Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3 (15 page)

“All over?” His eyes gleamed. “I presume oral sex is a part of this fantasy?”

“Oh yes…” she said breathlessly. “I’d love to try it.”

He stopped stroking her hand and his eyes widened. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re kidding me? He wouldn’t even do that?”

“Felix, I was lucky he touched me down there at all.” She could see him struggling with comprehension—that he was unable to believe there were men who were really like this. She smiled and stroked his hand in return. He was very idealistic, straight as a Roman road, maybe even a little self-righteous with his views, but she liked that.

He looked down at their hands and linked their fingers, stroking her palm again. She held her breath—seeing their fingers entwined seemed significant, as if he was trying to tell her something.

He smiled and released her hand, obviously trying to brush off his anger at what she’d told him. “Come on then, what else? What other fantasies do you have?”

She curled up beside him, conscious of the warmth of his arm almost around her shoulders. “Oh, gosh, where do I start?”

“You have a lot of fantasies?”

“Oh, all the time. Sometimes after watching TV programmes, you know, like having sex outside in the park or something—I can’t imagine what it must be like having that thrill that you might be discovered. Or in a limo.”

He grinned. “You’d like to have sex in a limo?”

“Yes. After I won an Oscar for leading actress.” She giggled.

“Where else?” He was back to stroking her hand.

She turned it over so he could brush her palm again, liking the frisson it sent up her body. “Um…in an igloo.”

That made him laugh. “Good grief. I’d worry about frozen extremities.”

“I’m serious. I find the Inuit fascinating. How do they do it? I’d
love
to go in an igloo. And have sex fully clothed. That would be fun.”

He smiled and ran a finger up her arm, across her shoulder, and up her neck to her face. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “What else?”

She felt in a wonderful tipsy, sleepy haze, alive with sensation, hairs rising all over her body. “Oh, I have all sorts of fantasies.”

“Tell me about them.”

“I can’t.” Her face grew warm. “They’re private.”

He lifted her chin again so she had to look into his eyes. “Come on, tell me.”

She gave a little shake of her head, her face burning so much she knew she must be scarlet. “I couldn’t.”

“Okay, I’ll try to guess.” He grinned. “Does it involve…sex toys?”

She giggled. “No, although that would be fun.”

“A particular position?”

“Hmm, not really. Although again, something other than missionary would be fun.”

“Something more…forbidden?”

Gosh, her face could have been used as a beacon. “Maybe.”

He thought about it. “Anal sex?”

“Felix!”

He looked amused. “What?”

She shook her head, shocked at the fact that he wasn’t shocked. “Goodness.”

“You don’t think you’d enjoy that?”

“I…well I haven’t…I couldn’t imagine…” Her voice trailed off as he stifled a chuckle. “Oh my God, do ordinary people really do that?”

“Oh yes. Eighteen percent of the population, apparently.” He grinned.

“Really? Eighteen percent?” She was stunned. Just how naïve was she?

“It’s really not that unusual,” he said, confirming her thoughts.

“But…” Her mind spun with fascination as she tried to work out the mechanics. “Ooh. How could it possibly work?”

“Lubrication and lots of patience, to begin with anyway.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about it,” she observed.

“I read books,” he said, although the gleam in his eyes told her he’d done more than read about it.

She fanned herself. “I think I need to lie down.”

He laughed. “Okay, so if that’s not your fantasy… Let me think. More than one partner?”

She went to deny it but couldn’t lie outright, and instead just gave a reluctant, shy smile.

To her relief, he didn’t make fun of her and he didn’t laugh. “That’s quite common too,” he said.

“Really?”

“Christ, yeah. I imagine I have a harem.”

She smiled. “You’re a sheikh?”

“Yeah. I can pick and choose from all the women every night, depending on my mood. Quite often I pick more than one.” He winked.

She looked at their hands, braver now he’d confessed. “I imagine I’m in one of those sex clubs. There’s a room out the back, and men can hire it out for parties. I’m tied to a bed, and they get to use me any way they want…” Her face flamed again, so she stopped there. “You can imagine.”

He drew in a long breath and blew it out slowly, the look on his face making her laugh. “I’m going to need a cold shower at this rate,” he said, and when she glanced at his jeans, she saw the distinct outline of a very impressive erection. Her eyes returned to his, and he smiled ruefully. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m flattered. Surprised, though.”

“Why?”

“That you’re turned on by this. By talking about my fantasies.”

“That’s the fun part,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “Sharing the imagination.”

Their gazes met, and they studied each other for a long moment. She couldn’t believe she’d been so open with him. She’d never talked about anything like that with anyone before. But he was so encouraging, and he made her feel…normal, maybe, for the first time in her life. It had been fun. It was a shame it would have to come to an end.

She glanced up at the clock, shocked to see it was nearing ten. “Oh crap. I’m sorry, Felix, I really ought to get going.”

“Okay. May I walk you home?”

“Sure.” How lovely. They rose and slid on their jackets, and she put on her hat.

They walked out into the cool night air. Luckily it wasn’t raining, and the sky was bright with a thousand, thousand stars.

Felix held out his hand and smiled at her. She took it shyly, and they began to walk.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said. “I really enjoyed myself.”

“Me too. Most fun I’ve had a in a long time. In fact…” He glanced over at her. “Look, I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or that I’m assuming anything just because we’ve been for a drink and talked about sex. But I like you, and I have a feeling you like me. And therefore…” His eyes filled with a mischievous glint. “I have a proposition for you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Her heart pounded. “Oh?”

