Out of Her Comfort Zone

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2013 Nicky Penttila

 ISBN: 978-1-77130-240-1

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Jillian Baker

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my husband.

OUT OF HER COMFORT ZONE

Romance on the Go

Nicky Penttila

Copyright © 2013

Nap over Emily stretched, just a bit, her foot happening to touch Elliot’s silky calf. The slightest nudge, and he knew what she wanted.

“More princess?”

She smiled at the grumble-honey of his voice and rolled to her side to face him on the bed. The light from the high windows slanted wide, mid-afternoon, and here they were in bed. Such luxury.

“When can we do this again?”

He smiled, a slow pull of his delectable lips up at the corners. His mouth was so wide the smile should have been distorted, but the rest of his face was so agile, so golden, the mouth seemed perfect.

Certainly it was perfect in the many society photos she’d seen him in. He was the beneficiary of a small field – tech geeks who looked gorgeous on camera – and so was doubly valuable to the local society photographers. Not to mention a certain society columnist.

As if he could sense what she was thinking Elliot pursed his lips and leaned in. He suckled the dip between her neck and shoulder and she felt the tension leach out.

“Girls who code too much need more sex,” he said.

“There’s no such thing as coding too much.”

“Remember that time you couldn’t turn your neck to the left for three days?”

“To the right. Two days and a half.”

“Exactly.” He drew his hand lazily across her hip. She lifted her knee and then let it flop to the side on the bed. He took the hint, cupping her mound gently and then a little firmer. His fingertips played a gentle arpeggio on her clit and her hips rose in response. The soft lilac color of their so-soft new sheets meshed well with the flashes of lightning white-red of pleasure Elliot drew from her.

She loved his long, strong fingers; really, all of his long, strong self. Despite that odd hair-job and his oversized reputation, he was just a regular guy. A regular, spectacular-looking, generous guy. With hands that could do, oh, that.

She could feel the climax rumbling to life at the base of her spine, a cauldron ready to spill. She arched her clit into the base of his palm, ready to lift off.

But he pulled away, loosening his grip and shifting his weight on the bed. Emily lifted her head from the pillow, dazed.

“I want to try something.”

She dropped her head back on the pillow. “I thought we were doing fine.” She closed her eyes.

She felt him roll up to his knees, his hip still pushed into hers. His hands pushed gently down the length of each thigh, around the kneecaps, and under each calf. As his fingers touched her soles she squeaked involuntarily.

“So ticklish.” He deepened his touch, not a feather, a glove. “I love your toes. All the other ... women were all beat up. Dancers, you know? But you, you’re perfect.”

Before she could follow his train of thought he’d cupped her heel in his hand and bent down, taking her big toe into his mouth. The surprise of it shot up her spine to the base of her head, but it was quickly followed by wonder, and then, pleasure.

His mouth felt like warm velvet, his tongue a chamois stroking her so softly. Every muscle in her shoulders relaxed, sinking deep into the mattress.

He pulled up for a moment. “OK?”

She sighed it out, “OK,” long and sweet. The sensations formed shapes in her mind, rounded algorithms expanding and contracting. Möbius bands?

By the third toe, Emily’s body – or the bed – seemed to spin, sensation overloading all her circuits. So this was what steady bliss was like. But when Elliot started on the other foot, she discovered even bliss could be doubled.

One hand holding her foot, the other crept back up to her mound. Now swirls like the ones at the ends of her legs were happening in the center of her body at the same time. The sweet fountain of pleasure cascaded into a sharper fall of bliss. Elliot’s chuckle rumbled her little toes as she bucked into the biggest release of her life.

After she stilled, spent, he released her foot, setting it back against her knee, and lapped at her sodden vulva. “I love how every part of you is so, so sensitive.”

“You do it to me.”

He lifted his head. His smile shone through even her half-lidded eyes. “Good.” Something caught his eye. He leaned over her legs to look at the floor. “Your phone is blinking.”

Wasn’t it always.
“What color?”

“Pink?” He was right to be surprised. Blue was family, green work, purple social. Pink was rare.

“My personal calendar. See what it is.”

He rolled over her legs, somehow copping a feel of her ass on the way, and back again. “Password?”

“Shape. Delta, starts at six.”

He got it on the first try. “Not very secure. ‘Condo’?”

She frowned, and then remembered. “Right. It’s September again. I have to decide whether to renew my tenant’s lease.”

He clicked the screen dark and rolled onto his side. Head propped on a hand, he searched her eyes. “I thought you moved in with me 21 months ago.”

“Exactly right, of course. But if I want my condo back, I have to give the tenant at least two months’ notice.” It was an easy decision. Things had been going well with Elliot for months; they hadn’t even fought in more than half a year.

