Room 1208 Read online

  Oh.

  So, that’s what it felt like.

  She wriggled closer.

  He danced her further into the room, his fingers finding and undoing the clasp at the back of her dress before carefully pulling down the zipper. When the back of her legs touched the edge of the bed, he stood back slightly, his hands gliding up to her shoulders. With the zipper undone, her dress hung loosely from her upper body.

  She concealed her shyness beneath half-closed eyes, watching him as, with deliberate ease, he tugged the dress sleeves down her arms, gradually revealing her collarbone, the curve of her upper breasts. His hands clasped her arms just above the elbows, gently pushing them down to her sides so he could continue removing the dress. With one last tug, it floated to the floor, leaving her wearing just her panties, bra and heels, a cloud of chiffon at her feet.

  “Beautiful,” he said softly, a slight catch in his voice. He took a step backwards, his heated gaze igniting tiny bonfires everywhere it touched her bare skin. “Your skin is like cream. So white and smooth.”

  He reached out his hand, tracing a scattering of freckles at the base of her throat, one finger slowly following the trail down to where it disappeared beneath her white lace bra. He swallowed thickly. “Take it off.”

  Her heart was beating chaotically. She was both captivated and petrified by the gravelly command in his voice. The moment had come when she would finally bare the most private parts of her body to a man for the first time. She wanted this. Now wasn’t the time for second thoughts. Still…

  “Take off your shirt first.”

  She didn’t know where the firm but coy tone of her own voice came from. But he seemed to like it. His mouth tilted upwards in a playfully seductive smile as he loosened the knot of his tie and then quickly removed his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. The observation that he took far less time undressing himself than he had her was rapidly overshadowed by her breathless reaction to the glorious naked male flesh revealed to her.

  His skin was golden brown in the soft light, his shoulders square and broad. His chest, lean and sleek muscled, tapered down to a trim waist. She wasn’t aware that she’d reached out her hand to trace the enticing lines of his oblique muscles until she heard his scratchy exhalation. His skin twitched beneath her curious fingers as they traveled across the flat of his stomach, lingered over the indentation of his navel before trekking downwards to the place where a soft, intriguing dusting of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his suit trousers.

  He clasped her wrist suddenly, his thumb pressing over her scattered pulse. His voice was almost a growl. “If you want this to stay slow, it’s going to be better if you let me do most of the touching for a while.”

  She blushed deeply.

  “Ah, I like that,” he whispered, bringing both their hands to her face so he could rub his knuckles over her rosy cheeks. “A woman who can still blush. That’s so sexy.”

  She almost laughed. If he only knew that she was a genuine blushing virgin in truth! But she was relieved to discover that her nervousness was diminishing. His gentleness with her was an unexpected delight and comfort. From all she’d read and heard, she’d anticipated this moment to be more hurried, had even mentally prepared and braced herself for a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” kind of experience.

  Yet he appeared to be savoring each moment, not in any apparent rush. He seemed so attuned to every nuance of her body language, his gestures, thus far, showing a willingness to accommodate her every mood. Was this normal? Having no experience to measure against, she only felt gratitude and relief that she’d been so lucky to find such a man.

  Now, instead of fear, she was aquiver with anticipation and eagerness. Pure instinct ruled her senses as she turned her hand to capture his, bringing it to her mouth so she could press an inquisitive kiss into his palm. Her tongue darted out, licking the tracery of lines upwards to the base of his long fingers. His eyelids drooped to half-mast as she slowly, teasingly rubbed his index finger over her lower lip before lightly sucking the tip into her mouth.

  “Fuck.” He expelled that single word on an abrupt exhale, sounding shocked at his own reaction.

  An unfamiliar sense of feminine power washed over her. She’d thought mostly of this night in terms of what this man would do to her, her body a willing vessel for his, more a receiver than a giver. He would lead the way and she would follow, ever mindful not to reveal her inexperience. But the dark, hot intensity in his eyes spoke of an equal need to receive, to be touched, to feel something…more.

