EXCERPT
PROLOGUE
The wrestling crowd exploded in a deafening, reverberating chant, ‘Wild Man Harris’, shouted by the men and screamed by the ladies as Raymond Lee Harris sauntered toward the ring.
His red, white and blue cape swung backwards and flared up, caught in the draft of wind generated by two huge rafter-mounted fans, turned on per his instruction. It was all part of his show, purposefully hyping his motto of ‘Wild Man Harris, always ready to fly into action’.
His skin-tight purple trunks hugged his six foot four frame, leaving little to the imagination, emphasized the obvious—Lee ‘Wild Man’ Harris was definitely well endowed. And as his muscled upper torso, his broad chest, ripped abs and perfectly tapered body were exposed, Lee lifted his hand in a wave.
Flashing his famous, white-toothed smile to the ladies in the front row, he paused briefly to tease them by flexing his pectorals. Then, following his trademark gesture, he blew them a kiss and one—a pretty, blonde-headed girl he guessed to be in her late teens—struggled to unhook and wiggle out of her bra, which she tossed to him as he drew near her. Lee chuckled as he caught it mid-air, kissed it and tossed it back to her.
This kind of over-the-top accolade still astonished Lee. Ever since he’d won the championship title the year prior it had been this way. Drinking it in, glancing around, Lee wondered what those rabid fans would say if they knew this on-stage persona, which he’d worked hard to perpetuate over the years, was absolutely contrary to his true personality.
Lee was actually shy in his everyday world encounters. He preferred reading a good book and cooking a gourmet meal to enjoy at home with his family; his family being his three best friends and the one lady they all loved, Kayla.
Yet here, in the midst of this adoring crowd of strangers, Lee preened as was expected of him, donning that one-eighty degree different personality as easily as he had the cape, to give his fans the show they anticipated. The show he knew they had paid to see.
With those conflicting thoughts running through his mind, Lee executed his usual agile and flamboyant flip over the ropes to enter the ring, unhooked his cape and tossed it to his manager before bowing to the audience.
With his second glance at the upturned faces, Lee frowned in confusion as he spotted Kayla and her other “husbands”, Harm, Luke and J.J. He wasn’t surprised to see Luke and Harm because he knew they enjoyed wrestling, but Kayla and J.J.? This didn’t make sense. Neither of them liked wresting, especially Kayla who had said more than once she considered the sport barbaric.
Something was wrong—very wrong! Lee suddenly knew it as the bell rang, followed by a jarring rendition that pounded through his head of his adopted theme song, Hail to the Chief. Everything began to waver as that sound became a sharp pain.
Frowning, Lee glanced down at them again, but they had all vanished. Even the crowd was gone. Nothing was left but that insistent ringing and the pain that throbbed behind his eyes.
Lee awoke from the dream with a start, confused, his heart rate accelerated with anxiety as he struggled back to the present. Then the truth hit him with brutal force and he lay wishing he could go back to sleep and pick up the threads of that dream.
Unable to shake off a lethargic sense of depression, Lee glanced at his watch. It was 7:30 p.m. He’d silently vowed to stop taking these late afternoon naps which he’d fallen into the habit of doing, not only because his energy seemed to be sapped by around three every day, but also to kill time in unconscious mode.
Disgusted with himself, Lee exhaled a long breath as he stared dully up at the intricate, ceiling-mounted lift that allowed him to lift and lower himself from the bed to his wheelchair without assistance. A familiar rage swept over him. He hated that device! He hated his useless legs! He hated waking up at all.
The ringing persisted. It drew his attention to his cell phone, which he’d forgotten to put on vibrate. Cursing, he snatched it up from the bedside table, glaring at the caller ID.
It was Harm Pranston again, his once best friend and former co-husband. Harm had called periodically since Lee had been released from the hospital, but Lee had never answered. He didn’t want to talk, especially to someone who’d known him in his prime, when he was a complete man. The last thing he needed was to be pitied for being half a man. That was how Lee saw himself now—incomplete–the best part of him gone forever.
With an exasperated sigh, knowing he couldn’t dodge talking to Harm forever and believing if he did, Harm would just show up on the doorstep, Lee answered the call. He choked back tears as he heard the relief in his best friend’s voice.
“Lee? This is Harm. How are you, buddy? I’ve called several times, even left a couple of messages. Glad you picked up this time.”
