Stripping It Down (6 page)

"You naughty girl, Kitty Kat." She immediately recognized the small cylindrical object in his hand, along with its telltale hum.

She jerked and moaned as he passed the tip of the vibrator over her nipples, the jolt causing her to spasm around his cock. Unaccountably embarrassed to have him find her sex toy, modest though it may be, she strove for bravado. "Most guys are intimidated by a vibrator. Think they can't match up."

"This little guy?" He held up the white toy, not more than five inches long and an inch and a half in diameter. Deliberately, he slid out of her until just the head of his erection lodged inside her body. He drove himself back in with excruciating leisure. "I don't think I have anything to feel threatened by."

"It's not the size of your boat," she said, the high, thready tone of her voice betraying her.

His slow, steady strokes kept her from finishing the rest of the saying.

Coming up on his knees, he draped her legs over his hips and moved in steady, measured thrusts until she was a moaning, writhing mess who could barely remember that the world existed beyond his cock. Without breaking his pace he traced the vibrator down her belly, resting it just above her mound. Her clit pulsed at the indirect stimulation, and she let out a harsh cry.

Then he froze, halting his thrusts and moving the vibrator away.

Her eyes snapped open and he hung above her, braced on one trembling arm as sweat dripped from his forehead to sizzle on her chest. "Damn it, don't stop," she demanded, but there was a pleading tone in her voice too. She squirmed against him, sure if she could get some leverage she could end this torture for them both.

But he held her hips pinned to the bed, forcing her to stay still before bringing her to the brink again, and a third time, until finally the need to climax had become a physical pain.

"Please," she begged helplessly, hating him for doing this to her, hating herself for being so weak. "You're killing me."

Immediately he came down on top of her, cradling her face in his hands as he whispered his apology. "I'm sorry, baby," he murmured against the flushed skin of her cheek. "I'll make it all better."

Sliding his hands behind her knees, he pressed her legs back against her chest. He slid the vibrator against the outside of her labia, as though realizing that her clit was too painfully sensitive for such direct stimulation. Within seconds she came, squeezing her eyes shut as every muscle in her body seized in ecstasy. She was vaguely aware of his shout and the feel of him jerking inside her.

She'd be lucky if the neighbors didn't call the police, what with all the yelling and caterwauling.

Jake nuzzled his face into her neck and murmured something, and for a horrified second Kit was afraid she was going to cry. "Unlock me," she said through gritted teeth.

He fumbled for the key and released her from the handcuffs. Kit immediately jumped from the bed and grabbed her robe. She didn't like the way she felt, shaky and vulnerable and exposed. Didn't like the way Jake could burst into her apartment, into her life, and start chipping away at the wall she'd spent the past twelve years building around herself.

She needed to be alone, regroup, and put this thing with Jake in its proper perspective.

"You need to go," she said curtly.

His dark eyebrows raised in surprise, but he didn't budge from her bed.

"I mean it. I have a deadline and I've already wasted enough time with you."

"I had a really long flight and I'm just going to sleep. You won't even know I'm here."

Ha! Like she could possibly relax enough to focus knowing that Mr. Universe and his wonderdick were sprawled out in her bedroom. "No way. Didn't your company book you in a hotel or something? I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable there." As she spoke she flung his pants, boxers, and shirt at him. He swore when she tossed his belt at him and the buckle caught him on the forehead.

"I get the point," he grumbled, rising from the bed. Kit turned her back, knowing if she allowed her eyes to feast on his lean, naked body, she'd end up right back in that bed with him, and deadline be damned.

Needing to get away, she waited for him in the living room, holding out his suit jacket when he emerged, blessedly, clothed.

"You're sure I can't stay?"

"Do you need cab fare?" She did her best to banish the slightly nauseating guilt at the hurt, angry look in his green eyes.

But then the hurt was gone, as a self-sure, slightly amused smile teased at the corners of his full lips. Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms. Instead of the fierce kiss she expected, she felt the soft press of his mouth against her forehead, her cheek, and finally her mouth. "Good night, Kit," he whispered. "I'll call you."

