Sex for Beginners Box Set(32)

“It’s beautiful. I wish I had brought my suit.” Her green eyes danced mischievously.

Desire flooded his midsection. He leaned near her ear and whispered, “Why don’t we have a private swim when everyone’s gone?” He waited for her answer, needing to know if she had come to the party out of kindness, or for some other reason. “Unless you have other plans tonight,” he added.

“No,” she murmured. “I’m…free.”

“What about your ex?”

“Still my ex.”

“And the pictures the reporter took?”

She shrugged. “The guy’s a jerk, but what can I do? I don’t think it’s anyone’s business what I do for a living, but I’ve decided that I won’t be ashamed if it gets out.”

She was changed, he realized. She seemed stronger…braver. And if possible, sexier. Had the exhibitionism empowered her to make the decision not to go back to her ex? Or had something else figured into her decision?

Chev loved his family and enjoyed seeing Gemma interact with them, but as the hours passed, he grew more eager to be alone with her. When his family took their leave, he waved until the taillights of their cars disappeared, then turned and pulled her into his arms for a deep, thorough kiss. He wanted to have her now, against the wall, or in the grass. With a groan, he tore his mouth from hers. “Hold that thought. I need to run an errand.”

A little frown marred her forehead. “Now?”

“Trust me—it can’t wait.”

“What about our swim?”

“Get your suit and wait for me at your house. I won’t be gone long.”

She sighed, then angled her head. “Okay. I’ll be watching.”





20




GEMMA DRESSED in a half-dozen different outfits waiting for Chev to return. Nothing seemed right…nothing seemed special. After an hour of indecision, she was struck with a panicky feeling that sex with Chev wouldn’t be the same if she couldn’t strip for him, or wear some sort of disguise.

If she couldn’t pretend to be someone else.

Chev had accused her of using the exhibitionism as a way of avoiding emotional intimacy, and she couldn’t deny it. He also said the two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. But she didn’t see any way the two conditions could be reconciled.

Instead, she would simply enjoy the time she had left with Chev. He didn’t have to know that she was falling for him.

So she settled on a skimpy black bikini with a short cover-up and high-heeled mules. And the mask…always the mask. She poured herself a glass of wine and drank deeply, feeding the languorous vibration that was already humming in her sex at the thought of performing for Chev. She had to admit that no stranger had ever fueled her lust to such heights. Knowing what lay in store for her in his arms made her feel loose limbed and expansive.

But how long would that feeling last? How long until she yearned to perform for strangers again? She paced, alternately wanting answers and wanting options. Neither seemed clear or obvious…or satisfying.

It was getting late when Gemma heard his truck return. Mellow on wine, she lowered the mask in place and met him at the front door. With the light from the street behind him, she couldn’t see his expression. But his low whistle got his point across. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to lead her outside to the glorious lit pool in his backyard. The going was precarious in the dark, especially with her wearing a mask and heels, but they laughed and stumbled their way through the grass.

The neighborhood was quiet and dark, with cicadas chanting in the background. Their sole attendant by the pool was the peacock, which seemed to enjoy watching the dappled surface. His head bobbed in time with the gentle slap of the water and he occasionally called out to a yet undiscovered mate.

Chev lowered himself to the edge of the pool next to a feather the bird had shed, removed his shoes and socks, and leaned back…to watch. Gemma obliged, shedding the cover-up first and walking around him suggestively. He reached for her, but she ducked away, then unhooked her bikini top and tossed it toward him. She crossed her arms over her breasts and turned back to face him, thrilled to see the bulge in his dark slacks. He pulled his shirt over his head and consumed her with his eyes.

The headiness of the wine and the sight of Chev’s brown, bare torso sent ripples of excitement through her. She lifted her arms overhead, allowing her breasts to swing free, heavy and hard with need. She leaned over and shimmied off the bikini bottoms and threw those to him, too. He caught them neatly and brought them to his face, his eyes hooded. Then he picked up the peacock feather and pushed to his feet to stand before her.

