Sex Drive (12 page)

It had been something like fourteen hours since he’d left his flat in Sydney, and his sandaled feet itched longingly at the thought of walking on damp sand. But when he glanced at Theresa, another part of him had an even bigger itch.

Another lovely Hawaiian woman—did Hawaii make any plain ones?—greeted them at the reception desk. He had no desire to flirt with any of these women. Looking at them was like admiring a lovely picture. The only woman he wanted to get intimate with was Theresa. The sooner the better.

He’d arranged for an early check-in, and soon the clerk was handing him an envelope with two key cards. “You’re on the tenth floor in the Plumeria Tower, Mr. Black.” She gestured. “Over there, the northern tower. Chase will take you to your room.”

“Just follow me,” the porter said, his smile a white flash against deeply tanned skin.

In the elevator, Damien brushed his shoulder against Theresa’s. She gazed up at him and he saw uncertainty in her eyes. Second thoughts?

When the doors opened, he let the porter precede them down the hall and hung back to ask, “Are you okay?”

“A little nervous. Staying with a stranger…”

“I’m not a stranger. I’m that crappy writer who’s one of the ten sexiest bachelors in Oz.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “And who’s the best lover in the entire country.”

As he’d intended, she giggled. “Oh, right. How could I have forgotten?”

They had caught up to the porter, who had opened their room door. Damien stood back to let Theresa enter first, then found more American bills and tipped the porter. Then he put out the “Do Not Disturb” sign and followed Theresa into the room.

It was attractively decorated in the same light and airy style as the lobby, with watercolor paintings of Hawaiian scenes and a couple of orchid plants gracing tabletops. Morning sun slanted through the tilted louvers of a pair of wooden doors.

Theresa opened them, revealing the balcony, which he recalled from the hotel’s Web site was called a lanai. She stepped outside. “Oh my.”

He moved to stand beside her in the sunshine, near a railing decorated by bright purple bougainvillea. “So this is Waikiki.” He glanced right and left, absorbing the view. It reminded him of Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast. A lovely long stretch of beach rimmed by high-rises and shopping. Even the bougainvillea and the plants in the garden below—coconut palm, hibiscus, red ginger, and frangipani—were familiar.

“Not many people on the beach,” she said. Despite the giggle a few minutes ago, her voice sounded strained. “I guess tourists are sleeping in or having breakfast. Are you hungry?”

He put an arm around her, feeling tension in her shoulders. “Yes.”

She turned to face him. “Then we could go down and—”

“For you. We have unfinished business.”

“I s-suppose we do.” Her voice faltered.

That touch of vulnerability made him feel protective. Damien brushed his lips against hers. He wasn’t going to rush things, but hell, he was on a lanai on Waikiki Beach with one very sexy woman. Not kissing her wasn’t an option.

Her arms came around him, but loosely, tentatively. “Damien, I feel grubby from all the travel and, uh…” And mile-high sex, she meant.

The woman would have sex in the loo with him, but she was too shy to talk about it afterward. It was kind of cute.

“Me, too. A shower would sure feel good.” He dropped another kiss, this time letting his lips linger against hers. Slanting his mouth, licking the delicate outline of her top lip, nibbling the fullness of her bottom lip. Then he eased away. “Want to shower alone or together?”

“Oh! I, uh…” A frown crinkled her brow. “Would you be offended if I said alone?”

He shook his head, disappointed. “After all these hours with me, I can see how you’d like a few minutes of privacy.” Perhaps she had girl stuff to do, like shaving her legs, that she’d just as soon he didn’t see.

She smiled up at him. “Thanks for understanding.”

Okay, that made him feel better. He cupped her face. “Just don’t change your mind.” Then he kissed her gently, lingered on her lips until she responded, then took the kiss deeper, tongue flirting with hers.

Her arms came around him, her body pressed against his, so there was no doubt she could feel the way his cock had come to attention. She wriggled her hips, moving her belly back and forth across the bulge in his jeans, which of course grew. Then she pulled away and said breathlessly, “I won’t change my mind.”