CHAPTER 1
The Gods of Destiny
Thirty-one-year-old Cassandra Sheppard stood nervously outside Lee Harris’ door, building up her courage to ring the bell. She had lobbied for this therapist job, ever since she’d heard about it from Martin Long, the manager of the outpatient rehab center, out of which she worked on a temporary basis when not employed by some individual client.
It had been like a dream come true, hearing that Lee Harris was the one who was seeking a live-in therapist. Cassandra had shrugged off Martin’s warnings that Lee was an extremely difficult patient; that he threw temper tantrums, not to mention the fact that his language left much to be desired.
She had assured Martin that not only was she the one who could manage Lee, but she was the only one he should recommend. Then she reminded him of her motto, which she religiously followed and instilled in all her patients, and which had garnered amazing results with which Martin couldn’t argue.
“I won’t give up on Mr. Harris, Martin. You know my motto—‘you can give out but you never give up and in the end, you win’. I will make Mr. Harris a winner. Will you recommend me?”
Martin had relented against his better judgment, saying as a parting gesture, that if she found herself in deeper than she wanted to be, give him a call and he’d come to the rescue.
Recalling that, Cassandra thought, deeper than I want to be? Impossible. I want to go as deep into Lee Harris’ life, and hopefully his heart, as I can.
It seemed that fate, or the Gods of Destiny, were on her side because here she was, at the door of the one man she had obsessed over for years!
Cassandra had followed Lee Harris’ wrestling career from his first match, which she’d gone to with a boyfriend she quickly forgot about as she laid eyes on the man of her dreams, to the last. It was that last farewell match that she recalled now—Lee stopping to wink at her—catching the bra she tossed at him, kissing it and tossing it back.
Her then boyfriend, whose name she had long forgotten, had gotten up and left in a huff when she did that, but she hadn’t cared. She had gotten noticed by Lee and that was all that mattered. She still had that bra.
Smiling with that memory, Cassandra remembered how her friends had kidded her about her obsession with the wrestling mania. She’d never confided to anyone that it wasn’t the wrestling she loved—it was Lee Harris.
Biting her lip, Cassandra took in a deep breath to steady her nerves, than rang the doorbell. While she waited for Lee to answer the door, she wondered what he would think of her; wondered if maybe he might even remember that wide-eyed, star-struck bleached-blonde girl who had tossed him her bra.
Of course, she realized she looked very different now. She had long since allowed her hair to return to its natural shade and she wore less make-up. In her twenties, she’d piled it on in order to at least look her age because when she was actually in her twenties, she looked like a teenager.
Good genes, she always said, when someone commented on the fact that she never seemed to age. Her raven-colored hair had miraculously survived the bleaching process and now fell softly around her shoulders, full and lustrously shiny.
Fighting back a flash of impatience, Cassandra rang the doorbell again. She strained to hear a noise from inside to indicate that he was approaching the door, while she mentally calmed herself.
* * *
Lee wheeled down the wide hallway and entered the special elevator he’d had installed in the two-story home his manager, at his request, had purchased and had had the specific renovations done that would ensure Lee could be independent after being discharged from the hospital.
Once down on the first floor, Lee easily maneuvered the living/dining room, sparse in its decor for easy wheelchair access, and rolled into the spacious kitchen. For a minute, he just sat looking at the specially designed cooking area, everything lowered to accommodate a wheelchair-bound individual choosing to prepare his own meals.
Cooking had always been Lee’s great love, just a notch below his love for what had once been his perfect polyandry life with Kayla and the guys. But both those loves were in the past.
Lee ground his teeth in frustration as those memories floated through his mind—laughing at one of Harm’s jokes while they all sat around the kitchen island in Kayla’s house, which they preferred over the formal dining room–Kayla and the guys bragging about his cooking—later picking up Kayla, cradling her in his arms as he effortlessly carried her upstairs and into the bedroom.
That last image caused him to wince. The thought of never being able to pick any woman up and carry her again, never to walk again, made him almost physically sick to his stomach. Swallowing hard, Lee studied his perfect kitchen, shaking his head, feeling mutated and useless.
Before the plane crash that had left him paralyzed, food, and the preparing of it, had been one of the ultimate pleasures in Lee’s life. It had led to his opening a chain of gourmet restaurants, a chain he still owned but never visited anymore to try his hand at some new recipe to delight his patrons. He recalled his co-husbands teasing him about it, and pointing out his expanding waistline, saying it was like he lived to eat.
Now a pale version of his former self, Lee just ate to live and sometimes wondered why he even bothered. The tan he’d acquired before the crash had long since dissipated and even though his tremendous upper body muscle mass was still visible, what Lee saw when he looked in a mirror now was a dwindling shadow of the vibrant man he had once been.