  She pulled his finger out of her mouth and went for his thumb. The faint taste of salt on his skin made her wonder about that other part of him, that hot, thick, fascinating part that was now pressing against her lower belly. What would it taste like? How much of it would she be able to take into her mouth? Her heartbeat accelerated. She hadn’t included that scenario in her imaginings of this night, but, with each passing second, her yearning to explore and learn every inch of this beautiful man’s body grew fiercer.

  And they hadn’t even kissed yet.

  As if reading her thoughts, he suddenly tugged his thumb out of her mouth and dragged it almost roughly across her lower lip before he bent his head and replaced his thumb with his mouth. She gasped softly and he took instant advantage of her parted lips, driving his tongue inside her mouth to tangle intimately with hers. A groan sounded deep in his throat.

  She’d only been kissed by a man once—a boy, really—when she’d been sixteen years old. He was a college freshman at the time, her brother’s roommate, a weekend guest at her parents’ home. On the Saturday night of his visit, he and her brother had gone to a party, not returning until early in the morning. She’d woken to use the bathroom and had bumped into him in the narrow upstairs hallway. He’d been too drunk to care who she was or what she looked like. She’d merely been convenient female flesh. He’d shoved her against the wall and stuck his tongue in her mouth while he tried to get his hand under her nightgown. Too stunned at first to resist, she’d remained motionless until his fingers snaked beneath her panties. Then she’d kneed him in the balls, forcing him to release her. She’d run back to her room and pushed her desk chair under the door knob. She hadn’t slept for the remainder of the night, too agitated with mixed feelings of sexual curiosity, revulsion, and guilt.

  She and Dr. Moira had spent two full sessions exploring the emotional toll of that episode, undoing each stitch before eventually sewing up the wound with a stronger thread.

  But it wasn’t until this moment that she realized that that hadn’t really been a kiss at all. This, this was a real kiss. Lips firm, yet soft, an intermingling of warm breath, an exploration with nibbling teeth and questing tongue. She’d agonized that she wouldn’t know what to do, how to do it, that he would guess immediately how inexperienced she was, but the way he kissed her was like a dance, a gentle lunge forward and a coaxing retreat, luring her against and inside his mouth to give as well as take.

  Her relief transformed into sheer joy which she expressed by surrendering, finally, completely, and whole-heartedly, into his arms, yielding every part of herself to him. There was no more trepidation or hesitancy in her touch, only a desire to get as near to him as possible. She didn’t know when she’d wrapped her arms around him, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other around his waist, but, there they were, urging his body closer. Her hips undulated against his, joining the little moans sounding deep in her throat in communicating her now frantic need.

  He abruptly released her mouth, inhaling in deep, shaky breaths as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Easy, sugar,” he whispered in an unsteady voice as his hands made soothing sweeps up and down her back. “Easy.”

  “I want you so bad,” she whispered back.

  He found and unclasped the hooks of her bra with fingers that shook. He inched away from her only far enough to remove it completely and fling it aside before returning to explore her breasts. His thumb skimmed over one nipple be
fore pinching it gently between thumb and index finger. His chest vibrated with teasing, husky laughter as she gasped and shivered, arching into his touch. “I thought you wanted this slow.”

  “Yes, yes,” she agreed, wild frenzy in her voice. “But not too slow.”

  He moved his head down, lips grazing her neck, placing tantalizing butterfly kisses over her collarbone and down the slope of her breast. Then he took her engorged nipple into the wet cavern of his mouth. One hand continued to play with her other breast, alternately squeezing and soothing with rough-soft fingers. The other hand traced a circular pattern over her lower back, fingers moving further down with each looping foray until they were delving beneath her panties, digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks, pressing her closer to his hardness.

  “Oh, oh,” she moaned. “Your hands are so hot.”

  He released her nipple with a wet, popping sound, dragged his mouth back up her throat. His lips hovered over hers, his breathing more agitated. “Your body is hot,” he replied. “I want to see all of it. Naked. Now.”