Great. Alone with a hard-on. When she went inside, he remained on the lanai for a few minutes, though the tropical air wasn’t designed to cool a guy down.

He pulled himself together and went inside to open his luggage. The shower was running behind a closed door, and he could imagine Theresa standing under the spray.

He put a handful of condoms on the bedside table, laid out a pair of shorts and a casual shirt for later, then unpacked his computer and plugged it in. Still the shower ran.

Wet skin, a froth of soap bubbles gliding down her sleek body. Damn, a guy could only take so much of this.

Damien went out on the lanai with his mobile to check messages. The store where he’d be doing the reading tonight wanted him to call and confirm he was in town, which he did. A message from his agent said his new release had, for the first time, hit the
New York Times
extended list for bestselling hardcover fiction, at number twenty-five. The U.S. publisher’s promo efforts had clearly made an impact.

A
NYT
bestselling author. How about that? This was definitely his lucky day.

Damien sauntered back inside, leaving the lanai doors open so the breeze drifted in and a swath of sunshine cut across the tiled floor. The shower was off now. Was Theresa combing her hair? Rubbing lotion into her skin?

He pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the old pillowcase he used as a traveling laundry bag, then called, “There’s a guy out here who’s in serious need of a shower.”

“Out in a minute.” The words were garbled. Ah, she was brushing her teeth.

When the door opened, he stared eagerly, hoping she’d be naked or maybe in a skimpy towel. But no, this hotel had to provide bathrobes. The big, bundly white terrycloth ones. All the same, Theresa looked cute and sexy, her cheeks pink, short damp hair fluffed up around her face, long legs and bare feet sticking out the bottom of the shapeless robe.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Oh, you’re…um…” Her gaze tracked his naked torso.

“Getting ready for my shower.” Just to mess with her, he reached for the button at the waist of his jeans.

Her gaze followed and lingered. Then she jerked her head up. “You go ahead. I’ll, uh, wait for you.”

So, the prof had gone shy on him again. “It’s okay if you want to get started without me,” he said suggestively.

“No! I mean, uh, I’d rather wait.”

“Okay. I won’t be long.”

The bathroom was steamy and smelled of something herbal and pleasant, reminders that just a few minutes ago a naked Theresa had been in here. Quickly he stripped off his jeans and boxer briefs, easing them over his erection, and rushed through his routine. The hotel soap and shampoo were labeled “Green Tea and Rosemary,” so that must be what smelled so good.

It would’ve felt great to linger under the pounding spray, but something way more fun awaited him, so he rinsed off and dried himself sketchily. Normally, he’d just have pulled on a clean pair of briefs, but he didn’t want to come on too strong, so he wrapped himself in the other robe. Without underwear.

When he walked out, Theresa was at the desk, sun gilding her auburn hair, plugging in her own computer next to his. Flushed, she said, in a rush, “I really should call Vancouver. And get e-mail going. Let everyone know about my change of plans.”

“The flight hasn’t even left Honolulu yet. You have lots of time.” He walked over and rested a hand on the collar of the robe, then eased the fabric down so the sun could touch her skin and he could caress her nape. “We have a date, remember?”

She ducked her head, giving him better access. “I’m not very experienced at this.”

How did she manage to make him feel tender and horny, all at the same time? He slid his hand along her neck to her jaw, then cupped her cheek and tilted her face toward him. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is, do you want this, Tezzie? You and me, doing all the things we couldn’t do on the plane?”

Her lashes lowered, then she blinked and gazed straight at him, those billabong eyes dancing with green and blue sparkles in the morning sunlight. “Yes, I want it. Sorry to be so…waffly.” Her jaw firmed. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this. If I didn’t want you, Damien.”

Those were words that heated him even more than the sun that burned through his robe. The sun’s touch warmed him from the outside, but Theresa’s desire kindled a spark that made his blood fizz and his cock surge with need.

