The Truth About Numbnuts and Chubbs(35)

Bry rested her fork on the side of her plate. "I didn't mean—"

"You thought I wouldn't give a shit. You really think I have no feelings, is that it? I suppose you believe all the crap that's written about me too—all the garbage your cousin says about me."

"I never said that."

"You just inferred it. This morning you suggested I needed a medical certificate to prove I was free of disease."

"I was pointing out to you that—"

"For your information I have never not used a condom. Never. Until the other night with you. Do you think I run around fucking everything in sight and not caring about consequences? I don't know why you even came if my company is so fucking repulsive that you couldn't bear to let anyone know you were spending time with me and God forbid I get you pregnant."

"Benedick Petruska, you're acting like a petulant child. For pity's sake, I came here with you because..." She stopped. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap; her pulse was galloping, heading directly for a tall fence and she had no idea what was on the other side.

Ben swung around to look at her again. "Why?" he demanded.

She swallowed, drew back on her imaginary reins and said carefully, "Is it true that you've been attracted to me before...before all this?" Her fingernails were digging into her palms.

His lashed flicked, his cheeks thinned. "Yes," he admitted finally, looking down, avoiding her gaze. "I wanted you for years."

"But we've always fought, always quarreled."

He nodded, eyes still hidden.

Bry slowly unfurled her fingers. "Why didn't you tell me? What happened to straightforward honesty and communication?"

At last he smiled sadly, sheepishly. One hand rubbed his brow and than slid down over his face. "I guess I don't know everything after all."

"No one really does, Ben. In the interest of full disclosure, not even me."

His eyelashes raised and she was pinned, stripped by his hungry gaze. "So why did you come here?"

What was the point in coy aversion now? It wouldn't be fair to leave her mask on when his was down. "Because you're my crush, my fantasy—the man I always thought never looked at me except to find fault."

The color gradually returned to his rugged face.

"Suddenly I had your attention," she added, letting the words flow and feeling tremendous relief because of it. "I guess the short answer is...vanity."

A lengthy pause followed. The candle flames stretched and trembled. Palm fronds rustled in the tickle of a breeze beyond their balcony and somewhere in the distance there was music.

The Way You Look Tonight.

Eventually he stood and took her hand, drawing her up to dance with him under the moonlight.

"And I don't believe everything I read about you," she whispered. "Not anymore."

"Ah." She felt his laughter rather than heard it, for he held her very tight and her head was buried in his firm, broad shoulder.

"Except for the sexual deviancy," she added cheekily.



* * * *



"Deviancy? I'll show you deviancy, brat!" He tossed her back onto the bed, stripped off his shirt and stared down at her. Tumbled on the pastel bed sheets she was a sun-kissed vision in nothing but the pearl thong and the red shoes. Laughing, she reached for him and he covered her, licking the perfume she'd dabbed under her ear, his hands cupping her breasts, feeling the warm flesh pillow between his fingers, the taut nipples harden. The paler triangles left by her bikini prettily accentuated tits and pussy. His hand moved down between their bodies and tugged the pearl strand between her labia, letting the fattest pearl nestle at the crest where she was most sensitive.

Under him she spread her legs, bent them up, her heels on the bed.

Ben slid his finger between the biggest pearl and her clit, but held it still, just pressing lightly to keep her on the boil.

He licked her jaw and then her glossy lips, while she purred and lifted her hips and tried to move herself against his finger. His tongue delved between her lips for another kiss. Wanting to saturate his senses with Bryony's essence, he tasted, fondled, listened to every sigh. Never had it been like this for him—this need to keep a woman close, make her scream for him, come undone. She smelled of the sun and that spicy sweet perfume. Rive Gauche by Yves Saint Laurent. He knew what it was now, having seen the atomizer in the bathroom.

"I'm soaking wet," she panted, as if he couldn't feel how that delicious pussy flowed, how her body dripped with passion.

He circled her clit, first with his fingertip and then with the smooth pearl.

She choked out his name, her nails digging into his back, combing through his hair as if she wanted to draw blood. He laved her nipples, back and forth, back and forth, teasing them occasionally with his eyelashes.