But he frowned. “So, time for a change?”

Emily’s body went from giddily drowsy to panic in less than half a second. Was he unhappy and she hadn’t noticed, again? That’s what they’d fought about the last time. She swallowed, hard. “Change?”

Elliot swiveled upright, his feet on the floor. He hadn’t tanned in years, yet there was still a slight line from his bathing trunk from summers past. She reached out to trace it. He couldn’t be dumping her, could he?

“We need coffee for this.” Slipping on his cotton yoga pants, he stretched to standing.

Coffee? Not wine? Or a shot of tequila? Emily sat up, shuffling her hands through the tangles in her hair. This didn’t sound like a break-up. Coffee was for Sunday mornings, just them, shouting out something worthy they’d read in the papers. She loved how he still got paper newspapers on Sunday.

Wait
. If not a break-up, then something else? Something permanent?

She crunched her legs, squeezing them tight to her and resting her chin on her knees. Was she ready? Was two years enough? Was this a forever thing? Was anything a forever thing?

Her heart pounded,
yes, yes YES. Ready, ready, READY
.

A smart businesswoman, she’d always done her due diligence. She knew all about Elliot, from his past to his potential, and while different than hers, they meshed. They did. And like a good businesswomen Emily knew when to take a measured risk. Marrying Elliot would be the least risky thing she did all year.

And, to be honest, she had thought he was on the verge of an escalation. He was a little on the romantic side, though, so she didn’t expect any action on that front until the winter holidays. Perhaps he was jumping his gate, a pre-emptive bid.

Could it be the idea that she’d move back into her condo that set him off? She couldn’t believe it. He was even more due-diligence than she. It was his job, as one of the most successful venture capitalists in Silicon Valley, but it was also his way in life. No way a phone message could have derailed his careful planning.

Or could it?

She scooted off the bed to pull on some clothes. She absolutely was not having any sort of “change” discussion in the nude. Who knew, coffee might be thrown. Stranger things had happened.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, though, Elliot reappeared, near-panic on his face.

“The store didn’t deliver today, and I’ve looked all over.” His face looked thunderous, but with panic.

“We are out of coffee.”

****

The industrial-design coffee shop north of

Market Street

was half-empty for once. As usual, along with the croissants and coffees, Emily took her first sip as Elliott pulled out his phone and set it to voice-block, some sort of white noise that made it hard to remotely record voices. It was habit; he had so many confidential meetings in public places. She was so comfortable with it she usually didn’t notice. This obviously wasn’t going to be a classified conversation, anyway, since he hadn’t asked her to shield her mouth with her hand.

After some small talk that made her more nervous than their first date had, he set his coffee down, half-finished, and reached into his pants pocket. His bare forearm flashed blond. A classic surfer dude, he’d surprised her that first time in bed by being such a natural blond all over. He’d had his hair dyed, but black over blond, not the usual reverse.

He put his hand flat on the table. Halfway down his pinkie rested a lady’s ring. “I want to make our merger permanent. Marry me?”

“It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

“I know, it’s a ruby. My grandmother was kind of eclectic too.”

“No, I love it. And wow, something from your family. It’s perfect.”

“I didn’t think you wanted a huge rock. Your hands are so delicate. And all that blood-diamond talk.”

“You listened.” She loved that about him. She loved him.

“Here.” He turned his hand. The ring slid off his finger and landed in his palm. He lifted his hand to her. His hazel eyes held far too much worry. Her heart ached for him.

How could he doubt? She hadn’t wanted a gorgeous guy, just a smart, responsible one who listened. Elliott exceeded all expectations, plus he made her laugh. And whoever had taught him it was all right to have emotions and maybe even talk about them sometimes was an angel.

“Of course I’ll marry you. In fact, if you hadn’t proposed by Christmas, I was going to do it myself at New Year’s.”

He blew out a breath and that beautiful smile rolled across his lips. He raised his brows expectantly. She held her hand out, fingers stretched, and he slid the ring on. It seated itself perfectly, the wine-dark stone seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. Before she could pull it closer to admire it he twined his fingers in hers and lifted her hand. He placed a kiss, so soft, so filled with promise, on her palm. The connection burned, a physical signature on an emotional contract, soft, hot, iron. She might be floating.

Emily’s mind was so full of sensation and a spinning web of dreams of the future she didn’t notice when he set her hand back on the table and let go.

“There’s one thing.” His voice dropped, as if carrying a heavy load of something, like reluctance. “It’s kind of private.”

She tried to blink some sense back into her brain. She pushed the happiness back, but it flowed past her measly barriers. She must be smiling like a banshee, but for once she didn’t care.