He caressed her cheek, stroked damp hair back from her face. “Then let everything else go for an hour or two. Right now, all that exists is the two of us.” He bent to kiss her and her lips met his, warm, giving, seductive.

When he straightened again, her gaze drifted down to the neckline of his robe, the V where one side wrapped over the other. Where his tanned skin and curls of dark hair were a stark contrast to the white terry. “You want me to take this off?” He touched the robe’s belt, which he’d looped at his waist.

Slowly, her gaze following his hand rather than returning to his face, she shook her head and edged the desk chair around so she sat facing him squarely. “No.
I
want to take it off you.”

“Be my guest.”

Hand trembling slightly, she took hold of one end of the belt. The way he’d looped it, one pull would undo it.

She tugged. When the belt fell, the bulky robe loosened, but not enough to reveal his body. He stood in front of her and waited.

She raised both hands to grip the sides of the robe at mid-chest. And paused. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. Then she spread the sides wide.

Her breath sucked in with a gasp as she saw he was naked and aroused.

As if mesmerized, she rose slowly to her feet and eased the robe off his shoulders. It fell to the floor. The sun caressed his back and her eyes blazed a heat trail across his front.

“You really are beautifully made,” she murmured.

“Glad you approve. See anything you’d like to touch?”

A quick grin, a glance upward under eyelashes. “All of it.”

“Then it’s all yours.”

Hesitantly she touched his shoulders, running her hands over them and down his upper arms, then squeezing, feeling the muscle and bone below. “How did you get to be in such good shape? And so tanned? Writing’s a sedentary, indoors job.”

“I run, swim, work out. I need to, because yeah, it is sedentary, and I’ve always been a physical person.”

She began to explore his pecs and when her fingers circled his nipples, he caught his breath. Then managed to finish his thought. “Exercise helps me work out story problems, too.”

“Really?” She glanced up, then went back to teasing his nipples. “I do the same thing. When I’ve been working so long my thoughts are muddy, I change into shorts and go for a run.”

How about that? The idea of Theresa in shorts was almost as arousing as the touch of those soft, persistent fingers, whose every tweak made his cock throb and twitch.

Her hands traced his ribs and down over his abs, which tensed under her touch. A quick circle of his navel, and then one hand gripped his shaft. Lightly, tentatively.

He let out a moan of pleasure.

Still holding him, she sat in the desk chair again, then subjected his cock to a brush-of-fingers exploration that covered every inch of skin. From the base, where his hard-on jutted out of a nest of dark curls. Up the raised, throbbing vein that was so responsive to each stroke. Lightly ringing the top of his shaft, just under the crown. Then, finally, brushing and circling the head, finding a drop or two of pre-cum and smoothing it into his achingly sensitive skin.

He pulsed under her hand, trying not to thrust, but arousal was hot and thick in him. Burying his hands in her hair, he said, “Hey, Prof, you’re killing me. Have you almost finished your research?”

“I believe in being thorough.” Her voice was throaty and, when she raised her face to his, he saw how flushed she was.

Thank God he wasn’t the only one who was so turned on. “Could you be thorough wearing fewer clothes?”

S
taring up at Damien, I had a sense of unreality. This couldn’t be me, in a luxury hotel on Waikiki Beach, with a man who’d been ranked one of the ten sexiest bachelors in Australia.

A man who deserved that ranking. His body was amazing, hard and masculine, gilded by the sunlight. On him, the dragon and sea eagle tattoos didn’t look overdone or tacky; they gave him an intriguing edge.

His coloring was beautiful, his features strong. An illustration of how mixed-race heritage could produce gorgeous offspring. Oh yes, he was a treat to behold. But the most incredible thing was the ardent blaze in his gray eyes, the huge engorged penis filling my hands. The indisputable evidence of how aroused he was. By me. An academic, not a sex goddess.

And yet, the heat that pulsed through me—that tightened my nipples, turned my skin pink, made me tingle and ache between my legs—was all about sex. And the size of his erection, the desire in his eyes, did make me feel like a goddess.

