The Idea of You (11 page)

S
HE HAD NO
idea if there was a bed anywhere convenient, but there was at least a leather couch over by the fireplace. Which they should totally turn on because sex in front of a fire—even a fake gas one—was amazing.

All thoughts of a fire, except the one he was stoking in her belly, dissolved as he kissed her. She lost herself in the sweep of his tongue, the grip of his hands on her hips pulling her against his erection, the sound of the music humming through her body and driving her pelvis into him. His fingers splayed over her ass and pressed her hard so that his cock burned her through their pants.

He tipped his head to the side and deepened the kiss, his mouth devouring hers. And she devoured him right back, clutching the back of his neck as if she might float away if she didn't hold on for all she was worth.

Her shirt was still trapped between them, bunched up over her breasts so they were bare chest to bare chest, and oh, how divine that felt. But the shirt had to go. Tonight she wanted nothing between them.

She slid her hand from his neck, pulled her mouth from his, and whisked the pajama top over her head. She'd planned to resume the kiss, but he had other ideas apparently. His head dipped to her breast, and his lips closed over her nipple. Hot and wet, his mouth suckled her with strong, deep tugs. She held his head and simply gave herself over to the sensations he was giving her. Desire, intense and insistent, pulsed through her.

“Couch,” she managed to say, desperate to get horizontal with him.

He lifted his head and picked her up, his hands cradling the underside of her ass. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the couch. Their mouths connected in another insanely hot kiss. Heat coiled in her core as she pressed against his rigid cock. She rotated her hips as they moved and groaned as he hit the perfect spot.

At the couch, she slid down his front as he clasped her hips. A new song was playing, another provocative track with a great beat that was perfect for pole dancing—or screwing.

“Fireplace,” she murmured against his mouth just before she nipped his bottom lip with her teeth.

“Oh.” He sounded surprised.

She stroked his nape, worried that she'd done something bad. “Did that hurt?”

“No. It was just . . . different.” He kissed her again, his tongue delving into her mouth. When he pulled back, he returned the favor, pulling on her lip with his teeth. “Like that?”

God, she loved how unassuming he was, utterly unguarded. “You never cease to amaze me.” She pressed her lips to his, pouring everything she had into the kiss. She clutched his neck and pushed her breasts into his chest, seeking every bit of contact she could get. He seemed to want the same as his hands came around her ass and gripped her tightly. They ground against each other, setting lights off behind her eyes as she glimpsed the orgasm that awaited her.

One of her favorite songs started—“Closer” by Nine Inch Nails—and if she wasn't already pent up with lust, she'd get there real fast with the beat pounding and this hot-as-hell man standing in front of her wearing almost nothing. But that was the problem. He was still wearing clothes. They both were.

She withdrew her arms and danced back from him, swaying her hips as she moved. She glanced at the fireplace and saw the switch on the wall. Moving fast, she flicked it on and was immediately greeted with orange-blue flame.

She turned back to face him and curved her lips into a seductive smile. “I promised you a striptease.”

His gaze was unapologetically glued to her breasts. “No, you didn't.”

“Okay, maybe not in so many words. But I did suggest strip foosball, and it seems unfair to deprive you of the stripping part. Although, pajama bottoms aren't particularly sexy.”

“Everything you wear and do is sexy.”

His words made her shiver. He said everything with such clarity, such unadulterated truth, that she couldn't help but fall under his spell—a spell he likely didn't even realize he was casting.

She lifted her hair from her shoulders and let it fall as she narrowed her eyes and swung her hips. She'd been really good at that pole dancing class.

“You are seriously torturing me,” he rasped. He flicked his gaze to hers, and she saw raw need in their depths. It was stunning in its power.

She edged the pants down over her hips, moving slowly and gratuitously for maximum effect. “I promise it'll be worth it.”

“Oh, I know it will.” He flattened his palms against his thighs. “But I'm warning you that my patience is stretched pretty thin.”