  And with one light but firm push, he had her flat on her back on the bed and her feet in the air as he swiftly yanked her panties down and off along with her heels. He pushed her legs down to dangle off the edge of the bed. Then he dropped to his knees between them, thrust his hands beneath her bottom and dragged her toward him, his scorching eyes zeroed in on the soft patch of hair between her legs.

  “You’re a genuine redhead,” he said, his voice like gravel.

  Her sputtered laugh held a mixture of craving and affront. “Of course I am!”

  He flashed a wolfish grin at her. “With the temperament to go with it, I see.”

  “That’s a myth,” she managed to say, feeling breathless. “Not all redheads have bad tempers.”

  He sifted his fingers lightly through her pubic hair, watching her face as if fascinated by every nuance of her expression. “I’m glad you don’t shave it all off. Or wax…whatever it is women do these days.”

  This conversation had never happened in her fantasies. “I, er, only wax a little. I don’t like how itchy it gets. And it makes me feel more feminine to have hair there.”

  “You’re blushing again.”

  “Real redheads blush easily. It’s a curse.”

  “I like it. Don’t ever change.”

  He leaned forward and kissed that patch of hair.

  Her hips nearly flew off the bed. He jerked his head back, rubbed his nose. “You’re a wild one, aren’t you.” He sounded very pleased and very aroused by that assumption.

  She reached down, clumsily patting the top of his head. “Oh! Did I hurt you? I’m sorry!” Her embarrassment intensified.

  His laughter was like warm bourbon spilling over her skin. “You didn’t hurt me, sugar. But let’s try it this way.” He brought one arm across her hips, gently but effectively holding her in place as he brought his other arm and hand up to spread her legs, giving him room to move his head and upper torso between them. He licked her belly button, the slight swell of her stomach, before burying his nose in her pubic hair. “Mmm, you even smell like cinnamon.”

  The first time she’d visited a gynecologist—just one year ago—she’d finally learned the names and functions of all of her feminine parts. It’d been a long overdue part of her therapy, another step in restructuring and refining her body image and learning to respect and like herself.

  That place where her hair grew, that place he was pressing his nose to, was her mons pubis, the cushiony area that protected her pubic bone. She hadn’t known just how sensitive that area was until he touched it. He pressed the pad of his thumb there now and she gave a little whimper.

  “You like that?”

  “Y-yes.”

  He pressed down harder while his mouth continued its downward journey, whispering over her clitoral hood before sliding over her outer labia. He licked into the fold between her outer labia and thigh, down one side and up the other. On the second trip around, he flicked his tongue against her clitoral hood, a teasing promise, before he used his fingers to spread her inner labia and kiss her there. “You’re so pink and pretty here,” he rasped. “I can see how excited you are.”

  She whimpered again, chin pressed to her chest as she watched him, dazed. “Do you always talk this much during sex?”

  He lifted his head to meet the bewildered gaze she couldn’t conceal. He took a moment to reply while his thumb continued its wicked, circular pressure against her mons, making her hips writhe even more. “It depends,” he finally said. “Do you like it?”

  On the verge of losing all coherent thought, she nodded. “Yes.”

  She hadn’t expected much conversation at all on this night. But, she did like it. His words, his expressions of real pleasure in every facet of her body, not only served to stir her desire to greater heights of sensuality than she’d imagined were possible, but also made her feel more confident in her own femininity. In fact, way down in the recesses of her mind, she wondered if this night, one that was becoming more magical with each moment, would spoil her for any future lovemaking. Would it always be like this?

  Then he pressed down on her clitoris with the hard, wet inquisitive point of his tongue and all thought was replaced with an overwhelming kaleidoscope of vibrant colors. Her head vibrated with a series of escalating moans and inarticulate words as he licked and kissed and sucked. When his tongue sank into the depths of her vagina, she threw her head back, throat arched, her mouth open in a wail of ecstasy that went on and on and on, muffled only when he slid up her body and covered her mouth with his in a lush, languid kiss, sharing the taste of her orgasm with her.

