Voyeur (10 page)

Yes, this was too much, and it had simply gotten too
real.

And that's why it had to end, once and for al .

Much to her surprise, Laura stil managed to get some writing done, despite the morning upset with Braden. She'd waited to return to the computer

until she felt certain he'd be busy doing other things, and as hoped, no IMs arrived. Outside the window, the sun shone brightly, the sky crisp and

blue above a sparkling mantle of snow, and it somehow lifted her spirits and helped the words flow onto the page. Her only fear by day's end was

that much of the afternoon's work might eventual y have to be scrapped—for she was beginning to fear Riley was obsessed with Sloane Bennett ad

nauseam.

That night, another hamburger, this one eaten in front of the TV—where sitcoms reigned. No reading, no thinking—just sitcoms. When ten o'clock

rol ed around, she felt predictably tense. And she even glanced at the computer once or twice, but she wasn't tempted. In fact, she didn't know if she was imagining it, but she had the oddest feeling that he wasn't even there—as if he'd final y real y believed her when she'd said it was over.

Of course, just as Riley had thought of Sloane al day, so had Laura thought of Braden. She didn't regret her decision, but she supposed she wished

things were somehow different—wished they'd met under more normal circumstances through Monica . . . heck, wished they'd real y even
met.

Then again, if they'd met through Monica at some family event, Braden Stone wouldn't even have noticed her. She wasn't the blond bombshel type

she suspected could general y be found on his arm, not the type he probably would have categorized as even a
possibility
—if he'd not stumbled

across her masturbating in the living room of his vacation home. As she shut off the TV a few minutes later, then headed upstairs, she shook her

head once more, not quite able to believe she'd touched herself that way in the first place, let alone where it had led.

A few minutes later, she lay down to sleep in a pink cami and a pair of cheerful y striped flannel pants. She felt at once adrift, yet also settled,

centered. The excitement with her voyeur had ended now—but that was okay. She would write her book, go home at the end of her retreat, and life

would get back to normal. And that's what Laura thrived on—normalcy.

Wasn't it?

She ignored the vague sense of loneliness she felt for the first time since arriving here—
writers like to be alone, remember?
she lectured herself—

and tried to fal asleep peering out yet another enormous picture window at a bright, nearly ful moon hanging low in the Colorado sky.

When blessed sleep came, it brought dreams. Of Braden. Of sex.

Only . . . when a kiss came on her cheek, waking her, she knew instantly it wasn't a dream, nor was the warm male body crawling into bed with her.

She should have panicked, but didn't. Somehow she knew it was him, and that this wasn't real y over at al —even before he said low, near her ear,

"Don't be scared, honey. It's just me."

She stil hovered on the edge of sleep, that place where everything was dreamy—yet there was no doubt in her mind that he was very real. She

whispered his name. "Braden."

"I couldn't let it end," he breathed warm and wicked in her ear.

She lay facing away from him in the bed and could feel his erection— that quickly—pressing into the crack of her ass. One large hand curled

around her waist, fingers splaying wide across her stomach through her top as he lowered a scintil ating kiss to her neck. It set off explosions of

pleasure inside her.

She never once thought of objecting, stopping him. Having him here, next to her, touching her, after the things she'd longed for and the intimacies

they'd already shared ... there was no
hope
of stopping, no reason to
try.
She didn't have sex with strangers, but this was different. Maybe because he no longer
felt
so much like a stranger, having come to her like this. Or maybe just because he felt too overwhelmingly good, the sex dripping off of him and onto her like something tangible that instantly consumed her. Either way, she wanted it with her whole self.

He stroked and caressed her bel y, his fingers finding the skin between cami and waistband and then flirting with the underside of her breast, al the while delivering more kisses to her neck, shoulder. Her whole body rippled with the supreme pleasure of final y having his hands on her, of having

him in her bed.