But…he’d been with so many women. Women who were prettier, sexier, far more experienced than I. How could I possibly measure up?

Not that he’d complained so far. Which meant, I must be doing all right.

I was intelligent. I could take my cues from him. Learn as we went along. The way my fingers had learned how his penis liked to be caressed.

My instinct—my craving—right now was to lean forward and take him between my lips. But he’d said he wanted my clothes off, so instead I let go of him and rose. My legs were shaky and my fingers trembled as I reached for the belt of my robe. On the plane, he’d sort of seen my body, but only in the cramped, poorly lit lavatory.

“Uh-uh.” His hands stopped me. “I’ll do that.”

I stood, breath fast and shallow, quivering from head to toe as he undid the knot I’d tied. Then he shoved the robe off my shoulders. I fought the instinct to grab it, and instead held my arms away from my sides so the terry fabric slid down freely. My gaze followed the robe and saw it fall in haphazard white folds on the sun-kissed terra-cotta tile.

Leaving me utterly naked, exposed in bright sunlight to Damien’s scrutiny.

“You are so beautiful.”

His words, spoken in a tone that sounded reverent, made me raise my eyes to his face. He didn’t notice, because he was staring at me with a smug “oh man, look what I’ve got” smile tugging at his lips and lighting his eyes.

I knew my body was okay. Not fat, not skinny. Breasts either a B or a C cup, depending on the bra. An average body, functional and healthy but nothing to write home about. Then I remembered what Damien had said about Goldilocks, and how average really meant perfect.

All these years, I’d thought the only special thing about me was my intellect. And no one had told me anything different. But Damien’s expression was giving me a whole new, flattering and exciting, message. It gave me the courage to raise my hands and cup them under my breasts, plumping them up and offering them to him. “See something
you
like?” I echoed the words he’d spoken earlier.

“Everything.”

A thrill that was arousal, but more than that—a brand-new female power—rippled through me. “Just going to stand there and look?”

“Trying to figure out where to start.”

No longer nervous, I drifted my right hand down from my breast, across my abdomen, out to the flare of my hip, then back in across the top of my thigh. Ending with my thumb a couple inches away from the V between my slightly spread legs. “There are no bad places.”

I’d meant no bad places to start, but he interpreted differently. “God no. All your places are very definitely hot.”

My guess was he’d go straight for my breasts, but he surprised me. He lifted both hands and ran his fingers through my hair, which was almost dry. He stroked back from my temples then forward, fingers gently caressing my ears, my cheeks, down to my lips, my chin. My neck, out to my shoulders, down my arms. As if he was learning, memorizing, the outline of my body.

His touch was more sensual than overtly sexual, but it brought every cell to alertness.

When he reached my fingers, he squeezed lightly, then released them and started again, this time at my breasts. But rather than tease them the way he’d done on the plane, he used that same drifting caress. Over them, down my rib cage, abdomen. Thumbs skimming my pubic hair, making my sex tense in pleasant anticipation.

But no, now he was stroking outward, to the curve of my hips, moving down the outside, following the same path my own hand had taken a few minutes ago. Coming to rest with his thumbs almost touching my sex. I held my breath, wanting him to travel those couple more inches, to brush against the damp, swollen flesh that hungered for his caress.

Instead, he took his hands away and stood, arms at his sides, not touching me. Except with his gaze, which traveled back up, retracing every inch of the path his hands had taken. He finished by looking into my eyes, smiling almost bemusedly. “I’m one hell of a lucky bugger.”

Then he stepped closer, put his arms around me, pulled me against him so every sensitized cell in the front of my body came into contact with his heated flesh. His hardness against my softness. My breasts flattening against his firm pectorals. His erection pressing insistently against my stomach.

Arousal made me tremble and I wasn’t sure my legs would support me. I wrapped my arms around him and lifted my face for his kiss.