She stared blankly at the door for a good five minutes after he left. She felt completely discombobulated. On the surface, her life was exactly the same, but it seemed like it had been taken apart piece by piece and put back together slightly askew, until nothing looked or felt quite right.

The e-mail program on her computer jarred her out of her daze.

What was wrong with her? It was just sex. With Jake Donovan, little seventeen-year-old Kit whispered dreamily.

Like that made a difference. He was just another man, albeit one with more skill in the bedroom than any other she'd ever encountered. Nothing for her to get all bent out of shape about. Still, it was probably best not to see him for the rest of the time he was in town.

She went into the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee since she still had hours of work ahead of her. Good thing too since she doubted she'd get any sleep.

But as she sat down at her keyboard, fully prepared to begin the next installment of how evil drug-discovery companies were willing to put patients' lives in danger to pump up the stock a few more points, she found herself instead clicking on her "Stripping It Down" folder.

Inspired, she began to type.

Girls, you'll never believe who showed up at my door, like a poor, pathetic puppy begging me for more...

Chapter 6

Two days later, and still no call.

Kit wasn't surprised, or upset, she told herself firmly.

Sure, that's why you check your home voice mail twenty times a day and have asked the IT manager if there's something wrong with the email server.

Okay, maybe she was a little upset, but only because the sex with Jake was so beyond anything she'd ever experienced before, and she wanted more. It was that simple.

Thankfully, writing her column for Bustout.com had helped her put her latest evening with Jake in proper perspective.

The article she was working on blurred on her computer screen, and she rubbed her eyes. As a business reporter, she hated earning report time, listening in on endless shareholder calls, and attempting to put her own unique spin on why a particular company did or did not hit their revenue goal this quarter.

Her stomach jumped as her cell phone buzzed on her desk, and she reminded herself that Jake didn't have that number.

It was Tina, the editor in chief at Bustout.com. "Kit, have you seen your numbers this week?"

"I've been so busy here I haven't even had time to go to the site." Bustout had a handy Web program that not only tracked how many people accessed the column but also showed how many times a reader emailed the article to a friend.

Kit glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was lurking in her cube door before she logged into the site. "Holy crap!"

"I know," Tina crowed. "Your last two columns have had fifty percent more readers. And check out your e-mail forwards."

Kit's heart skipped a beat. Her past two columns had been forwarded to no less than five thousand readers.

"You should see the feedback we're getting. Your stories about this guy from your past – readers totally love them."

Kit clicked on a link and logged into her C. Teaser e-mail account, created especially for her column fans to e-mail their thoughts.

Kit's grin grew wider as she scrolled down the list of messages with headings like "You're Hilarious" and "You are my Idol." Her grin wobbled a bit as she reached the end of the page. "You're a Ball Busting Bitch," she read aloud.

"Okay, not everyone loves it," Tina conceded, "but it's provoking a strong reaction, which is just as good."

"Kit, aren't you supposed to be covering the Smith and Downing conference?" her boss snapped irritably.

Kit fumbled for her mouse and closed the Bustout.com window before Tom could see. It was a given that most of the staff writers for the Tribune moonlighted and freelanced, but nothing could get you in hot water with Tom faster than if he thought you were writing for someone else on his time. Checking the clock she realized she did indeed have to get a move on if she wanted to make it to the conference in time for the keynote.

She pasted on an enthusiastic smile and gave Tom a thumbs-up as she started gathering her things. "I have to go," she muttered to Tina.

"Day job, I know. We're all waiting eagerly for the next installment of C. Teaser's blast from the past. Keep writing the way you are, and pretty soon you'll be able to leave the high-tech geeks and investment bankers behind."

Kit powered down her laptop, tucked it into her briefcase, and slung the case over her shoulder. Grabbing her purse, she did a quick check around her desk to make sure she hadn't left anything. She was meeting Elizabeth and Michael, the ecstatic bride-and groom-to-be, near the hotel where the conference was being held, and she didn't want to have to come back to the office. She scooted around Tom, taking care not to brush up against his pot belly as he partially blocked the exit from her cube.