Muttering obscenities, Lee heard the doorbell chime again. He glanced at the black-rimmed kitchen clock. It was 8:00 p.m., so he assumed it was his new therapist who he’d been told would be arriving around this time.
Though he’d vehemently vetoed the idea of a live-in ‘nursemaid’, as he considered someone who would be hovering about trying to help him do everyday things he was determined to do for himself, he had finally agreed to a live-in therapist for a trial period. But only after his former agent/manager and now his only remaining friend, had worn him down with unrelenting persistence, soliciting his vow to at least give it six months.
Lee had gone through four therapists at the outpatient therapy clinic before being released from the hospital’s rehab center. He didn’t blame them for giving up on him; for not putting up with his short-temper. He realized he was far from being an easy patient–patient being the operative word that, when the therapists used it, immediately sent Lee into rage mode.
The mild-mannered, easy-going days of the old ‘complete man’ Lee were over. Now, inner rage drove the crippled shell of him through each day, and each day his fuse got shorter. It didn’t take much for him to explode and tell the therapists how stupid he thought what they were telling him to try and do was; that it all was a senseless waste of time; that he was a damned cripple and would always be a cripple. So why bother?
Lee dreaded meeting this new therapist. He already regretted having given his word to give it a six-month trial. He envisioned another muscle-bound guy who would strut in, confident and manly, making him feel even more diminished than he was.
The chiming doorbell jarred Lee out of his morose reverie. With a resigned, inhaled breath, he rolled out of the kitchen, down the hall to the front door and opened it. He stared at the woman who stood, clutching the handle of a roll-away bag.
“Hello, Mr. Harris,” she said. “I’m Cassandra Sheppard, your new therapist.”
A woman? Not muscle-bound by any means. In fact, the exact opposite. She was perhaps five foot five at the most, curvy, tanned, with wavy, shoulder-length dark hair, a dazzling white smile that she flashed at him, dimples at full mast. Not at all what Lee was expecting. He sat staring at her, incredulous, his disapproval and disbelief clearly outlined in his scowl. His long dormant cock twitched despite his determination to feel nothing but antipathy.
Cassie did see his disapproval and imagined what he was thinking as he just continued to stare. She waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. She managed to conceal the fact that this awkward silence was making her nervous.
Something about Cassandra struck a chord in Lee. His frown deepened as he tried to grasp what it was. She seemed vaguely familiar, but he summarily dismissed that thought. How could he possibly know her?
As Cassie’s large, brown eyes caught and held his, she insinuated herself through the door, forcing Lee to wheel backwards. She shut the door behind herself, saying in a professional, no-nonsense tone, “As soon as you show me to my room, we’ll discuss the exercises you’ll be doing. Oh, I was told you have a completely equipped rehab gym, plus an indoor lap pool. That’s good. Swimming is a great way to keep in shape while we build up those leg muscles. I hope your rehab gym includes an Exoskeleton suit.”
“What the hell is an Exoskeleton suit?” Lee snapped.
Hiding her triumphant smile, proud that she’d at least gotten him to speak, Cassie said nonchalantly, “Oh, that’s something you’ll be using before long to walk again.”
Lee snorted in disgust, the gentleman in him demanding he withhold the string of expletives that were on the tip of his tongue. He’d never disrespected a woman in his life and whatever else this therapist was, she was definitely a woman.
Chapter One
Kayla relaxed in her chair, smiling to herself, remembering her wonderful night with Harm—the massage, the fantastic foreplay, the slow and tantalizing sex that had left her comfortably drained and completely satisfied. But now to the order of the day. With a sigh, she sat up straighter and buzzed her secretary.
“Send in my first appointment please, Amelia.”
“She hasn’t arrived yet, Doctor. But there is someone here to see you. A reporter. A Mr. Devon Walker, from Your Health Today magazine. Shall I show him in?”
“I wasn’t expecting a reporter.”
“He said he knows he doesn’t have an appointment, but would you please just give him a moment?”
“All right, send him in.”
Trey entered, turning to thank the secretary before she closed the door. He stood, politely waiting for an invitation to sit from Kayla Saradon. While he waited, and their eyes held, Trey got his first impression of the woman. And it was quite an impression.
