That Man 3 (12 page)

We came together.

*

We spent the rest of the afternoon fucking and cuddling. We shared silly intimate
things like childhood stories, dreams, and scars. While I had many, each with a story
that captivated him, Mr. Beautiful only had one small battle scar on his back—the
result of a fight he’d had with his sister, Marcy, when he was a youngster. The stories
he told me about the two of them growing up together had me roaring with laughter.
The funniest of all was the time his sister, ten years older and a gynecologist, found
him in her office fucking one of his high school teachers with her feet in the stirrups.
I laughed until I cried. Blake Burns was indeed a very naughty boy and I loved him
all the more for it.

Outside, the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shoreline sounded in my ears.
Before long, the sky darkened, and exhausted from all the love and laughter, I dozed
off, tucked in his brawny arm with my head on his warm taut chest. His heart beat
like a lullaby in my ears.

When we awoke, it was almost eight o’clock. Ravenous after a long, mind-blowing shower,
we dressed casually in sweats and made dinner together in the enormous, state-of-the-art
kitchen. The menu: lobster, champagne, and my mother’s chocolate chip cookies. He’d
bought the lobsters and champagne before picking me up at the airport.

I’d never eaten lobster before, and I had a hard time dropping the live, red-shelled
creature into a large pot of warm water that was going to put it to sleep before it
boiled away. Blake had told me this was a less cruel way of preparing the delicacy—the
lobster would feel no pain—but it didn’t really help.

“Blake, I can’t do it!” I cried, holding the monstrous squirming crustateon in my
hand. I was practically in tears.

“Think about some one you hate and name the lobster after him. It helps.” Standing
behind me, he pressed his erection into my backside and blew hotly on my neck. “I
named mine Springer.”

I visibly shuddered. Though Springer was now behind bars, the mention of him triggered
a shiver that zigzagged down my spine. The claws of my lobster snapped, adding further
to my distress.

Blake noticed my unease and tenderly kissed the top of my head. “I’m sorry, baby.
I shouldn’t have said his name.” He glanced at my agitated lobster. “Do you want me
to put your lobster in the pot?”

“No, I want to do it,” I said, recovering and happy
that
monster was going to boil to death slowly.

Smiling, Blake asked me again, “So what’s your guy’s name?”

I stared at my big, red-clawed shellfish. A name instantly came to my mind. “Bradley.”
Yeah, my lobster looked like a Bradley.
Dickwick.
Laughing with me, Blake held me in his arms as I dropped Bradley into the pot and
said adieu.

The lobsters took no time to cook, and we sat down to eat right at the island counter
in the kitchen. Blake tied a silly lobster bib around my neck and showed me how to
eat one with the help of a nutcracker and special pick-like fork. The irony of it
all was that Bradley tasted so melt-in-your-mouth good with all that melted butter.
Blake told me lobster was an aphrodisiac and an ideal source of low-fat protein, much
needed for a long night of seduction. I believed him. I watched him expertly crack
a claw and as that snowy white meat pour out, I felt myself heated up and aroused.
I took a sip of my bubbly champagne.

At a little before nine, Blake popped another bottle of champagne. He led me to a
room off the kitchen and turned on one of the many TVs. Ryan Seacrest was hosting
the ball drop at New York’s Times Square where it was going on midnight. On a plush,
comfy sofa, I curled up in Blake’s arms and watched the crowd go wild with the countdown.
Five…
four… three… two… one!

As the ball crashed onto Times Square, Blake’s lips crashed onto mine. The kiss was
lush and lingering.
Auld Lang Syne
filtered in my ear. The original words of the poem.

Should Old Acquaintance be forgot, and never thought upon;

The flames of Love extinguished, and fully past and gone.

Bradley Wick, DDS, was now past, gone, and out of my life. There was only one man
in the world for me who oddly shared a last name with Robert Burns, my father’s favorite
poet, who’d written these words. Blake Burns. His being consumed me and brought passionate
tears to my eyes.

“Happy New Year, tiger,” he said softly, gwawing at my lips.

“Happy New Year, Blake,” I repeated, not able to get enough of him.

He made me insatiable and I did the same for him. We craved each other. Placing my
hand on his heavy arousal, he breathed, “Let’s end this year with a bang.”

*

Blake, always full of surprises, had one more in store for me before the New Year
dawned. The Jacuzzi. Big enough to accommodate a dozen people, it was built into an
expansive deck outside the house.

Our bare bodies buried in the bubbly water, Blake sat close to me. One strapping arm
curled around my shoulders while the hand of the other held a lit cigar. The stars
and the full moon sparkled overhead in the blackened sky. The steamy water gurgled
while Céline Dion piped through hidden speakers, and in the near distance, I could
hear the waves of the ocean softly ebb and flow. The intense warm jets of water sprayed
my upper back and between my thighs, feeling so tingly good. I was in love, lust,
and paradise. It couldn’t get more magical than this.

“Tiger, do you mind if I smoke this cigar?” Blake asked, already blowing out a puff
of smoke. “It’s kind of a New Year’s tradition.”

I inhaled. The smell of the tobacco mixing with the salty sea air was heady. To my
surprise, I loved it. I took the cigar from him and put it to my mouth. I inhaled
and choked.

“No problem,” I coughed out, reaching for my flute of champagne. I took a calming
sip.