When his palm closed over her breast, she moaned and instinctively arched into his touch. His breath grew heavy, hot, as he massaged her with a

slow, intoxicating rhythm that quickly swal owed her, helping her forget to think and only to feel. His cock grew harder against her rear, and she

found herself pushing back against it, wanting to feel even more. Braden growled softly in response, and the sound ran al through her, heightening

her excitement.

Rol ing to her back beneath him, she lifted her hands to his cheeks, studied his face. How strange to be in bed with a man whose eyes she'd never

before looked into. Oh God, he was beautiful—even more than in the photo. Dark, thick hair framed strong features and expressive eyes, even

seen only in the moonlight. She couldn't quite make out the color—brown, she thought. Deep and warm. Dark stubble covered his chin, and she

grew aware that he wore a T-shirt and jeans, stretched out against her.

He peered boldly back at her the whole time, clearly taking in her face, as wel , his look devouring her until final y he lowered a slow, passionate kiss to her lips. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she met his sensual y prodding tongue with her own. Short French kisses mingled with longer,

deeper meetings of mouths until she was lost in it—and utterly thunderstruck.

No man had ever kissed her this way, this . . . perfectly from the start. It was as if they'd been kissing each other for eons, as if they knew exactly how the other would respond, how lengthy or fleeting the kisses should be, how passionate or lingering. She felt strangely and suddenly like a

schoolgirl, as if she could have kissed him al night and it would have been enough to satisfy her.

Until, of course, his palms returned to her breasts, capturing them both with unabashed possessiveness, massaging gently but thoroughly, and

drawing a long, hard sigh from deep within her. His hands were skil ed, confident—they owned her on contact—and, just as she'd somehow known,

were way better at pleasuring her than even her own.

The kisses went on as he kneaded her and slipped his thigh between her legs beneath the sheets. His erection jutted rock-solid against her hip,

and they moved together in rhythmic bliss as Braden pushed her top up over her breasts.

His strong hands molded to the outer curves as she peered down to see them within his grasp, the peaks taut and pink. He looked, too, then met

her eyes only briefly before dropping down to capture one sensitive nipple in his mouth.

"Ohhh . . ." she moaned as the pleasure expanded through her with the pul of his lips. She curled her fingers into his hair and watched as he suckled deeply—
yes, yes
—then opened his eyes to lock them on hers. The connection was startlingly intimate—but they'd already been intimate in far more bizarre ways, so she didn't look away.

He released her from his mouth, stil meeting her gaze, to drag his tongue up over the pointed pink tip. She saw the wetness he'd left, glistening in

the moonlight. He moved his tongue in a slow circle around her nipple, ending with the leisurely licks one might give an ice cream cone.

She trembled at his ministrations, literal y thought she'd come apart soon. But she didn't want to come yet—she wasn't a multiple orgasm sort of

girl, so she needed to save it, needed to soak up more of him before she climaxed.

She said the words she'd been saying to him in her mind, without even an ounce of hesitation—although they came out breathy. "Fuck me, Braden.

Fuck me." Like other certain words, she seldom used that one, but Braden had brought it out of her almost natural y, in front of the webcam, and

now.

He kissed her again, heatedly, then leaned near her ear to whisper a promise. "I'm gonna fil you up, honey."

With that, he reached for the drawstring on her pants and pul ed, then grabbed for the waistband, taking her panties as wel when she lifted her ass.

She shoved at his T-shirt as she kicked her pants off—what had been slow and rhythmic up to now had just turned more argent. She had to have

him inside her. Her body ached for him. Her pussy pulsed with need.

Above her, Braden ripped his shirt off over his head, then unzipped his jeans and pushed them off with her help. His cock stretched naked now

against her bare thigh, so utterly hard, and damp at the end, making her cunt surge yet again .The sheets concealed him from the waist down, but

his chest appeared broad and his arms and shoulders sculpted in the shadowy light.

She watched as he reached for the jeans he'd just discarded, digging in a pocket, flipping open a wal et. She waited, trying to be patient, as he tore into a smal packet. Unfortunately, the blankets blocked the moonlight from il uminating his erection as he rol ed the condom on.