Gemma stood perfectly still except for the rise and fall of her breasts. This man affected her body like a drug—she could hardly breathe, and her limbs seemed limp. His body was an inch from hers, his slacks and underwear the only clothes between them. Even barefoot he towered over her in heels. The dark springy hair on his chest tickled her erect nipples, his warm breath fanned her face. He lifted the feather and brushed it across her collarbone, over her breasts, down her stomach…and lower.

The velvety fringe was an erotic whisper over her sensitive folds, sending the most delicious sensations to her core. Behind the mask, she opened her mouth and sighed, looping her arms around his neck for support. He captured her mouth in a probing kiss and stroked her with the feather until she felt the moisture of her own lubrication on her thighs.

“Chev,” she pleaded, fumbling with the fastener on his waistband. “Take me…now.”

He helped her with his pants, stopping long enough to retrieve a condom from the pocket to sheath his rigid erection. Then he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and impaled her on his cock. Gemma gasped at the sensation of being filled with him, clawing at his back. He buried his head in her neck, grunting with every fierce stroke that joined their bodies more intimately, more savagely.

Her climax staggered her, crashed over her with a force that triggered every muscle in her body to contract involuntarily. She cried out his name and clung to him, disoriented because she felt as if she were falling.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, then grunted his own release, pumping into her while holding her against his chest. His strength alone was an aphrodisiac to her.

Afterward, he lowered her to the sweet, damp grass fringing the pool and eased his body from hers. “That was incredible,” he murmured.

She moaned her agreement, thinking she’d love to lie here with him forever. He made her feel so alive, so feminine. She lifted his hand to her mouth for a kiss, then frowned at the torn skin on his knuckles. “Did you hurt your hand?”

He flexed it. “No. Just scraped it when I was loading some supplies earlier.”

Her eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness, allowing her to study his body. “Does your tattoo have significance?” she asked, tracing her finger over the expansive branches and root system of the leafless tree.

He shrugged and craned to look at it. “What do you see?”

“Strength. And solitude.”

“I guess that works,” he agreed.

“Do you like your solitude?”

“Most of the time. But this is pretty nice.”

She smiled in agreement.

“Although,” he whispered, fingering the mask she still wore, “I wouldn’t mind finding out more about the woman behind the mask.”

Gemma swallowed hard.

She’d never met a man she felt so deeply connected to. But she also knew she couldn’t—didn’t want to—live without exhibitionism. Between her fetish and the fact that he was leaving soon, it was better to leave some things unsaid and unexplored.

* * *

CHEV FELT Gemma stiffen in his arms at the mention of losing the mask. She obviously wasn’t comfortable enough with him to drop the pretense of the costume. Maybe she would never allow herself to be close to one man again.

Maybe it was best for him that he was leaving soon.

“How about that swim?” he suggested.





21




GEMMA LOVED to make love in the morning. She rolled over, and when she saw Chev lying next to her, she waited for lust to seize her.

Instead, love washed over her like a cleansing wave. She adored this man. He gave her joy…and hope. She reached out to touch the tattoo that spanned his deltoid muscle, reveling in the sensation of warm, smooth skin under her fingertips.

His eyes opened and he smiled at her, then clasped her hand, intertwining their fingers. She fought the sensation of shyness that descended in the daylight, without her mask and naked before him. Not an exotic, mysterious performer. Just Gemma.

“Last night was amazing,” he murmured.

She could only nod, now nearly panicked by her burgeoning feelings for him. The phone rang and she moved to answer it, but he pulled her back.

“Stay with me,” he urged.

She wanted to, but morning intimacy was so raw, so…honest. She was terrified it would break the spell. And then in a split second, she realized that breaking the spell might solve all her problems.

The machine kicked on. When she heard Jason’s voice, she froze.

“Gemma, hey, it’s me. Listen, I’m sorry if I was unkind on the phone the other day. I just had my hopes up, that’s all. But you’re right—we shouldn’t get back together.” He sighed heavily. “I also talked to Sue. She said she told you everything, and I’m sorry about that, too. More sorry than you’ll ever know. I wanted to let you know that I called Wilcox to work out a deal on the photos. Funny thing is, he must have had a change of heart. He assured me that he’d destroyed the photos, said he didn’t want to cause any trouble for you. Anyway, stay in touch. And Gemma…be happy.”