  His tongue moved in and out of her mouth, first lazy, then fast, matching the play of his long finger that was moving knuckles-deep in and out of her vagina. When her cries died down to a restless moan, he released her mouth and looked deeply into her eyes, his pupils dilated and pulsing with rampant desire. His cheeks were ruddy, his breathing urgent. “Are you on birth control?”

  “Y-yes, but—” She pointed with trembling fingers to the nightstand drawer.

  He stretched over to open it, his chest grazing across her breasts and making her shiver with renewed anticipation. She watched as he tore open a condom wrapper with his hands then lifted away from her to sit back on his heels. She didn’t remember him taking his pants and shoes off. He must have done that while she was lost in the delirious throes of her orgasm. She expelled a tremulous sigh, regretful that she’d missed the striptease that had played a major part in her fantasies, glad that she didn’t have to wait much longer to feel a man inside of her at last. His penis, thick and long, jutted out from a nesting of dark pubic hair. It bobbed slightly as he rolled the condom down. She reached out to touch it, mesmerized.

  But, before she could, he took her hand, squeezed it gently. “Better not,” he said in an appeasing growl. “I’m about to explode.”

  “Does it hurt?” Oh, God. She hadn’t been able to prevent that question from blurting from her mouth. She quickly replaced her curious expression with, what she hoped, was a provocative one.

  His quizzical look transformed into a reciprocal, wicked grin. “Oh, yeah, sugar. It hurts so bad. I need you to cure the ache.”

  She giggled in spite of her returning anxiety. “You have such a way with words.”

  He put his hands under her arms, easily lifting and sliding her backwards until she was fully on the bed, her head on the pillows. Then he moved his legs between hers, spreading her wide to accommodate the width of his hips. He placed one hand on either side of her head, lifting his upper body so that they both could see where his erection rubbed against her belly.

  “Take me inside you,” he murmured, conceding that one touch.

  Heart thundering in her ears, she reached down between their damp bodies, wrapped her quivering hand around his erection, wishing she had time to explore its intriguing contours as she showed it the way. He groaned softly as he slowly pushed the bulbous h
ead inside of her, eased back out, and pushed in farther, eased out, and pushed in farther still. She gasped softly, her hands fluttering against his chest, seeking purchase, as she focused all her being on that place where his body now joined with hers, that place that, until this moment, had never been filled by a man.

  His breath hissed through his teeth. “Damn, you’re so tight.”

  She tensed. “It’s been…a long time.”

  That was true, but not in the way he thought she meant.

  “Feels so good,” he groaned, sinking in deeper. “I don’t know how long I can last.”

  She didn’t know what to do with her hands. One lightly touched his sweat-slickened chest as it rose and fell above her. The other clutched the blankets near her hip. She felt anxious from his reaction to how tight she was. Would that give her secret away? She’d unwittingly broken her hymen the first time she’d used a tampon; there wouldn’t be any telltale blood. Still, her body wasn’t used to receiving such thickness. She felt her vaginal walls expanding and contracting around his girth, doing what was necessary to accommodate him. And she was so wet down there. Wet enough that she felt only a slight burning sensation as he worked inside her, none of the pain she’d anticipated. She was so wet that she heard a liquid sucking sound as he moved in and out of her. Her skin felt on fire, flushed with what she felt now was more mortification than passion.

  He suddenly went still, half buried inside of her. He brought one hand to her face, bracketing her chin with his thumb and index finger, compelling her to look at him. His pulsating eyes matched the tempo of his harsh breathing. “Hey,” he said on a gasp, sounding worried. “Have I lost you?”

  She felt the threat of tears itching at the backs of her eyes. His genuine concern was so astonishing at this critical moment. She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I just…” What could she say that wouldn’t reveal her for the fraud that she was? “I… You’re just so handsome and…big... And it’s been…a long time. I’m feeling a little…overwhelmed.”