Now he stopped being gentle. He slanted his mouth across mine, opened my lips with his tongue, and thrust inside. On the airplane, I’d thought how a kiss mirrored sex. Then, the kiss had been a leisurely, sensual exploration. Now, his kiss was urgent, demanding. Between us, his penis was rigid. Moisture dampened the inside of my thighs as my body wept in need.

He broke the kiss, stepped out of the embrace, and I moaned in protest. But then he lifted me, carried me, dropped me on the bed with more haste than finesse. He kissed me again, hard, then left my lips and dropped a frenzy of hot, moist kisses over my face, my chest, then my breasts.

I grabbed his head and held him there, pressing myself against him as he teased a taut, aching nipple into his mouth. The suction of his lips, the flick of his tongue, soothed my flesh and at the same time tormented it. Everything inside me focused, clenched, craved more of this delicious torture—yet craved release, too. “Oh God, Damien. What are you doing to me?”

“Is it good?”

“Oh, yes!”

He switched his attention to my other breast, and my pelvis writhed, thighs squeezing together. I was on the verge of climax. A stroke between my legs and I’d come. I’d never imagined my breasts could be so sensitive. So sexy. My whole body was like an amazing discovery. The way it looked, the way it felt, the way it responded.

I wanted Damien to keep doing what he was doing, but I also wanted the orgasm that was so close.

Finally—
finally!
—he made his way from my breasts, kissing a leisurely—far too leisurely—trail south. “Such soft skin,” he crooned.

“I have softer,” I muttered in desperation.

“Sorry?” He raised his head.

“Damien, please?”

A wicked grin crossed his lips. “Oh, am I being too
thorough?
”

I loved the way he was appreciating my body, wringing every ounce of awareness and arousal from it, but I couldn’t take much more. I’d never before experienced this feeling of being so sexually on edge, so ready to burst. “It would be good if you got to the point soon.”

“Your wish is my command.” He moved lower, breath grazing my pubic hair, and I spread my legs in welcome, too needy to feel inhibited. Then he blew a stream of warm air across my sex and I gasped at the featherlight caress. My hips lifted, begging for more, and then his mouth came down on me. A quick, hard swipe of his tongue along my slit. Everything inside me leaped to attention, centered, clenched. My whole body tensed. Waiting.

Then he sucked my clitoris into his mouth and the sweet scrape of his tongue brought the orgasm rocketing through me. I cried out. No, to be honest, I screeched. With relief, satisfaction, astonishment that my body was capable of such ecstasy.

He held me as I shuddered, then gradually drifted into a sort of melty, blissful daze. My eyes were closed, and I was only vaguely aware of the bed rocking as he moved. I heard a rip, opened my eyes, saw he’d torn open a condom package.

My body promptly woke up again. As it did, I noticed the jerkiness of Damien’s motions, the frenzied glitter in his eyes. And just how engorged his penis was as he struggled to roll the condom down its length. It dawned on me that he was as turned on, as needy, as close to climax as I’d been a few minutes ago. He was hot for me. Seriously hot for me.

The thought was as exciting as his beautifully masculine, aroused body. I ached for him all over again. “I need you, Damien.” I opened my arms, drew him down on top of me.

We kissed, open-mouthed, a little sloppy with passion, as our bodies adjusted to each other. I felt as if he was branding me with his heat, his strength, his vitality. But I wanted him to do it from the inside, too. I widened my legs, raised my knees.

He reached between us, stroked my sex, spreading the moisture, testing my opening with his finger. Then the head of his penis probed me, slid in a little, and I gasped, slightly sore from the last time. He rested, waited, and my body relaxed, then he thrust in a little more.

I could feel the tension in him, every muscle taut with the effort to restrain himself. If he felt anything like I’d done when he’d been teasing my body, he must long to plunge forward and drive straight to climax, but he was holding back. Waiting for me to loosen up so he wouldn’t hurt me.

Knowing that, trusting him, I stopped tensing and he slid in farther. Then he eased out, slipped back in. Out and in again, each time wetter, deeper. And each time, I took him. I surrounded him, gripped him, melted around him. Felt the delicious pressure of his hard flesh against my slick channel.