He pushed her legs apart with both hands, and she savored his masculine touch on her inner thighs. "Fuck me," she said again. Just letting that inner bad girl back out some more. Just to excite him.

"Soon," he replied, stunning her.

Soon?
Before she could protest, though, Braden disappeared swiftly under the covers and, a few seconds later, dragged one long, luxurious lick up the center of her pussy. "Oh God!" she cried, the pleasure spiraling through her like electricity, leaving her astonished she didn't come just from that.

And then he was moving smoothly back up her body, positioning his hips over hers, pushing at her moisture, forcing his way inside, and—God, he

was
big! She pul ed in her breath at the marvelous impact, adjusting to the sense of ful ness, quite sure she'd never been with a man so large. He hadn't lied—about fil ing her up. Or the Washington Monument. She involuntarily curled her fingernails into his smooth shoulders, her teeth clenched.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded, tried to speak. "You're huge."

His grin shone with manly arrogance. "Told you."

"I've never . . . um .. ." She couldn't form words.

"Does it hurt?"

She gave her head a shake against the pil ow. "No. I'm just trying ... to get used to . . ." She was squeezing the phrases out between heavy breaths.

"Does this help?" he asked and began to move, to thrust in slow, even drives.

Oh God, did it. "More," she whimpered.

Her eyes fel shut, but she sensed his conceited grin. "I'l give you more, al right, baby. I'l give you al you can handle."

She bit her lower lip as he increased his strokes, making them longer, deeper. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, locking at the

ankles. He groaned in response, his hands molding to her hips as he pumped into her. "I knew you'd be tight, baby, so wet and tight for me."

Laura had found his dirty talk arousing on the computer, but hearing it in that deep, seductive voice nearly stole her breath. This man knew exactly

how to do something no other man ever had—make her forget al about being sensible and conservative. "Are you going to do what you

promised?" she whispered up to him.

His hands slid to her breasts, his thumbs brushing across her beaded nipples. "What's that, honey?"

"Are you going to fuck the conservatism right out of me?"

A naughty grin accompanied the lecherous sparkle of his eyes. "Oh
yeah,
baby."

He plunged into her harder then, making her cry out with each firm thrust. She lifted her hands over her head, pressing them to the large wooden

headboard for leverage. Her body was growing more used to him—less overwhelmed, al owing her to sink deeper into pure pleasure. Not only the

physical pleasure of having him inside her, but the mental pleasure, too. The knowledge that she'd never done this before, slept with a man she

didn't know very wel , and that he was utter perfection and that it was exciting as hel . Everything she saw was like a visual assault: his dark, sexy eyes, his large hands massaging her breasts, their bodies moving together in a heated rush.

He went so long and hard in her that she was sure he'd come, and she didn’t even care whether or not
she
did, because this was an entirely

different kind of pleasure, unrelated to orgasm, about nothing but the way their bodies connected, the slick interlock, the powerful drives that

reverberated al through her. She loved absorbing every hot stroke he delivered, loved the little cries they forced from her throat, the way she felt

nearly out of her head with lusty joy, unable to think clearly, only to soak it in.

"I want to make you come," she heard herself say.

He softened his thrusts, took her face in his hands. "Not yet, baby."

She didn’t argue. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't exactly ready for this to be over just yet, either. But she gasped when he eased back,

drawing out of her. She'd never felt so abandoned and empty in her life. "What. . . ?" she heard herself utter in shock.

Rol ing over, he pul ed her on top of him until she straddled his thighs. Using two ringers, he plucked at one shoulder strap of her cami. "Take this off."

She obliged, removing it over her head.

He skimmed his hands slowly over her from hips to shoulders, then back again, gently tweaking her nipples along the way. She slid her palms up

his firm stomach onto his chest, dusted with dark hair. Her eyes dropped to his penis, stil rock-hard, arcing up his abdomen in the moonlight, past