I sit in the crowded auditorium in a detached state. The people are all listening to the lecture on mind-sets and are journaling and actively working on the set tasks.
But not me, because I can’t concentrate at all.
I’m in the middle of a sensory overload.
Tristan Miles is circling the room. Like a graceful panther on the prowl, he’s walking in and out of the aisles of the audience, helping people when they ask for his input and encouraging them as they think out loud.
I have no idea what’s come over me or why the thoughts in my head have suddenly appeared. That kiss last night opened something up inside of me . . . and I have questions.
Carnal questions.
He’s wearing a perfect-fitting navy suit and a cream shirt with a yellow-and-gray-checkered tie. He just took his jacket off and slung it over a chair, and every muscle in my body sighed.
His cream shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing his muscular forearms and broad chest. I have a full view of his behind now too . . . it’s tight and firm, and his thigh muscles are thick and sculpted. His hair is dark and wavy, and his skin . . . good God his skin—it’s bronzed and olive from the sun, and it matches his big brown eyes. I shouldn’t even be looking at this man, let alone staring.
But I can’t help it, and I can’t stop myself, and I’m not quite sure that I want to . . . every cell in my body is begging for him, and Marley’s words from the first time she saw him about wolf whistling the fuck out of this guy are taunting me as a dare.
A perfect male specimen.
Complete wolf-whistling material . . . whore-bag material too. I’m pretty sure that Tristan Miles could talk anyone onto their back and have them begging to open their legs for him. I get a vision of him taking his shirt off at the end of the bed, and my stomach flutters. Cheers to the lucky bitches who are able to act on it and drink him down like chocolate.
I smirk at my spot-on analogy as I drop my eyes to the floor. Tristan Miles is chocolate. Rich, delicious, and dreamy, he offers a high . . . but in the end, he is detrimental to your health and bad to the bone.
He slowly approaches up the aisle behind me, and a waft of his aftershave surrounds me as he gets closer. As if sensing his arrival, my entire body breathes in. I hold my pen midair as I stare straight ahead and try to focus. As he nears, goose bumps scatter up my arms at his close proximity.
I’ve never had a sexual attraction to someone like this before. It’s strange.
I’ve thought about him all night—and not the “Oh, he’s a nice guy” kind of thoughts.
Thoughts about him throwing me on the bed and giving it to me good.
I don’t like him, and yet . . . all I can think about is getting naked with him. This isn’t who I am; I’m not the kind of woman who thinks with her vagina.
But something about being wild and carefree with a man like him is so damn inviting.
In slow motion, he crouches down beside me. “Do you need any help, Claire?” he whispers.
My breath catches as I stare into his big brown eyes.
Fuck yes, I do.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “Thanks.”
We stare at each other for a beat longer than needed; the undercurrent of arousal is flowing between us. It’s there every time we are close to each other.
Does he feel it too . . . or do all women react to him this way?
“Are you coming to the wine tour this afternoon?” he whispers.
I nod, unable to push a word through my lips.
He smiles softly. “I’ll see you then.” He stands gracefully and, with his perfect posture, keeps walking; his aftershave lingers in the distance behind him.
An unexpected thrill runs through me, and I look down at my notepad, rattled by my body’s reaction.
What will I wear?
I shake my head, disgusted that I just had that thought.
No.
Tristan Miles is off limits.
Stop it . . . whatever you are thinking, stop it right now.
My cheeks hurt from laughing, and the heat of the alcohol haze warms my face.
This is our sixth winery, the final destination of our tour, and it’s just ten o’clock at night.
With each winery, we’ve gotten sillier and sillier. The bus pulled up out front here, and we all nearly fell out of it as we laughed out loud. We’ve had such a fun day.
Who knew this conference would be fun? I most certainly wasn’t expecting it.
My eyes go to the man sitting alone at the bar. Tristan.
We’ve only spoken in a group today, and although our eyes lingered on each other across the circle, not a word has been said about our kiss last night.
“Let’s keep going for dessert and port,” Jada says. “We’ll go to the brewery.”
The group laughs and starts chattering as they make plans to move on, but my eyes stay firmly fixed on him as he sits alone.
Screw it . . . just go talk to him. There’s no harm in talking to him, and besides, I’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps he has a different side than what I first perceived.
Although, that could just be the wine talking. The group continues to chatter and laugh, and I take a deep breath and walk over to him at the bar. “Is this seat taken?” I ask.
His eyes come to me, and a trace of a smile crosses his lips. “Be my guest.”
I sit down on the stool beside him at the bar, and the waiter approaches me. “What will it be?”
“I’ll have another glass of champagne, please.”
“Sure.” His eyes flick to Tristan. “Another scotch?”