She was nothing like what he’d imagined—not hard or gritty or calculating. She was, in fact, the total opposite. Soft, feminine, and yet exuding a subtle strength that he concluded probably put her patients at ease. It was obvious to him she was determined to disguise her natural beauty with the severe hairdo and the loosely fitted suit. But she hadn’t succeeded. He was shocked at the way she seemed to emanate sensuality. The kind that is so deeply engrained, it can’t be muted, no matter the effort.
Kayla Saradon was, to say the least, the most striking woman he had seen in a long time, with the most compelling green eyes that she now turned on him in an inquisitive stare.
Trey immediately understood the pull she might influence over a nineteen-year-old boy, if indeed she had.
Hell, I feel it myself. I’d be her pool boy if she asked.
Out loud he said, “I appreciate your taking the time to see me, Dr. Saradon.”
“I don’t have that much time, I’m afraid. Won’t you be seated, Mr. Walker?”
He sat down across from her desk, offering a smile, which she returned, but just barely.
“You say you’re from Your Health Today?”
“Yes. I’d like to do a story on you.”
“On me? Or my work?”
“Actually, on you personally. The woman behind the work, so to speak.”
“And do you have a business card, Mr. Walker?”
“Certainly.”
Trey handed her one of his bogus cards and watched her eye it critically before lifting those astonishing eyes back to him.
“Sorry to tell you this, but I don’t do personal interviews of that sort, Mr. Walker. By that I mean I do not wish my personal life to be an issue when other people’s mental health should be. I consider myself simply a conduit for my patients.”
“I understand. That’s admirable of you. But your admirers would like to get to know the famous Dr. Saradon in a personal way.”
“Famous? I hardly think that’s the case. I certainly don’t warrant that kind of attention, nor do I wish it. I consider the work I do important, and that is what I would like to advertise—for want of a better word. Not myself.”
Trey could feel the personal interview angle slipping downhill fast. He decided to change tactics. “I’ll be honest with you, Dr. Saradon.”
With raised eyebrows, she said pithily, “That would be nice. What have you not been honest about, Mr. Walker?”
Trey was impressed with the way she cut to the chase. He decided she was probably an excellent psychiatrist. “It isn’t that I haven’t been honest exactly, I just haven’t been as forthcoming as I suppose I should have been.”
“You definitely have my attention. Proceed.”
“You see, I’m a freelance reporter and this is my first assignment with Your Health Today, a kind of test if you will, and if I don’t get some kind of personal interview, I’m afraid any future assignments will be out of the question. I hate sounding needy, but I sure would appreciate some kind of literary bone tossed my way.”
“I see. Well, I certainly don’t wish you to lose your connection there, Mr. Walker. But other than what I’m sure you already know, statistically speaking, because I’m sure you’ve done your homework, I don’t know what I can tell you.”
“Just to be able to quote you would help—like on your marital status or possible marriage plans for the future. Whether or not you’d like to have children one day. Or your long-range goals in terms of your profession. Whether or not you’ve always lived in Nashville or have plans to move later, much later, when you retire.”
“You seem to have covered every aspect of exactly what I do not care to share, Mr. Walker, other than the obvious. I am not married and never have been. I love what I do, helping people to sort out the difficulties in their lives, and shall continue to do so until I do retire, which I do not foresee in the near future. I have no plans to move away from Nashville, which has always been my home.”
“Is that all?”
“I think I answered all your questions.”
“Are you involved in a relationship now?”
“That’s too personal, Mr. Walker.”
“Sorry. It’s just—well—you are such a beautiful woman, I can’t believe some guy hasn’t claimed you as his own.”
“Claimed me?” she asked, sounding incensed.
Trey, you fool! Bad choice of words.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, Trey felt tongue-tied in a woman’s presence. Kayla Saradon was impressively overpowering, more so than any woman he had ever known. He couldn’t get over those mesmerizing green eyes that were, in this moment, shooting laser beams at him, definitely cutting him down to size.
“I—ah—I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” he stammered, trying to erase the irritated frown from her face.
“How did you mean it? I am not and never will be some man’s property, to be claimed, Mr. Walker! Now there is a quote you can use.”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry. Guess I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”
Think fool! How can I rectify this?
“I—ah—am used to writing fill-in articles and, like I said, this is my first interview. Probably my last, if you report my gross faux pas, and I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
Though it went against his grain, Trey tried to sound contrite and pitiful, swallowing hard as though he were seeing his future go down the drain. He watched her expression change from annoyance to amusement. Finally a smile broke through.
And damn, what a smile! God, she’s gorgeous when she smiles.
“Relax Mr. Walker. I don’t bite.”