“Feels so good,” I panted as excitement built again. “Give me more.”

“God, yeah.” He thrust harder and I raised my hips, my legs, higher, changing the angle to take him more deeply.

The base of his penis brushed my clit, which was already sensitized after my first climax, and I whimpered with pleasure. Grasping his firm butt in both hands, I felt his muscles tighten as he plunged into me. Now there was no discomfort, just a long, luxuriant slide of flesh against flesh inside me, a shifting pressure against the swollen bud at my entrance. And that sense inside me of everything becoming alert, gathering, building.

Damien held my head in his hands and now he scraped a breathless kiss against my lips. “Can’t hold on, Tezzie. You got me so hot.”

His hips pumped harder, faster, and I heard my own voice gasping, “Oh, oh,” with each stroke, as my body got closer, closer, and then Damien jerked convulsively and everything inside me came apart again as he groaned with pleasure.

After, we collapsed together, and I was barely aware of anything except his warm weight and the sound of us both panting for breath.

A few minutes later, he raised himself on his forearms, smiled, and gave me a gentle kiss. “Wow again.”

He rolled off me and went to deal with the condom. When he returned, he brought a bottle of chilled water from the mini-bar. No glasses. He
was
a guy, after all. But he did open the bottle and hand it to me first, not to mention support me with an arm as I sat up.

Refreshed, I handed him back the bottle and lay down again while he drank deeply.

I felt as if he’d turned me into a whole different person. A real sex goddess. “This feels so decadent,” I told him. “Sunshine slanting in, tropical air, great sex. And it’s only mid-morning.”

He yawned, raising his hand to cover his mouth, and the yawn was a jaw-cracker. “It may only be mid-morning,” he said, “but I’m beat.”

“So am I.” A sense of lassitude and well-being had sunk in, bone-deep. Could I ever remember being so content? I yawned, too, then curled on my side to watch as he put the bottle down and stretched out beside me.

“Come here.” He extended his arm and urged me closer until my head rested on his chest.

“I should phone Vancouver.” But another yawn rippled through my body.

“Later,” he said sleepily.

Well, maybe I’d just cuddle here for a couple more minutes. This was something I’d missed almost as much as sex. Not that Jeffrey had been much for cuddling. A few minutes each night, then he’d kiss me on the forehead and roll over, saying, “We need our sleep.”

He’d assumed, right from the beginning, that we couldn’t sleep in each other’s arms. My ex was self-contained. Tidy and efficient—in his appearance, his work, his personal life. He had clearly defined boundaries. Except when it came to appropriating my research project.

Usually, when I thought about his betrayal, I felt residual hurt and anger. But right now, with my body relaxed and satiated, Damien’s arm around me and his warm chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, the scent of frangipani and sea air and sex in my nostrils, it was hard to summon even an iota of a negative emotion.

Damien—my lover!—shifted position and kissed my hair. I expected him to roll away, but instead he squeezed my arm. “Phone later. Work later,” he murmured, the words coming lazily, his breath stirring my hair. “Buy clothes later. Lunch, mai tai.”

“Piña colada.” I could imagine the pineapple-coconut-rum taste in my mouth.

His chest rippled as he chuckled. “Whatever you want, Tezzie. Now, let’s nap.”

“Mmm. Twist my arm.”

“Don’t have the energy.” But he did stroke it, a gentle up-and-down caress. That slowed. Stopped. His breathing had slowed, too; his chest barely rose and fell under my cheek.

“Damien?” I whispered.

No response. He was asleep. With me cuddled in the curve of his arm.

I dropped a kiss on his chest and murmured, “Thank you for today.” Then I gave in to the urge to let go and drift into sleep.

When I woke, I felt almost drugged, my eyelids too heavy to open, my mind coming back to awareness slowly. Normally, I was either up half the night, my brain so busy with ideas that I might as well work, or dead asleep to be jerked awake by the alarm. This feeling was different. Oh, right, I’d been traveling. Was tired from a long flight, jetlag…