“Please.” Tristan stares straight ahead, with his hands clasped in front of him. “Took your time, Anderson,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
He glances at his fancy watch. “It’s ten p.m.”
“Well, if it’s too late to talk, I’ll leave,” I tease. I go to stand.
“Sit. Down.” He smirks. “You’re lucky it’s a quiet night.”
The bartender puts the champagne down in front of me, and I pick it up as I try to hide my smile. “Who’s lucky?”
He chuckles and taps his glass on mine. “To Épernay.”
“To Épernay,” I whisper. Our eyes lock, and I sip my champagne. It’s cold and bubbly and starts a fire inside of me.
With his eyes fixed firmly on mine, he licks the scotch from his lips. “You should probably stop looking at me like that.”
Electricity buzzes between us as everyone else in the room disappears.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to fucking eat me.”
My stomach flutters. “That’s very presumptuous, Mr. Miles.”
“Call me Tristan.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. I like this game. “I’ll call you whatever I like,” I mouth.
He inhales sharply and rearranges his crotch.
Watching him touch his dick does something to my insides, and my sex begins to throb.
“What makes you think that I want to eat you?” I whisper.
His eyes drop to my lips. “Because I want to eat you, and it’s manners to reciprocate.”
I giggle at his audacity. “I don’t have very good manners, I’m afraid.”
In slow motion, he picks up his chunky crystal glass and smiles as he puts it to his lips. “So . . . this martyr thing works for you?”
“How am I a martyr?”
“Well.” He shrugs casually. “You keep telling me that you’re not attracted to me, and yet . . .”
“And yet what?” I whisper.
“And yet I can feel it,” he murmurs. “Your body is calling for mine.”
Our eyes lock as the air leaves my lungs.
“Every time I’m close to you, I can sense our bodies talking to each other. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it, because I know you can,” he whispers.
We stare at each other for an extended moment, the air swirling between us.
“Are you going to give her what she needs?” he asks as he lifts his glass to his lips.
I drop my head, rattled by his sixth sense. “I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not someone I . . .”
“Like?” he asks, amused.
I hold my tongue, not wanting to be rude.
“Relax, Anderson; you’re not someone that I would like either. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
I smile, relieved.
“But . . . what happens on tour stays on tour,” he adds.
My stomach flutters at the prospect of having secret sex with this man.
His focus moves to straight in front of him, as if he’s pondering something, and then he smiles darkly and takes a sip of his drink.
“What?” I ask.
“Well, you do know that one day, we are inevitability going to . . . fuck.”
I stare at him as a million pornographic pictures come to mind.
“An attraction like this doesn’t go away, Anderson.”
Goose bumps scatter up my arms; he does feel it too.
“So, as I see it . . . we can use the time away to our advantage.”
“Or?” I ask.
His dark eyes meet mine. “Or we can go back to New York until I eventually wear you down—for then I will fuck you on your desk. It will be hard and wet and messy, and who knows who might walk in on us.”
I blink, shocked. What the hell? “You’re so sure of yourself.”
“I always get what I want.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “And what I want is you.”
My stomach flutters with nerves. “Why?”
“You see . . . I could pretend that I like you and that I want to explore our friendship or some fucking bullshit.” He sips his drink. “Or I could just tell you the truth.”
“Which is?” I breathe.
Our eyes are locked.
“The idea of you hating me while I lick you up is a fucking turn-on,” he whispers.
I begin to hear my pulse in my ears.
He leans in and whispers in my ear. “I want to hear you fucking moan, Anderson.” His breath tickles my ear, and goose bumps scatter. “It’s all I can think about; my cock has been weeping for you all day.”
Jesus.
“You don’t expect me to like you?” I ask, fascinated by his request.
“As a friend . . . who you can trust to take care of you sexually, of course.”
“Anything more?”
“Absolutely not.”
I sip my champagne as I process his words. “I’m not the kind of woman who does this sort of thing,” I whisper.
“And I’m the kind of man that does. You don’t even have to talk; I’ll do all the work.”
The air buzzes between us like electricity.
This is it, the defining moment—an offer to possibly find the woman inside of me whom I’ve lost. I know that I have two choices. I can go home alone and always regret this moment, or I can have honest sex with a man with whom it’s impossible to form an emotional attachment.
“We’re going to the cellar,” Nelson says jovially from behind us, breaking the spell. “You guys coming?”
I look over at the group as they all stand by the door, waiting for everyone, and I know I need to make a decision. “Um . . . no. I’m going to call it a night and go to bed.”
“Oh, okay.” Nelson turns to Tristan. “You coming?”
“No, I’m meeting a friend here at the bar. She hasn’t arrived yet,” he lies without a beat.