She accelerated her pace, because frankly, her patience was evaporating, too. The heat of the fire at her back drove her to take a few steps forward. That, and she wanted to be closer to him. Needed to be. She slipped the pajama bottoms down her legs and stepped out of them, kicking them to the side. Moving toward him, she swayed her hips and lifted her hands. With a flat palm, she pushed him back onto the couch. Down he went, his gaze never leaving her body and roving back and forth between her pelvis and her chest.

He reached for her panties, but she danced backward. “Uh-uh.
My
striptease.” She turned her back and stuck her ass out, taunting him with several dips and thrusts. She wished she was wearing a pair that showed her cheeks, but she hadn't packed any. Why would she have, when she'd planned to hide from the world? Instead, she was in over her head with a crazy sexy guy who ignited her passion like no one ever had before.

In over her head?

Yeah, probably, but she didn't care. Not right now.

She slipped her fingertips into the top of her panties and inched them down her hips, baring the top of her ass. She looked over her shoulder at him. His eyes were dark, inscrutable, the muscles of his jaw tight. His hands were flat on the couch on either side of him, but she could see the tendons of his arms straining and she knew she needed to bring this game to its conclusion. Which was fine with her, since she could barely wait to feel him slide inside of her.

She pushed her underwear down over her ass and ran her hand over one smooth cheek.

“Please come here.” She'd never heard such emotion in his voice. It was a plea, an entreaty for her to end his misery.

She shucked the garment entirely and stepped out of them before turning and sauntering toward him. She cupped her breasts and ran her hands down her abdomen, letting them rest against her thighs as she stopped just in front of the couch. “I'm done.”

“I haven't even started yet.” He stood up and switched their positions, then stripped his clothing away. “I'd rather not wait anymore. I'm not sure I can.”

“Me neither.” She stroked her hands over his amazing chest and let out a low moan. “You are so perfect.”

He kissed her, and she dropped to the couch, pulling him down with her. He knelt on one knee between her legs. “Hold on. Condom.”

She hadn't even seen him take it from his pocket, but she heard the plastic rip as he opened it. She reached between them and stroked his balls, cupping them and working them between her fingers.

“Damn, Alaina. You're making this hard to do.”

She laughed softly and stopped moving her hand. “My bad. Please, continue.”

“Thank you.” He finished rolling the condom on, then found her clit, his thumb rubbing and drawing a deep moan from her throat.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the couch as she opened her thighs wider. He fit himself between her legs, and the tip of his cock nudged her opening.

She clutched his hip and drew him tighter against her. He pushed inside, slowly gliding into her, and it was pure bliss. She wrapped her legs around him and squeezed his ass. “God, yes. Evan.”

He sank deeper, his cock filling her.

“Please move,” she begged.

He did as she asked, withdrawing and then surging forward once more. He did this a few times, but it was too slow. Tantalizing and teasing and deliciously infuriating. He had far more control than she did.

She put one hand on the side of his neck and stroked his cheek with her thumb. “Look at me, for just a second.” His gray eyes found hers, and his piercing look was nearly her undoing. “I want you to fuck me,” she said. “Hard, fast. Can you do that?”

He pulled out almost all the way and then slammed into her, his cock stretching her. “I can.” He pushed her hair back from her face and kissed her long and deep but didn't move between her legs. He dragged his mouth from hers and took her hand from his face. He wound his fingers with hers and pinned her hand above her head against the couch. “Hold on.”

Then he moved. And God, did he move.

His hips snapped back and forth, driving his cock into her with ruthless precision. She felt every muscle in his ass working as she gripped him tight. She clenched her legs around him even harder and thrust with him, lifting her hips and grinding with wild abandon.

Pleasure flooded through her, and she cried out as her orgasm hit. He didn't relent, and his deep strokes only intensified her sensations. Eyes closed tightly, lights flickered in the darkness as she came.

