. The next
moment, he grunted as a powerful release gripped his body.

When he recovered his
breath, he realized how little strength he had left. And she hadn’t come, which
would not do. He knocked her clothes to the floor, sat on them and pulled her
onto his lap, supporting her upper back and forcing his hand between her legs.
“Now, you’ll come,” he said, again in a whisper. His fingers entered her
aggressively and with great purpose. Watching her carefully, he probed until he
felt the magic spot and heard her breath catch. He worked it until she screamed
and came in a series of spasms. Afterwards, he held her, cradling her body in
his arms and pressing kisses to her temple.

Her first muffled sob took
him by surprise and he had to study her to make sure of what he heard. She was
crying. “What is it?”

She shook her head, unable
to speak, not just because her throat was tight with emotion. She didn’t know
why she was crying. She didn’t know why this man was doing what he was or why
it was opening such a gulf of need in her. His touch was so perfect.

“Jenny, what is it?”

Why did he whisper all the
time? Was it because he feared that she’d recognize his voice and know who he
was? She’d jotted down every man in the building and considered each of them
carefully. There were only three or four she thought it could possibly be, and
he didn’t sound like any of them.

“What is it, baby?” he
pursued.

The endearment and the way
he held her did not help to stop her from blubbering. Mitch had never held her
and loved her with such tenderness. No man had. “I w-want to know who you are,”
she blurted, ending with a hiccup. “W-why won’t you t-tell me?”

He reached for her
sweatshirt and wiped her nose, then kissed her forehead. “I have my reasons.”

“W-will you ever t-tell
me?”

“Stop crying.”

She shook her head, unable
to.

“I’ll explain when you stop
crying.”

She took a deep, ragged
breath and tried to pull herself together.

“I want to tell you,” he
whispered.“But I can’t. Not yet.”

“Then w-when?” She sniffed.

“Christmas.” He hadn’t
planned it; it just came out, almost of its own volition. He was committed now.
He would only have a few weeks to enjoy her. “It will be my Christmas present
to you.”