But you can if you want to, Trey thought as he returned the smile sheepishly. In fact, I would insist on it, if you gave me the chance.
“I’m obviously a lousy interviewer.”
“Everyone is nervous the first day on the job, which is what a first interview is like. I understand, and I’d like to apologize for being so abrupt.”
“Maybe we could start over. You could call me Devon instead of Mr. Walker.”
She nodded. “All right, Devon. And you may call me Kayla. So far as the personal interview goes, I really don’t have any more time this morning. I’m sure my appointment is about to arrive, or probably already has.”
“Perhaps we could meet after work for a drink and a more relaxed conversation?” Trey asked, remembering to try and look pathetically hopeful.
“I’m afraid I can’t this afternoon. Or any afternoon this week. Perhaps we could arrange to meet briefly on Saturday. Saturday is more or less a free day for me. Are you staying nearby?”
“At the downtown Sheridan.”
“Can you stay in town that long, or are you on a deadline and have to rush back?”
“I can stay.”
“Good. Shall we meet Saturday afternoon then, at the Sheridan?”
“That would be perfect. We could have lunch and talk.”
“If you’ll leave me your room number, I’ll ring you when I arrive and we can meet in the lobby. How does that sound? It will probably be around one o’clock.”
“Sounds perfect. Thank you for giving me another chance—Kayla,” Trey hesitated over her first name, as though he was doubtful of using it and thankful she had agreed to allow him that privilege.
Again, she blessed him with that radiant smile as he wrote his room number down, handed it to her, then stood and extended his hand.
She put her much smaller one in it, and Trey was amazed that he felt like he’d been branded. That hot touch skittered all the way down to his crotch and threatened to embarrass him. He suddenly had to fight the urge to pull her across the space that separated them and taste those luscious lips. So he made a hasty exit.
* * *
Trey was pacing the room, waiting for Kayla’s call, doubting she really would come, when the phone rang. He released a pent-up breath of relief as he answered, “Hello.”
“Mr. Walker? Kayla Saradon here. I am in the lobby.”
“Thought you were going to call me Devon.”
She hesitated briefly before correcting, “Right. Devon.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Trey saw her the minute he stepped off the elevator. His gaze ran right to hers and locked on like it was radar controlled. The smile she flashed him made him think she was as anxious to see him again as he was to see her.
Or maybe that’s just my hopeful imagination I’m reading into her expression, Trey thought as he reappraised her. She looked absolutely stunning in a casual sundress that matched her hair, which today was loose, down around her shoulders. She wore strappy sandals with high heels that made her long legs seem even longer—sexier. He noticed her toenails were painted a flirtatious coral. He groaned inwardly. Lord, what the lady can do to a sundress is unbelievable!
Trey couldn’t help just feasting his eyes, taking in her shapely curves and her mass of strawberry blonde hair that settled on those perfect shoulders like spun gold.
He took her hand, which she held out as she rose to meet him. As before when they had touched, he felt that electric spark when she laid her hand in his.
“So good to see you again, Kayla,” he said. “May I say you look lovely?”
“Thank you. Nice to see you again too, Devon.”
“Shall we go into the dining area? Are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” she said with another one of those smiles that, to Trey, seemed to light up the room.
“Good. Their food, so they have informed me, is excellent. But if you would prefer some other place, we could go elsewhere. I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with Nashville, so I’ll trust your judgment.”
“Here will be fine. I’ve eaten here before, and their food really is good.”
Taking her arm, enraptured by her light but enticing flowery scent, he breathed in deeply and felt the jolt of it in his abdomen. He escorted her into the dining room where they were seated promptly.
He was wondering what she was thinking as Kayla stared at him intensely across the table, those magnificent green eyes going over his features. He felt like they were doing more than just looking. They seemed to be devouring his face. He would have given a month’s salary to know if her thoughts at that moment were running anywhere parallel with his, which were hot and needy.
They had finished the meal. Kayla declined dessert, so Trey ordered coffees, reluctant for their time together to end and sure it would when they left the restaurant.
They had settled into a silence that Trey was unsure how to break. He was thankful when Kayla took the initiative.
“Why don’t we continue the interview in your room, Devon? We could talk more privately there.”
He was both surprised and pleased as he met those extraordinary green eyes.
“That would be perfect. I would have suggested that, but I didn’t know what you would think. I wouldn’t want to compromise your—ah—reputation.”
Kayla laughed. “I don’t care what people say, Devon. I deal in truths, not innuendoes or rumors, and I have no patience with those who cater to that kind of subtle slander.”