Nelson smiles. “Lucky bastard. Have fun for me.” He slaps him hard on the back and smiles at the two of us. “Good night, then. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night.”
The group waves to us, and with a loud chatter among them, they leave the bar.
Tristan’s eyes come to me. “Your room or mine?”
“Mine.”
I unlock the door to my room as he stands behind me. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, and I may pass out at any moment . . . or orgasm. Both options aren’t ideal or particularly cool.
He kicks the door shut and, without a word, takes my face in his hands and kisses me as he walks me backward toward my bed. His tongue dives deep into my mouth as he holds me close, and goose bumps scatter up my spine.
No matter what happens from here . . . the man can kiss. So . . . well.
Our tongues dance together, and I can’t even open my eyes to look at him.
I’m so in the moment that it’s just ridiculous.
“Jesus,” he murmurs against my lips.
I giggle.
“Hurry up. Fuck.” He begins to undo the buttons of his shirt with urgency.
“The rush is I want you naked, and I can’t get you naked until I’m naked. It’s the naked law.”
“There’s a naked law?”
“Everyone knows that. Fuck.” He rolls his eyes. “I told you not to talk, remember?”
I laugh. Oh man. He’s fun.
He tears his shirt over his shoulders, and my breath catches. Broad and muscular, with a scattering of dark hair. He has a rippled abdomen and a V of muscles that disappears into his pants.
Holy shit.
Suddenly, I’m nervous.
Nobody has seen me naked in a very long time . . . oh jeez.
Abort mission.
He takes my fingers and puts them on his zipper. He smiles, with his eyes fixed on mine. “Take it all off,” he mouths.
My heart somersaults in my chest, and I slowly slide the zipper of his trousers down. The tip of his cock sits above the waistband of his briefs. Preejaculate is beading on the end of it, and my stomach clenches hard. In fear and anticipation and horror . . . oh hell, so much to clench about. He holds his hands out wide and smiles down at me.
“Do it,” he says.
I slide his trousers down and then his briefs. His cock is large and broad, and it hangs heavily between his legs.
Oh . . . shit.
I inhale deeply as I stare down at him. He’s a beautiful man. Handsome, built, and well endowed. I have no words as my eyes drink him in . . . just wow.
He smiles darkly. “My turn.”
I puff air into my cheeks.
“I . . .”
His lips drop to my neck, and I look up to the ceiling. He begins to undo the buttons on my silk shirt, and I wince and slightly pull away from him.
“What?”
“I . . . haven’t . . .”
He stares at me, waiting.
“I . . .”
“You what?” He kisses me softly, as if to prompt me to speak.
“I haven’t had sex in a really long time.”
His face falls as he connects the dots. “Since?”
I shake my head.
“Jesus, Anderson . . . no pressure.”
“Why would that make you feel pressured?” I stammer.
He throws his hands up in the air. “Because, like . . . fuck.” He goes back to work on my blouse and throws it to the side and then stops and smiles as he looks down at me.
I close my eyes, so nervous that I can’t even look at him.
He slides my skirt off, and I stand before him in my panties and bra. He unhooks my bra, and then his lips drop to my nipples as he slowly slides my panties down and throws them to the side.
His eyes drop down my body and then up to my face, and he smiles softly.
“Don’t,” I whisper, embarrassed. “I must be a world away from the women you normally sleep with.”
“Why is that?” he whispers as he kisses my lips.
“I’m . . .”
“Oh, you mean this?” His hands run over my thighs. “A little cellulite,” he whispers. His fingertips dust over my stomach. “A few stretch marks.” He grabs the little pouch of fat on my stomach and gives it a tug, and I smile against his lips. “C-section scar.” He runs his finger over the large scar on my lower stomach. His hands go to my breasts, slightly saggy and not full like they used to be before the kids. He tweaks my nipples, which are large from breastfeeding.
My heart races as he touches all my insecurities.
He holds his hands out wide. “Do I look like a man who doesn’t like what he sees?” he whispers.
My eyes lower to his large erection, and then I drop my head.
“Claire.” He puts his finger under my chin and brings my face up to meet his. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers as he kisses me. “So fucking beautiful.”
He kisses me again, and it’s soft and tender and caring and not at all what I expected.
“You wear your insecurities here.” He pinches the bottom of my stomach. “Mine are on the inside,” he whispers. “Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
“I knew it.” I smile against his lips.
He grabs my hips and throws me on the bed and then crawls over me.
“Be gentle, please,” he teases. “Don’t hurt me.”
I burst out laughing, because that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. “You idiot.”
He reaches down and swipes his fingers through my sex. His eyes flicker with arousal. “Hmm . . . so wet.” He bends and takes my nipple into his mouth and gives it a hard suck as he slides two fingers in deep.