He looked hesitant and impish at the same time. “Obviously, feel free to say no. But I’m here for a week, and I thought it might be fun if I helped you fulfil one or two of your exotic fantasies.”

She slowed, then stopped, staring at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “To be honest, I’m horrified to think you’ve reached the ripe old age of twenty-seven using the missionary position and nothing else. And without having oral sex!” His look of horror nearly made her giggle. He sighed and continued, “I just thought you might enjoy exploring a few things together. No pressure, no commitment worries, nothing to worry about except having a bit of fun.” His brows knitted together. “Please don’t slap me.”

Her lips twitched. “I promise I won’t.” She nibbled her bottom lip and glanced over. “You really want to have sex with me?”

Impatience and amusement crossed his face. “Of course I want to have sex with you, Coco. You’re gorgeous.”

The thought of having sex with a man she barely knew was exciting, thrilling and more than a little scary too. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to make your mind up now. Think about it.”

“Okay.”

They walked for a hundred yards or so in companionable silence. His hand was warm in hers, and he stroked her skin occasionally with his thumb.

She tried to act cool, as if men asked her every day to go to bed with them, but inside her mind worked furiously and she had difficulty in stopping her chest heaving with excitement.

Eventually she couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “When you said about helping me fulfil my fantasies, what did you mean by that?”

He’d been looking up at the stars, but now turned to look at her. “I thought it would be fun to make a few of your dreams come true.” He smiled.

“I couldn’t go anywhere,” she said. “Away, I mean. It’s a lovely thought, but I’m afraid I’m confined to Wellington.” She wondered whether he’d look impatient and tell her to forget it. Talking about looking after one’s mother must be a huge passion killer.

But he just shrugged and said, “I know. We wouldn’t have to leave town. I have a few ideas.” His eyes twinkled. “I wondered whether your mother’s friend might be kind enough to stay over if you did have an evening out—until her daughter’s baby was born anyway.”

“I’m sure she would,” Coco said, thinking that her mother would fill the room with song if she announced she had a date. “Where would we go?”

“The firm gave me a budget for accommodation while I’m in Wellington. I added a bit myself and I’ve got a lovely hotel suite. I don’t like roughing it.” He grinned.

She smiled back and fell silent for a while, thinking. She couldn’t do this. Could she? Surely agreeing to meet a man in his hotel room for sex made her a slut. Or did it? This
was
the twenty-first century, and she knew she often acted as if she lived in the eighteen forties. In books and movies women often acted as if a good sex life was more than an option. They actively went looking for it, and were given the label of modern women who knew what they wanted and weren’t worried about asking for it, rather than something derogatory.

She risked a glance over at him, taking in his height, the width of his shoulders, the way his skin looked brown against her pale hand. This wouldn’t be a relationship. A week Monday, he’d be announcing his findings and returning to Auckland—there was no question of this developing into anything deeper. He was offering her something purely physical—an experiment, an adventure.

He met her gaze again and smiled, obviously realising she needed time to think about this. She led him across the road and down past the bars of Cuba Street with their loud music and the tall heaters warming those sitting outside. It was strangely exciting to be out on a Friday night with a man—she hadn’t dated in such a long time.

“Felix, what would happen if we see someone from the office?”

He thought about it. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think we’d probably say hello.”

She stuck her tongue out. “You know what I mean. Aren’t you worried about being seen with me, considering you’re investigating the case?”

He tipped his head from side to side as if weighing it up. “If someone asks, I wouldn’t deny it. But I wouldn’t volunteer the information either. You asked that we didn’t talk about work, and we haven’t. I’m out with Coco, not Miss Stark, as you pointed out.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t it be weird at work? If we slept together, I mean. You’re going to have to interview me, aren’t you? Don’t you think it’s a conflict of interests?”

“I don’t, because what’s happening with Sasha and Peter is completely unconnected to what’s happening between the two of us. I don’t see why we can’t maintain a professional relationship in the office—yes, you’re Sasha’s superior, but I don’t see how things would change if we slept together.”

Coco said nothing for a while. Mr. Idealistic had no idea about what had happened between her and Peter Dell, or that she was withholding information from him. Professionally, she should run a mile from this relationship.

But then again she had no intention of revealing what had occurred when she was seventeen. She’d be open and honest about what she’d seen between Peter and Sasha, and anything else Felix wanted to know. But that little nugget of information would remain hidden deep within her.

And when it came down to it, surely what happened between her and Felix was their business and nobody else’s?

Trying to ignore the fact that she was rearranging the details to suit herself, she led him down a side road and across to where she lived, a small, three-bedroomed Edwardian-style house with a tiny front garden surrounded by a waist-high wall.

“This is me,” she said. She withdrew her hand and slid both hers into the pockets of her jacket, leaning against the wall.

He stood before her, only six inches away, just enough inside her personal space to feel intimate. She could smell his lovely manly clean smell still mixed with the aroma of muffins, which made her smile as she looked up into his brown eyes. Now she wore her Converses, he seemed a lot taller than her, and for maybe the first time in her life she felt enchanted by his masculinity and acutely aware of the sheer difference between their sexes.

“Thank you for walking me home,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome. I had a lovely evening.”

“Me too,” she said, and meant it. He’d been funny, entertaining, attentive and warm. He’d made her feel as if she was the only woman in the bar, and that he’d had eyes for nobody but her.

“Will you think about it?” he asked.