“Stop showing off,” he laughed, taking the cigar back in his hand. He inhaled another
puff and I glared at him. Mesmerized by the way he held the cigar between his long
fingers and sucked on the tip, drawing in his cheeks and lowering his eyes. Equally
sexy was the way he pursed his kissable lips and blew out the smoke.

“You know, baby. My father once told me a fine cigar is like a fine woman. You have
to warm her before you assault her.”

His words made my heart flutter. “Blake, when was the first time you knew you loved
me?” I asked as a ring of smoke mingled with the steam from the Jacuzzi.

He placed the cigar on a close by ashtray and turned to face me. His eyes glinted
in the moonlight. Damn he was beautiful. And oh so sexy. He twirled my damp ponytail
with his hand.

“It could have been love at first sight. When you kissed me blindfolded at my club.
Something changed in me. Then after the Springer thing, I knew if something happened
to you, I couldn’t live. You’re my air, baby. I need you to breathe.”

A trail of sparks blazed through my body. He loved me right from the beginning. He
repeated my question.

Tracing his kissable lips, I said, “Vegas. When I danced with you.” Ironically, a
Céline Dion version of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” the song we danced to,
was piping through the hidden speakers. Maybe he’d intentionally programmed it. I
shifted a little and the powerful jet beneath me stimulated my clit.

He tugged at my ponytail. “It took you that long?” His voice was playfully miffed.

I twisted a smile. No, it hadn’t. The truth: I think I’d loved him the minute my mouth
set down on his in that game of Truth or Dare too. I’d felt the earth move in my heart.
Maybe it was lust. It didn’t matter because I wasn’t going to tell him.

We imbibed some champagne and glanced up at the starry sky. My head rested on his
rugged chest.

“Jennifer, do you know why the moon and the stars shine?”

I shook my head. The words of the beautiful song were affecting me. The jets were
affecting me. He was affecting me. Desire was bubbling inside me. “Why?”

Because they’re making love to the sky.”

“Lighting it up,” I replied dreamily, my eyes focused on the many constellations above
us.

He drew me closer. Passion sparked in his eyes. “Jennifer McCoy, you are my moon and
shining star. My universe.”

In a breath, I was sitting on top of him. Riding him to the heavens. Lighting him
up. Lighting myself up.

We came together like comets flaring and whispered, in unison, three celestial words.

“I love you.”

Jennifer

I
woke up to the sound of crashing waves and squawking gulls. Blinking my eyes open,
I was still nestled in naked bliss against Blake’s warm chest. One arm was wrapped
around me, the other draped across the duvet. I swiveled my head and gazed at him.
God, he was beautiful. His lush lips were parted slightly and strands of his bedhead
hair fell forward onto his forehead. The morning sunlight beamed through the bedroom’s
wraparound windows and cast him in a golden haze. I couldn’t help tracing my finger
around his lightly stubbled jaw. He stirred and then his long-lashed eyelids flittered.
Opening one eye at a time, he met my gaze.

“Hi.” His raspy morning voice was sexy as sin as was the adorable lopsided smile that
accompanied it.

“Hi,” I echoed. I sounded like a shy kindergartener meeting her teacher on the first
day of school. I just couldn’t believe all this was real. That this was happening
to me.

Keeping his half-closed, contemplative eyes trained on me, he circled my lips with
his index finger. The ticklish sensation sent a jolt of tingles to my already heated
center. On the second rotation, my lips clamped down on his deft finger and sucked
it. A sound, something between a hum and a moan, filled the back of my throat.

“Oh, baby,” he moaned back. “You’re fucking turning me on.”

Expecting him to fuck me on the spot, he bolted up to a sitting position, taking me
with him. He massaged my shoulders and breathed against my neck. “C’mon. Let’s take
a shower together.”

With a smack of his lips against mine, he rolled off the bed and rose to his feet.
My eyes traveled down his swoon-worthy body, with its chiseled six pack and perfect
pelvic V that led to his rippled thighs and outrageous thick length. My gaze stayed
glued on the latter. To say he was endowed was an un­der­state­ment.

“What are you staring at?” That cocky smile flashed on his ravishing face.

“You.” I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment and impulsively flung the covers
over my head.

With a swoosh, the covers came off. He was hovering above me. All six foot three of
his manly gorgeousness.

“You can stare at me all you want in the shower. Now, come on.”

Before I could say a word, I was in his arms, being carried away to our first New
Year’s Day activity.

The guest bathroom was amazing. I’d never seen one like it except in those high-priced
design magazines I peeked at while waiting in the supermarket checkout line. It was
seriously bigger than my living room—all creamy tranquil marble with travertine floors
and state-of-the-art fixtures. There was even a chaise lounge and a fireplace. A huge
freestanding porcelain tub stood before a window overlooking the ocean, and by another,
stood a glass-encased shower stall, the size of my bedroom. In fact, bigger.

Blake opened the shower door and set me down. He turned on several faucets and powerful
jets of water sprayed me from everywhere. Blake drew me against him, my back to his
chest. I could feel his erection against me.

“Are you going to fuck me?” I asked as he soaped me up and nuzzled my shoulders.

“Not until I do this first, tiger.”

The soap fell out of his hand onto the slick marble floor, and I suddenly felt a slippery
fingertip at my backdoor. I let out a yelp.

“Have you ever been touched here?” he asked.

“No,” I gasped. Seriously, did he even have to ask?