Quick Study (8 page)

“And you, Bonnie,” he said. “And you.”

“Aw, now that’s sweet,” Lorraine said. 

“Uh-huh,” Marilyn said. “And now he can go. Bonnie needs to crawl in bed. Alone. She’s had enough of men for one night.”

“Now how would you know?” Lorraine asked. “Shouldn’t that be up to her?”

Bonnie stifled a laugh. Paul just shrugged and walked into the kitchen, opening cabinets. “I will go,” he said with dignity, “but first I’ll make Bonnie something to eat. If that’s all right with you two ladies.” 

Marilyn wiggled herself ahead of him and pulled out a blue and yellow rectangular box. “This is what she needs.”

“But I can make—” Paul began.

“Trust me,” Marilyn said. “Nothing fancy tonight.” Then gave him a head-to-toe look that almost made Bonnie laugh.

Having three people fuss over her filled Bonnie with a soft, fuzzy feeling, and she went back to her bedroom to change into her favorite oversized pajamas and wait for her macaroni and cheese, secure in the knowledge that he wasn’t going to force himself on her again until she said she was ready.

With some embarrassment, she realized that might not be very long at all.

Chapter 7

H
e called her every day
for the next week after she finally gave him her cell number, but it wasn’t until Saturday that he pulled up in front of her apartment building to take her out for an official date.

“You deserve better than macaroni and cheese out of a box.” He took her hand and led her out to his car. He’d dressed up for her in slacks and a sweater, which would have looked sweetly conservative it he weren’t wearing the familiar leather jacket and a pair of old Doc Martens. She wanted to nibble him.

“So we’ll get it in a restaurant?”

He squeezed her hand and opened the door for her. She waited for him to kiss her, but he just helped her into the car, then went around to his side. “Hope Berkeley isn’t too far,” he said. “It’s got my favorite pizza.”

She wasn’t paying attention. Who cared what they ate? She tugged her shirt lower and glanced at her face in the mirror. Not too much makeup for close contact, but enough to entice. Licking her lips, she flipped up the visor and reached over with her left hand to trace the long muscle in his thigh.

“Whoa,” he said patting her hand, then holding it there. He smiled at her. Not a sexy smile, but an aren’t-you-cute kind of smile.

Very annoying.

She pulled her hand away and glared at the freeway. Berkeley was at least fifteen minutes away, and they’d have to park, wait for a table, order, wait, eat, wait, look for the car, drive, wait, wait, and wait.

She reached over and stuck her hand down his pants. He swerved over the yellow line and jerked upright.

“Hey!” he cried. “Careful!”

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“I’ll drive faster.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don't think you're listening. I'm hungry
now
.”

He glanced at her and grinned, but still wasn't taking her seriously. Gripping her exploring fingers tighter, he turned his attention back to the road. “Soon.”

Soon wasn't going to do. “Forget the pizza. Go to your place.”

“But—” he began, then saw the look on her face and finally lost the smile. He merged right.

“You know,” she said, “for a rich computer genius, you're kind of slow.”

“I know, I know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to make his way off the freeway. “I am so sorry.”

“I might forgive you this time, but you really do need to learn your lesson.”

“I do. I really do.”

She felt her blood run hot through her body. Her hand was still trapped under his hand on his lap and she pulled it away after squeezing the bulge of his cock once, hard, through his khakis. “I'm not convinced you're sorry enough.”

Definitely not smiling now, he blinked at the road and seemed to be having trouble breathing. “You might have to punish me?”

“Oh, I might.” She crossed her arms over her chest, felt the underwire of her new push-up bra poke her in the armpit, and looked down at her breasts straining against the stretchy blouse she'd worn to please him. But why should she have to suffer? Tonight was his turn. She leaned forward to unclasp her bra.

“What are you—” A car honked at them as Paul swerved across the off-ramp.

“None of your business. Focus on the road until we get to your place.” Loose in the unclasped bra, her breasts sagged forward in the slippery cups under her shirt. She'd have to unbutton the front to take off the bra completely. So she did, wiggling forward to slide one elbow, then the other, through the straps until the silky nylon was a rumpled pink pile in her lap.