Then his muscles clenched, and he made a purely animal sound. She dug her fingers into his ass, urging him on. “Come with me, Evan.
Yes.
”

His grip on her hand tightened, and his sounds devolved into low moans as he thrust. Gradually his movements slowed, but he barely retreated, keeping himself buried inside of her.

She loved the feel of him on her, between her thighs, holding her hand. There was something more intimate about this for some reason. Maybe it was just because she hadn't had sex in so long. Or maybe it was because he was just different. Special.

He stood up. “I have to go, uh, get rid of this.”

“Sure.” She wished he hadn't left so quickly. She'd tell him that for next time. Next time? Would there be a next time? What if she had to go back home for the Oscars? She'd come back. Hell, maybe she'd get a place up here, never mind that she hadn't even really seen the town. She wanted to—but she didn't want to risk being recognized and having her hideout exposed.

There was a blanket near her feet, draped over the arm of the couch. She pulled it up and turned on her side to look at the fire. Her entire body was tired, spent. Deliciously so. She let her eyes drift close as her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

A few minutes later, she heard him come back. She opened her eyes to see he was dressed already. “You're dressed,” she said, disappointed. She could stare at his bare chest all night long. A yawn snuck up on her, and she covered her mouth. Or not—apparently she was exhausted.

“Yeah, I'm going to head up to bed. Can I walk you back to the apartment?”

She sat up, holding the blanket over her—without him next to her, she'd grown cold. She wanted to curl up next to him and fall asleep with her head against that magnificent chest of his. “You could stay there with me.”

He shook his head. “I don't like to sleep with other people.”

“Why not?”

“I like my space. Okay, that's not exactly true. When I was young, I used to sleep with Alex sometimes. He liked the company. We have a cabin on Mt. Hood, and it has a large bedroom upstairs with bunk beds where we all slept. It was often too loud and . . . busy, so I'd sleep downstairs with Alex.”

He was rambling again, but she didn't care. She liked learning these things about him. “So you've never spent the night with a woman?”

“No. I told you I wasn't very experienced.”

“How many women have you been with?”

“Four, including you.”

Now she
did
feel like a tramp. No, that was stupid. Compared to her mother, she was a nun. “Well, I'd love to sleep next to you if you ever want to try it.” She tried not to be disappointed. He didn't mean anything personal by his choice to sleep alone.

“I'll think about it. So, can I walk you to the apartment?”

“Sure, let me get dressed.”

A few minutes later, he followed her up the stairs. She grabbed her coat from the kitchen, and they left the house. Outside, she looked up at the sky again. The stars seemed even more brilliant than when she'd come over earlier. But that was her postorgasmic bliss talking, probably.

He walked her up the stairs to the door. She went inside and turned. Flashing him a hopeful smile, she said, “Last chance to change your mind.”

“I'm good.” His brow furrowed. “Wait, are you mad?”

She laughed softly. “Do I look mad? I had a great time tonight. You're incredible. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, then tell me specifically. I want plans. How about you take me to the cemetery? I'd love to see it, and it would be great to get out for a bit.”

“I can do that.”

By now she knew that nailing him down garnered better results. “What time?”

“I need to work in the morning. Two?”

“Sounds great. Should you set a reminder in your phone or something?”

He smiled fleetingly. “Damn, you know me so well already. Yeah, I'll do that when I get back. But maybe you should text me a reminder.”

She shook her head, thinking he was more high maintenance than most women, albeit in a different way. “Happy to.” She stood on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his mouth. “See you tomorrow.”

“Night.”

He turned and left, and she closed the door with a sigh. As she texted him a reminder, she hoped she wouldn't have to return to LA. Or maybe she'd just skip the Oscars altogether.

E
VAN HURRIED TOWARD
the apartment from his office. He was running a few minutes late because he'd been working on Alex's book. Being with Alaina had opened up a floodgate of creativity, both for his job at Archer and with writing the book, which had taken a somewhat romantic turn. The protagonist had a girlfriend who was maybe patterned a little after Alaina. Or a lot. Whatever. He felt good writing it.