Chapter Twenty-Two
The balmy night air lifted Clara’s hair as they strolled the three blocks to the wine bar, a long, narrow building with a high stamped-tin ceiling. Inside, students and faculty from the university crammed around tiny tables. She followed Nick through the crowd to a low stage set up with a keyboard, an upright bass, and a microphone. “This is us.” He pulled out her chair. “Carmen saved us a table. We’re lucky tonight. She doesn’t perform very often.”
The waitress brought them a bottle of Malbec, very rich and complex, and a wooden board with crusty sliced bread, a crock of creamy cheese, and a fan of thinly-sliced salami and prosciutto. Clara swirled her glass and sniffed the wine’s intoxicating perfume while she checked out their fellow music lovers. She’d never been to this place, never even heard of it. I’ve gotta get out more often. So many pleasures to taste, and she’d been holed up in her bookshop, ignoring them.
She took another sip of her wine, then set the glass down, promising herself to be more cautious after last night’s overindulgence.
She and Nick made comfortable small talk about their favorite non-sexy books while they waited for the show to begin. “I love corny 1950s space operas,” he confessed. “And those classic British mysteries.”
She smeared another slice of bread with cheese spread, then topped it with a sliver of prosciutto. “I have to admit, I never get tired of Miss Marple. Have you tried Wilkie Collins?”
Before he could answer, the stage lights rose, and a fiftyish woman in a slinky velvet sheath sashayed up to microphone. Her dark hair was arranged in a loose knot, and a large tropical blossom flamed behind her ear. Her accompanists were clad in black, which made her stand out all the more in her ruby-red dress. She leaned into the mic and breathed a sultry “Boa noite,” then nodded at Nick before beginning.
Carmen’s singing was like her dress: velvety, liquid, sultry. Clara’s store of Portuguese words didn’t extend much beyond “Good evening,” but the song’s meaning was clear, an invitation to enjoy life’s pleasures, to live, to love. Her hips shifted smoothly from side to side as she sang, and her flashing dark eyes focused above their heads as if her lover stood watching at the back of the room. This was a mature woman who’d known heartache and joy and was ready for more.
The music stirred Clara, but more gently than Nick’s sexy books had. Her eyes closed, she rested her chin on her hands and swayed to the music. On her back, Nick’s fingertips traced lazy circles, leaving a trail of whispery sensation.
Carmen began a new song, a sultry bossa nova. Nick’s fingers drifted upward until they brushed the hairs at the base of Clara’s neck. He left his hand there, gently kneading, and she leaned into his touch, its warmth and firmness melting her muscles like butter, liquid, yielding, flowing.
Almost without her awareness, her right hand dropped over the arm of her chair until her fingers brushed against his leg. His flesh was warm beneath the cool cloth. Carmen crooned of Brazilian love—on the beach, Clara imagined, at sunset, a couple alone, the sea breeze caressing their skin. She shifted in her chair, leaned further to her right, and trailed her fingertips over Nick’s thigh, down toward his knee, and then up. His sharp intake of breath drew her attention from the music. Oh my. The firmness beneath her fingers was not a fold in the cloth, but rather something much more substantial. A shiver of anticipation ran from her fingertips right to her core.
“Obrigado,” Carmen breathed into the mic. “Thank you. We’re going to take a little break now.”
Nick’s dark eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Obrigado, Clara.”
His nearness, his warm flesh beneath her fingers, his husky voice, the music, the wine—it was all so intoxicating. He twined a lock of her hair around his fingertip, and something gave way deep inside her, like a dam overflowing.
To hell with waiting. She wanted this man. Right now.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, brushed her lips against to his ear, and whispered, “Let’s go.”
He captured her hand, kissed her fingers. “You’re sure?”
“Very.”
A glow of clarity warmed her from top to toe. This might be the beginning of a new love, or just a passing encounter leading nowhere, but she was ready for this, ready for Nick.
He drained his glass, then held up the bottle, still half-full. When she shook her head, he set it on the table of the young couple beside them. “Cheers.”
“Um, thanks?” the skinny young man said. His date giggled.
Nick nodded to the singer, then led Clara through the crowd, the muscles of his broad back shifting and sliding beneath his sweater as they wove between the tables. In just a few moments she’d slide her hands over his bare skin, feel his strength, his firmness. Would he be a gentle lover, or quick and urgent? Would she see him again after tonight? She pushed away any thoughts of future and consequences. All that mattered was taking this first step back toward life, toward passion, toward joy.
Their dance began long before they reached his temporary home. Nick kissed her beneath the first tree they passed, his hands sliding up her back and over her satin blouse. His silken tongue parted her lips, and she tasted the wine he’d gulped a moment ago.