“Oh, Christ,” he whispered, watching her. “Thank you.”

“Eyes on the road.” She stroked the tip of one nipple to torment him. “Or you'll have more to answer for.”

“Yes, mistress,” he said, without mockery. She felt herself get hot between her thighs.

“Say that again.”

“Yes, mistress. Thank you. Am I pleasing you now?”

“For now,” she managed to say. “Just get us off this damn road to some place you can please me some more.”

He nodded, eyes hard and fixed ahead of them, somehow looking more threatening as her willing submissive than he had when he'd tied her to his lifting bench. All that male energy was hers to control now. The power was hers. When he dropped the goofy nice-guy bit, he was as bent as she was.

“When we get to your house,” she said, “I don't plan on doing all the work.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I might not even want to take off my clothes by myself.”

He cleared his throat. “I'm here to please.”

Yes, you are
. “I might not even want to take your clothes off by myself. In fact, I don't feel like doing anything. It's been a long day. I'm very, very tired. All I want to do is crawl into bed.”

“I can carry you there,” he said, his voice low.

She sighed and stretched back in the car seat like a cat, her loose breasts peeking out from her unbuttoned blouse. The freeway was behind them now, and the car sped upwards into the oak-spotted hills on the quiet street she remembered, to the house she'd been dreaming about every night since her last visit. “If you please me, I just might let you.”

She glanced over at him just in time to see him close his eyes briefly and suppress a shudder. 

“I'll do whatever you say,” he said.

“I want you to go down on me.”

He shot her a dark, hungry look and nodded.

She crossed her arms under her exposed breasts. “For as long as I want.”

“Pleasing you pleases
me
.” He turned abruptly onto his driveway and skidded into a stop next to the house. All his attention was on her now, eyes heavy-lidded and hot on hers, but he didn't move. They sat in the parked car under the porte cochere, silent except for the sounds of rapid, shallow breathing.

“Waiting for something?” she asked. Her voice almost cracked.

A small smile curled up one corner of his mouth. She cursed herself for showing weakness and amusing him. He shrugged, then dipped his head. “Your command.”

Oh, baby
. She licked her lips. What did she want? So many things, but first of all, to relive the best of her dreams of the past week. The best of her memories. “I'd like you to take off all my clothes and carry me inside.”

That surprised him. He grinned. “My pleasure.”

When he got out and walked around the car to her side, she tilted her head back on the headrest and arched her back.

“You are so beautiful, Bonnie.” He said it slowly, with reverence, and she shivered. “May I kiss you while I undress you?”

“You may.” 

“Thank you.” But he didn't do it right away, just dipped his head, brushing his hair along her skin as he reached down to unfasten her seat belt. Removing the belt, the backs of his fingers traced her naked abdomen up along the bottom of her left breast, then up to her collarbone and the delicate skin under her right ear. Then he hesitated.

“Don't stop,” she said.

“Sorry.” His hands began to move again, sliding over her body, under her shirt and down her arms and taking the shirt with it. “You're just so beautiful. I had to worship you for a second.”

The breath caught in her throat. She gasped. “Worship while you work.”

“Yes, Bonnie.” He tossed her shirt and bra into the back seat. Now she was topless and breathless and struggling for control, knees primly together facing away from him into the car while he knelt down in the driveway and ran his palms up and down her slim-cut jeans.

“You may take them off,” she said, thinking he would smirk, but he didn't.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Dropping his gaze to the button of her jeans, he slipped his index finger the waistband, and popped it open—so slowly she ached to reach down and do it herself. Going slow made the exposure, the anticipation, the dark lust in his eyes and between her legs more intense. Too intense.

“I would like—” she began, then forced some steel into her voice. “Go faster. I want to go inside.”

He glanced up at her, and now he was smiling, all lopsided and too damn sure of himself for a man that was about to be licking her clitoris for the next few days. Damn if he didn't have a beautiful smile. And those sexy laugh-lines around his eyes—she could get lost in those eyes. They reached inside her and kissed her soul.