He didn't like her, never had. And she knew exactly why. Because she didn't care about this job, not really. To her it was a means of paying the bills so she could write things she was really interested in. Yet she was talented enough to fulfill her reporter duties with relatively minimal effort and she never made noise about getting promoted to a byline or columnist slot at the paper. So Tom put up with her less than enthusiastic attitude in order to retain a reliable workhorse.

She glanced up just as she was squeezing by him and caught him looking down the front of her tailored button-front shirt. She nonchalantly held her briefcase up to her front so that when he casually tried to lean in he hit leather instead of her breasts.

Tom didn't like her attitude, but it didn't stop him from perving out on her.

She mulled over Tina's news as she walked to the conference.

Readers were going crazy over "Stripping It Down." The thought made her giddy.

But what was she supposed to do now that her source of inspiration didn't seem inclined to come sniffing around anymore?

Was she going to have to admit to her readers that she, C. Teaser, man-eater extraordinaire, had experienced the all-too-common hump and dump?

It was either that or chase Jake down herself – something, as a rule, she never did.

The mere thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. In her world, men were dogs, and she was the cat, and they chased her.

You're Hilarious. You're my Idol. Her readers' e-mails scrolled through her mind. Somehow she had to get Jake back in her bed.

Kit was deathly afraid that this once – purely for the sake of her career – she would have to break her own rules.

***

Jake fought the urge to toss Kit over his shoulder like a caveman as she walked into the Redwood Room. It had been two days since he'd seen her, and he'd barely resisted the nearly overwhelming impulse to call her or drop by her apartment unannounced. It was pure, dumb luck that Michael had e-mailed today to check in. When Michael found out that Jake was in town, he'd immediately invited Jake to join him and his fiancée, Elizabeth, for drinks with Kit.

Now he had the perfect, innocent excuse to see her, all without having to make a call. He'd planned on giving it one more day, instinctively knowing that if he came on too strong, too fast, she would turn tail and run, just like she had in Mexico. Kit had been freaked out the other night, even though she'd tried to hide it behind her tough chick bravado. He recognized her fear because he felt it himself.

Hell, the fact that he'd actually convinced the partners at his firm that he should work out of the San Francisco office for the next month made him break out into a cold sweat. Sure, he had legitimate business out here, but nothing he couldn't get done back in Boston.

He wondered what Kit would do if he admitted he was here on his own dime, that his only goal in visiting San Francisco was to prove to her that what they'd started in Mexico was real.

She'd run so fast she'd leave skid marks. Which was exactly why he'd gone dark for the last two days, to give her time to calm down, give her fear a chance to turn to irritation as she wondered why he hadn't called yet.

As a rule, he despised playing games with women. Jake prided himself on being straight with the women he dated. If he said he was going to call, he did. If he didn't think there was any potential, he said so, as tactfully as possible.

But he knew if he was straight with Kit and actually admitted that he thought she – Christ, it sounded disgustingly sappy in his own head – was "the one," she'd reinforce that wall she'd built around her to the point he'd never get through.

Served him right, he supposed, since he was the one who'd broken her heart by clumsily taking her virginity and never calling again. The fact that he'd wounded her so that even now, years later, the scar hadn't completely healed was evidence that she'd cared deeply about him. Ironically her fear offered the only evidence that he wasn't completely insane in his quest to win her heart.

Kit was scanning the room for their party, and Jake took the opportunity to watch her unobserved. Today she was wearing a suit, and she looked like the prototypical businesswoman fantasy come to life. Though the brown fabric was cut conservatively, the fitted jacket skimmed her curves, and her white button-front shirt was open at the neck, barely hinting at a perfectly tasteful amount of cleavage. Her skirt ended just above the knee and showed off the long line of her nicely toned calves. His mouth watered as he remembered skimming his lips up the smoothly muscled length as it rested on his shoulder.