“You are so delicious, Clara,” he murmured as his lips trailed over her jaw and down her throat. She purred, entwined her fingers in his dark curls, and surrendered to the sweet ache of anticipation soon to be fulfilled.
A hoot of laughter from a passing car brought them back to earth, and Nick released her.
“Right.” He chuckled. “Shall we take this somewhere more private?”
She slid her arm through his, and they continued up the tree-lined street, stopping to kiss beneath the next tree, and the next. It was like a game, each kiss more passionate. She could only keep her hands off his warm, strong body for a few moments, and then she had to touch him again, to reassure herself of his solidity, his desire. Too much time apart and she might lose her nerve.
Two blocks from Nick’s place, he moaned into her hair and slid his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts. She arched her back, welcoming his touch.
“Get a room!” someone called from across the street.
She giggled, and they broke apart to continue their path toward privacy.
One block away, he growled, scooped her into his arms again, and pressed her against a tree trunk, his erection hard against her belly. Her pussy throbbed with sweet fire.
His dark eyes glittered with desire. “God. You feel so good, I could just…”
She planted her hands on his chest and pushed him back. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer, Nick.”
He took her hand and pulled her up the stairs to his door. She half-expected a scene from a movie: the hero and heroine stumbling backward, tearing at each other’s clothing, unable to restrain themselves as he takes her hard against the wall.
But it wasn’t like that.
Nick paused in the doorway, held both her hands tenderly. “Clara, I don’t even have words for how much I want you. But are you sure?”
Beneath her flaming need, she felt a glow of tenderness for his gentle man. Knowing the gravity of this moment, he wasn’t going to let her be swept away by passion. If she crossed this threshold, it had to be her clear choice.
She caressed his strong jaw, trailed her fingers lightly over his cheekbones, brushed her thumb across his lips. They parted at her touch. His hot breath grazed her hand. At his throat, his pulse thrummed against her fingertips.
She clasped the small of his back and pulled him in closer. “I’m sure.”
He opened the door. Their dance continued. Chest to chest, hip to hip, they swayed to the remembered beat of smoky jazz. Slowly, they drifted across the living room and toward the bedroom, kissing languorously, hands roaming, sliding, grasping each other’s bodies. Nick hummed against her temple and stroked the length of her back. She arched her throat and pressed her breasts against his chest, propelling him backward. When they reached the bedroom doorway, he grasped her shoulders gently.
“Wait here.” He closed the door between them.
Breathless, she leaned against the door frame. From within came the sound of shuffling, drawers closing, then the soft wail of a saxophone.
The door opened, and Nick stood before her, barefoot but otherwise fully dressed, a present for her to unwrap. Behind him, votive candles flickered in cut glass tumblers, and a slow bossa nova pulsed from a little speaker on the dresser.
Nick took her hand and pulled her into the room. “You deserve beautiful surroundings. If I were at home, I’d create a scene worthy of you.”
“This is lovely,” she said, and meant it, touched he had paused in such a heated moment to set the mood.
“You’re lovely.” He pulled her against him. The throbbing between his legs called forth an answering pulse from her own body. He swayed her in time to the music until they bumped up against the edge of the bed. He dipped her like a tango maestro until she rested on the mattress.
He knelt and unfastened the straps of her sandals, then tossed them aside and slid his warm hands over her feet and up her legs.
“So beautiful.” He buried his face between her breasts, then tugged the hem of her blouse from her waistband and slid his hands inside, his palms cool against her burning skin.
He planted one knee on the bed and slid her backward until she stretched fully across the mattress. Hovering over her, he coaxed the buttons of her blouse open as he kissed her throat, between her breasts, her belly. His hot breath warmed her skin through her jeans, and then his fingers fumbled with the zipper and tugged them over her hips. His lips left a smoky trail of pleasure, grazing her inner thighs, the inside of her knees, each ankle. He peeled her jeans off her feet before stroking and kissing his way back up her legs. She gasped when he nibbled the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, the sensation like feathery lightning.
She sighed and swayed beneath his caress, lulled by his gentle, probing touch. No hurry, no force—just silken seduction, slow and sweet and patient.
He licked her then, trailing the tip of his tongue to where her trembling thighs joined. He paused just a moment to run his fingertip over the lacy fabric of her panties, ever so softly, sending cascades of shivers through her body. His hot breath was delicious between her legs, and she ached for more.
But he continued to slide his hands and mouth up her body, slipping her blouse off as he rose, until she lay beneath him in only her lace bra and panties.
His lips caressed her nipple through the fabric. She groaned and grasped his soft curls, pressed his head against her, hungry for more, but he pulled back and smiled devilishly.
“Not so fast, lovely lady. We have all night.”