Damn, she’s a woman after my own heart! “Good to know.”
He paid the check and they left the dining area. Kayla excused herself briefly in the lobby, walking away to make a quick phone call before rejoining him at the elevator.
Once in his room, Kayla immediately kicked off her shoes. She curled comfortably on the two-seater couch while Trey watched in utter fascination.
“Now, why don’t you sit down beside me and get comfortable, as well, and let’s really talk,” she suggested, patting the place next to her.
Trey sat down but was far from feeling comfortable. Having her this close, he couldn’t help but visualize her on the bed, naked and inviting. He hoped his thoughts, growing warmer by the minute as he inhaled her enticing flowery perfume, wouldn’t become an embarrassment he couldn’t hide.
Feeling drawn to her, overwhelmed by her nearness, Trey leaned toward her, his eyes holding fast on those inviting, luscious lips. Simultaneously, she leaned toward him and their lips touched, lightly at first. Then he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, his tongue seeking hers, delving into her open and receptive mouth.
When their lips parted, he expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. He stood, pulling her up, and melded her against his rock-hard shaft wedged against her yielding body.
“I know this is unprofessional, but damn, Kayla, I want you.”
“I can tell,” she said bluntly, her green eyes alight with a mischievous gleam as her hand reached to touch him, to fondle and explore his turgid length.
“My heavens, you’re impressive.” she chuckled.
“God! You know what you’re doing to me? But I’m not sure what I’m doing to you,” he said as he kissed her again, hungrily and imploringly.
Trey could feel her trembling, with what he hoped was desire as they parted.
“You could write a very revealing story about me if I gave in to what I really wanted to do right now. You don’t write exposés, do you, Devon?”
“Story be damned! This is a private time, between the two of us and nobody else,” he assured her.
“So what happens from here on is off the record?”
“Absolutely.”
Without speaking, she led him toward the bed. She began undressing him, slowly, seductively, her eyes holding his as she tossed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from his trousers.
Trey watched her watch him, awestruck by her intense expression. He could almost feel the heat emanating from her, and everywhere she touched his skin, he felt branded.
“You’re so gorgeous, Kayla.”
“And you’re probably the most handsome man I have ever seen. I can’t wait to see the perfect body that goes with that perfect face,” she said as she unbuckled his belt and slid it through the loops, and then tossed it to the floor. Then she unzipped his trousers and pushed them down. Her fingers hooked the elastic of his boxers and pushed them down, releasing his swollen, fully extended shaft.
“Turnabout is fair play,” he said as he began undressing her.
When they were both naked, Trey looked her up and down, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn woman, speaking of perfect!”
He ran his hands down her body, his fingers coming back to tweak her taut nipples before lowering his mouth to taste the hardened buds. Unaware he was moaning a soft ummm, he lifted his seeking mouth to ravenously claim hers as he backed them both onto the bed and pushed her down.
Rolling to her side, he studied her face, delighting in the open look of raw desire he saw reflected in those green eyes.
She surprised him when she said, “Let me make love to you, Devon. Have you ever had a woman be the aggressor? “
Trey successfully pushed down the bitter memories her question brought to mind. He simply shook his head. No way was he going there.
“Well, let me. I want to make this my fantasy night come true, with my fantasy stranger.”
“Night? Are you saying you’ll stay the night?”
“Yes.”
“What say we make love to each other?”
“Me first. You just lie there and let me please you.”
Her tongue began a warm, licking exploration of his body, beginning with his closed eyes as she commanded, “Lie still. Close your eyes. I want what I do to be a surprise. I want this to be a night, Devon Walker, you won’t ever forget. You know that old saying about ships passing in the night? Well that’s us. And I don’t want you to ever forget me as you sail on by.”
“Hell, who could ever forget you?”
He did as she said, feeling the flicking warmth of her tongue first on his closed eyelids, then lightly across his lips before moving down to slide along his neck, to flick into his ear, which sent shivers down his spine, before she moved down to his chest.
She suckled his aureoles the way he had hers, only harder, almost painfully, nipping each, soliciting his surprised grunts. Trey felt each electrifying bite skitter downward and lodge in his groin.
He lifted his hips involuntarily as her tongue delved into his navel and then slid down lower, warmly and wetly sliding along his cock, all around it, flicking and teasing the tip.
“Damn Kayla. I don’t want to….”
“Don’t say you don’t want to cum, Devon. I want you to. More than once. I want to see how many times I can make you cum. Remember this is my fantasy, so relax and give in to it.”