“Bonnie?”

She had to look away to regain control. Nothing in the rules said she couldn't take off her own damn pants. Pushing him away, she slid the jeans off and climbed out of the car.  “Carry me.”

Still in a squat down on the driveway, Paul shifted his weight back on his heels and looked up at her. His gaze slid down her body to her toes and up again, settling on the new pink thong she'd bought just for him.

He closed his eyes for a moment. “You shaved,” he said roughly.

“Just a little. Here and there.”

He nodded and inhaled deeply. Then fell forward onto his knees and pressed his face between her thighs. 

“Here and there,” he repeated, and she felt his voice vibrate deep inside her. Then she felt a soft, small pressure as his tongue lapped at the thin fabric. She sagged against the car and struggled to focus.

“You're not listening.” Her voice sounded far away. All her attention was on the increasing sensations between her legs. Suddenly, his hands spanned her ass and jerked her pussy hard into his face, and her head fell back and she looked up at the sky past the house roof and the overhanging oak branches and exulted in the thrill of being alive. Then vaguely, as wet tongue met wet labia, she remembered her command to be carried inside.

Chapter 8

S
he was being carried
, all right. Right out of her mind.

“Thank you, Bonnie.”

She shivered, feeling him everywhere. He had stopped, damn him, and was gazing up at her with a look of humble adoration.

She blinked and looked down at him, raked her fingers through his thick hair, pulled him back to where he belonged. His low laugh tickled her deep. She sighed. That wouldn't do—she was in control this time. Reluctantly, she pushed him away and stepped to the side.

“You've had a taste,” she said. “Now take me inside before I give up on you.” She had to look away while she said it so he couldn’t see the need in her eyes. Her impatience.

“I'm so sorry.” He hung his head, then suddenly lunged forward and lifted her over his shoulder, like before, with her bottom up in the air. She waited for the punishing, loving slap, but he only stroked each rounded cheek with the palm of his free hand and left her upturned pussy half-exposed to the sunshine. Her thong was tight, even tighter than the one she'd worn the first time, and while he shoved his house key into the lock to let them inside, she winced as the thin band of elastic dug into her.

He set her down in the laundry room again.

“Take off my panties,” she said, frowning at the washing machine. “You might like them, but they're uncomfortable.”

With his hands never leaving her, he fell to his knees and slipped them off, licking her stomach. Big, wet licks that lapped and tickled while his hot breath set her nerves on fire. Her fingernails dug into his broad shoulders under his jacket.

He was still wearing his jacket, which was entirely unacceptable. As was being in the laundry room again.

She shoved him away and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Take off your clothes. I'm going to explore.” With a saucy tilt of her head, she walked away from him down the hall like a supermodel and listened with a mixture of satisfaction and impatience to the sound of him tearing off his clothes. As much as she wanted him right now, it would be better for him to wait. Better for his humility.

Defying the laws of time and space, he caught up to her in seconds and hooked an arm around her waist. He was naked. She glanced down, furtive at first, then remembered her role and stopped to openly inspect him. Hands propped on hips, she raked her gaze over him and hid her awe. Her memories hadn't idealized him after all. He was built like a minor god.

His cock came to attention and he cleared his throat. 

She corrected herself. A major god.

“May I show you my favorite room?” he asked.

“You may.”

He pulled her tighter against his hip and smiled down at her. “Great. Follow me.”

She let him tug her up a flight of carpeted stairs past empty bedrooms and bare walls and stacks of moving boxes to a bright and wide sunroom at the back of the house. It was painted yellow and filled with couches, tables, a TV, treadmill, beanbag chair, oversized floor pillows, framed photographs of California wilderness, and him.

“Nice,” she said. “So this is where you really live.”

“Mmm.” He turned and faced her, back to the room, and dipped his head to her neck. “Like it?” 

To hell with the decorating. He had his hand over her breast and was gently rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She shuddered. “I'm ready for you.” She intended for it to sound dismissive and commanding, like she was talking to a waiter—not desperate.