He straddled her and pulled his sweater over his head, tossed it aside. His chest was bare underneath, and the candlelight gleamed on his mocha skin, his muscular pecs, his tight belly. She slid one hand over the sprinkling of dark hairs leading down toward his belt while he softly sucked the fingers of her other hand, one at a time.
With a groan, she bucked her hips and rolled him beneath her. “My turn.”
She grasped his wrists, straddled him, and pressed her throbbing pussy against his hard shaft. She pressed her hungry, open mouth to his throat, felt his pulse leaping beneath her tongue. Down she slid, pressing her cheek against his broad, warm chest to feel his pounding heartbeat beneath the glossy dark hair that tickled her skin. He inhaled on a hiss as she ran the tip of her tongue over each smooth nipple in turn.
“So good…” he purred.
She kissed her way down his firm belly, then circled his navel, dipping the tip of her tongue inside before reaching for his belt buckle. His fingers fumbled there to help her, but she brushed them aside.
“We have all night.” she breathed against his warm flesh. He answered with a groan.
Slowly she tugged his slacks down, revealing his throbbing staff straining against the silky fabric of his shorts. She exhaled over the length of him, barely brushing his beautiful cock with her lips. She was determined to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her, to enjoy every luscious moment.
When his pants were off, she slid back up his strong legs, caressing him with her fingertips. Her gaze locked onto his. He writhed on the bed when she brushed the swelling of his balls, then slid back up to kiss him deeply and to press her slick folds against his hardness. The heat through the fabric between threatened to set off the smoke alarm.
“I surrender,” he growled and rolled atop her again. He slowly bucked his hips against hers, sending shivers of pleasure and aching anticipation down her legs and deep into her core. With a groan, she clasped her legs around him.
He fumbled with the back of her bra, which fastened in the front, then with a frustrated roar slid his fingers beneath the cups and peeled it off over her head. His warm, wet tongue bathed each breast in turn, then claimed her mouth again, probing deeply. He tugged off her panties, and his fingers parted her swollen lips, slid over her clit and then deep inside her, igniting electric shocks of pleasure that stole her breath.
His shorts caught on his erection as she tried to tug them down. And then there was nothing but skin between them. Her eager hand closed around his hard, hot, silky shaft. She slowly stroked the pulsing length of him as his fingers strummed her like a guitar, until she trembled and gasped on the edge of climax. “Now, please, now…”
He buried his face against her neck while his free hand fumbled in the nightstand drawer. She heard the crackle of the condom wrapper and reached down to help unroll the thin sheath over his throbbing cock. As soon as it was snugly seated, he rolled atop her, lifted her thigh, and slid deep inside her, filling her with his hard heat. She gasped, relishing the sensation of being touched so deeply. She’d missed this, needed this, after so long without a man’s touch.
She clutched his smooth ass and pulled him tighter to her as he stroked in and out, slowly and smoothly, his eyes locked onto hers. And then his gaze softened, his lids half-closed as his rhythm increased. “God, Clara, so good…”
Fired by need, his cock swelled and lengthened, pressing deeper and deeper inside of her. The music and candlelight and smooth flesh and slick wetness all swirled into a pulsing, tingling vortex of unbearable pleasure, and then the world spun away. Her climax crashed through her body and mind. There was no him, no her, just a blinding flash of glory.
The first wave past, she caught her breath, and then Nick’s cock bounded inside her, his strong fingers dug into her hips. One more stroke, another—his body went rigid against hers, his eyes tight shut. He gasped, riding his own wave of delight. The pressure of his hard body against her clit set off a second wave of climax, and she rocked beneath him, squeezing him hard between her thighs.
Minutes later, they lay in each other’s arms. Her head rested in the hollow between his shoulder and chest as his fingers trailed slowly through her hair. From the little speaker, a saxophone serenaded them as their pulse slowed, their breath found its rhythm again, their bodies melted against each other.
Unwilling to let the moment end, she reached down to caress his cock, still pulsing wetly against her thigh. He hissed and drew her fingers away.
“Too sensitive.” He kissed her temple and stroked her arm with a feather-light touch. “I haven’t come so hard in years.”
Neither had she. Not since…
She winced, braced herself for a flood of emotion. But it never arrived. She breathed deeply, nestled her cheek against his chest, and waited, taking slow inventory of her body and mind and heart. Her legs felt pleasantly tired and heavy, as if she’d just run a few miles. The slick, swollen flesh between her thighs still tingled. Her spine had dissolved somehow. She draped herself comfortably over Nick’s almost-slumbering body.
And inside? Inside, she felt warm, relaxed, strong. There was a tinge of sadness, but no regret. She was okay. More than okay, she was refreshed and happy. She’d lain with this wonderful man and, come what may, this was a new beginning.