“Oh . . . God.” My back arches off the bed as he begins to pump me.
“Spread them.”
I open my legs back to the mattress, and he goes slow at first to let me acclimatize. Then he picks up the pace. He really begins to ride me hard with his fingers.
This feels so foreign and new, and I push the fearful thoughts out of my mind.
It’s one time . . . just enjoy this.
My entire body jerks up and down on the mattress from the pressure.
Fuck yes . . . I need this . . . I so need this.
The sound of my wet arousal sucking him in is loud in the room, and the look of triumph in his eyes is so fucking hot. “Clench, baby,” he whispers. “Give me a taste of what I’m about to get.”
I clench hard, and his eyes roll back in his head. He pumps me harder, and I scream out as I come hard. I shudder, and my convulsion lifts me off the bed.
He screws up his face as he pumps me through my body’s rippling around his fingers.
He climbs over me with urgency.
“Condom,” I stammer through my fog.
“Shit.” He bounces up and grabs his trousers and fumbles around in the pocket for his wallet, and then his face falls in horror. “Fuck it. I only have one. How do I only have one?” He opens it and rolls it on.
I look up, surprised. “What kind of player are you?”
“Unprepared, obviously.” He lies back down over me and brings my legs up around his hips, and in one sharp movement he slides home deep. His eyelids flutter. “Fucking hell, Anderson,” he pants as he slowly slides out.
I smile up at him in wonder.
“Happy to report . . . the vagina is a perfect specimen,” he pushes out through gritted teeth. “No insecurities here.”
I burst out laughing. “Shut up, you fool, and fuck me.”
He widens his knees and slides in deep, and we find a rhythm. He does a circular thing, and it drives me wild. I begin to thrash beneath him.
His eyes are rolled back in his head.
“You have an ugly sex face,” I say.
He bursts out laughing. “I told you, no talking.”
We both laugh, and then he falls serious and watches me for a moment as he pumps me deep. This just feels so raw and real.
“You need to come. You need to come,” he stammers. “I can’t stop it. You need to come,” he begins to chant. “Anderson.” He screws his face up, as if in pain.
“No,” I snap. “I’m not ready.” I ride his beautiful deep pumps . . . so good.
“Oh . . . fuck it.” I feel the telling jerk of his cock, and he moans, deep and loud, and then goes into a frenzy of deep pumps to completely empty himself.
God, I want to do this all night. “Tristan,” I whisper. “What the fuck . . . too quick?” I tease. If I’m honest, I love that he couldn’t hold it. I love that he was so turned on that he had no control. This isn’t about orgasms for me. It’s about a connection that I’ve been missing, but I’ll never let him in on my little secret.
“It’s not my fault,” he stammers in an outrage. “You shouldn’t feel so fucking good. That never happens to me.”
“One condom,” I whisper. “Are you serious?” I pant.
“I have another way to fuck you that won’t result in pregnancy.” He smiles darkly down at me.
I giggle up at him. Oh, he’s fun, all right. “Forget it, Mr. Miles. You only got one go.”
I roll over and feel a hand on my naked hip bone, and I frown. Huh? Oh shit.
My eyes snap open. Tristan Miles is in my bed.
We had sex.
I had sex with Tristan fucking Miles.
Shit . . . you idiot.
I shake him. “Tristan,” I whisper. I shake him again. “Tristan, wake up.”
“Huh?” He frowns and props up on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“You need to go,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering; nobody can hear us.
“What?” He looks around in confusion. “Why?”
“Because it’s five a.m., and everyone is going to be up soon, and I don’t want anyone seeing you leave my room.”
He frowns over at me. “Why not?”
“Because then I’ll be the groupie who fucked the lecturer at the conference.”
He lies down and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are the groupie who fucked the lecturer at the conference.”
“This isn’t funny,” I whisper. “Quick. Get out.”
“You’re hurting my feelings, Anderson.” He smirks as he climbs out of bed. “Kicking me out of bed in the middle of the night. I’ve never heard of such coldheartedness.”
“Shut up,” I whisper. “Go.” I point to the door. “Get out.”
He smiles and pulls his trousers up. “How dare you use my body in this manner?”
I flop back down on the bed. “You’re such an idiot.”
He leans over the bed and smiles down at me. “And you’re fucking hot.” He kisses me. “Good night, Anderson.”
I smile up at him. “It’s morning.”
He stands and puts his jacket on and turns toward the door.
“Mr. Miles.”
He turns back toward me.
“I believe it was you that moaned my name first,” I say sweetly.
He rolls his eyes. “That’s debatable.” The door clicks closed behind him, and I smile goofily up at the ceiling.
That was . . . surprisingly fun.
