Forbidden Fantasies Bundle(22)

SAMANTHA PULLED INTO the Mirror, Mirror parking lot at 8:30 a.m. Hers was the only car, so she’d beaten the other shop owners and the construction crew, which had an unpredictable schedule. There was no black Jeep, so no Rick, either. But it was still early.

She couldn’t help hoping he wouldn’t come at all, just quit and be done with it. But she knew Rick was a man of his word and he’d be here when she’d said she wanted him.

She had to stop that—wanting him. She’d already shown him how desperate she was. If he gave her another you-poor-horny-thing smile she’d die a thousand deaths.

On the other hand, Rick was the first man she’d attacked, so she had to expect a learning curve.

She climbed out of her Jetta, determined to act normal, no matter what. She pushed her hair, which she’d fussed with, out of her face and straightened her skirt—the short one that hugged her curves. She was primping and preening for a guy who had a girlfriend, for God’s sake.

Luckily, they’d be too busy to talk much today. Several clients were due to look at proofs and she’d scheduled three shoots. She’d have to send Rick to Shear Ecstasy on his own to check out the plumbing troubles Blythe was having.

She unlocked the back entrance and blinked bleary eyes against the early morning dimness inside Mirror, Mirror’s lobby. She’d hardly slept a wink. She’d tried to work up a fantasy to relax herself, going for the tiger-striped chaise ravishment, but Rick’s face had appeared instead of the usual blurred features of her dream lover, and when she’d gotten close to climax, he’d said, I can’t, and the mood had wisped away like smoke on a breeze.

She paused at the Venus in a C Cup windows to make sure the displays looked okay. The dominatrix–sex-kitten window looked fine, but the mannequins in the kiss-and-crash window looked like they’d had a drunken party. One doll’s wig was crooked, her leg twisted wrong and the hand on the lounging doll looked as if she were reaching for her own breast.

Samantha went inside to fix it before Val saw it.

The instant she stepped into the window, Rick’s scent mainlined to her memory center and she could almost taste the mint-and-man flavor of his lips. He’d gripped her forearms so tightly, too, holding himself back, fighting his desire.

He’s taken, she reminded herself and set about fixing the mannequins, adjusting the crooked leg, turning the twisted hand, straightening the sliding wig.

Smoothing the lace over the doll in her butter-cream teddy, she imagined Rick’s fingers on her body and couldn’t help closing her eyes….

“I want to touch you where you’re swollen and soft.”

“Please,” she begs, desperate for exactly that. She writhes against his body, wanting his hands on her, his fingers probing secret places, giving her pleasure and taking his own.

His hands slide down her belly and find her damp glory—her desire made liquid. He brushes her slick, wet flesh over and over, slowly at first, then more firmly, knowing exactly the effect of his torture, and pushing, always pushing her higher and higher.

“I want to give you pleasure until you scream. Right here, in the window, so that passersby know how this feels, so that they long for what they’re missing—”

Something—a sound, a flicker of light—made Samantha open her eyes. She looked out at Rick standing there staring at her. He seemed frozen by the sight, his hands fisted, then opened, his lips parted, his chest expanded and shrank in quick, uneven breaths timed with her own, a few feet away through the glass.

I want you, his eyes said. More than ever.

She wanted him, too, and a hot chill coursed through her.

Could he tell what she’d been doing standing here with her eyes closed? Her palm still cupped one of the mannequin’s breasts, so she jerked it down to the waist and pulled the teddy straight, smoothing it flat over the doll’s torso.

Be cool, be easy. You’re working here, she told herself and smiled at him, wiggling her fingers in greeting.

He waved back, fingers moving slowly, his Adam’s apple doing a slow glide. She turned her attention to the wig, trying to act natural, though her heart pounded, and when she glanced up again, he was gone.

“Can I help?” His voice behind her made her jump. He’d moved with silent swiftness and appeared as if she’d conjured him from a fantasy. He extended a hand, which she took, aware that her skirt rode high on her thigh and gapped open.

He averted his eyes and held on to her until she was solidly on the floor. Rick was a gentleman. Protective, too, in a way she responded to at a primal level.

“So, you came back?” she said, forcing herself to speak lightly. “After last night I wasn’t so sure. I mean all that ladies’ underwear and sex toys.” And that kiss. Don’t forget that kiss. She never would.