What Love Tastes Like. Zuri Day
the pleasure that was so exquisite as to be almost painful, Nick held her in a firm, authoritative grasp. Just when she thought she’d topple over into an eternal ecstasy, Nick pulled back. But instead of stopping, his tongue became as light as a feather, subtly brushing her nub, over and over. Now Tiffany’s body begged for what she’d tried to escape from just seconds before. She became the aggressor, blindly reaching for Nick’s head, rubbing the soft texture of his hair even as she pressed his head between her legs. His laugh was intoxicating, tinged with knowing and victory. He knew what effect he had on her, and Tiffany didn’t care. She just wanted him both to stop and to go on forever. Nick wanted to go on as well, to the next level of their lovemaking. He picked Tiffany up from the sofa and strode purposefully toward his bedroom.
The quick, deliberate action had a sobering effect on Tiffany. What am I doing? I just met this man. He’s the owner of a new, trendy hotel with plans for an award-winning restaurant. He could become my employer back in LA. The playful conversation they’d had at the restaurant burst its way into the moment, warring with her tingling love nest and pulsating nub.
“I should put in an application for sous chef when your restaurant opens,” Tiffany teased.
“Don’t wait until it opens; send in your résumé as soon as you get back. Put it to my attention.”
“Are you serious?”
“When it comes to business, Tiffany Matthews, I don’t play around.”
Working at a restaurant such as Nick envisioned could do wonders for her career. Nick had made her an offer. An offer that might be withdrawn, she decided, if she gave in to her desires for a one-night stand.
Tiffany jumped up as soon as Nick laid her on the bed. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Nick asked dumbly, his lower head once again pushing out all common sense.
“This,” Tiffany answered, backing slowly away from the bed. “With you.”
“Why not?” Nick didn’t want to sound like the whining, pimply-faced teenager he used to be, begging his schoolmates out of their panties. But that fifteen-year-old’s voice was exactly what he heard in his ears. “Come on, Tiffany,” he continued, trying to bring the Barry White bass back. “It’ll be good, I promise.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, was what Tiffany thought. “I’m sorry,” was what she said. And then she fled the room.
8
The sunlight awoke her. Tiffany yawned and stretched, belatedly realizing she hadn’t closed her curtains last night. Last night. Fragments of the past evening flitted in by bits and pieces, as if pieces of a dream. The delicious cuisine and stimulating conversation about dreams and desires and…
Tiffany sat straight up in bed. Suddenly, it all came rushing back: memories of caramel, caresses, coital cultivation by a master. Her body began to tingle as the first mental pictures replayed on her mind’s video. She reached for a pillow and hugged it to her chest. “Last night we almost…” She didn’t finish the whispered acknowledgment, but rather turned on her side with a frown. In the light of a new morning, her decision to think rationally didn’t seem so noble. Even without full intercourse and with her limited experience with three prior relationships, Tiffany knew Nick was an incredible lover, the best she’d ever had. It had been almost a year since she’d been intimate, since a failed, six-month affair with a former classmate ended when he relocated back to New York. Their lovemaking had been satisfying, or at least Tiffany had thought so at the time. How many orgasms did I have last night? Three? Four? Tiffany couldn’t remember, but she knew one thing for sure. It was the first time in her life she’d had more than one in the same night. Why did I stop it? Why didn’t I let Nick finish what he’d started? Tiffany could almost see the look of compassion that would cover Joy’s face upon hearing the story. “Tiffany,” she’d say with a tinge of sadness. “You should have gone Zane.” Zane, she’d been told after looking at Joy with a blank expression the first time her friend had used the quip, was the queen of erotic fiction.
Tiffany lay there a moment longer, remembering how good Nick had made her feel, both in his arms and with his tongue. His kiss had been powerful, all-consuming, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. And that was just the beginning. When he’d parted her legs and touched her there…
Tiffany made a decision and threw back the covers at the same time. Joy was right. She needed to “go Zane.” Life was too short to be so careful about everything. Who said that if they made love it would ruin her chances to work for Nick? Maybe it would increase her chances, Tiffany thought. Yes, Ms. Matthews, what about that possibility? Tiffany turned on the shower, determined to let Nick finish what he’d started the night before, for them to share the love they both wanted. Tiffany lathered her body all over, imagining that Nick’s tongue would soon replace her hands. She laughed aloud at the prospect; she was so giddy she’d sing if she could. But she didn’t want to wake Nick that way. She wanted to awaken him the way he’d awakened her…last night…
After finishing her shower, Tiffany brushed her teeth and finger-combed her short hair back away from her face. She was grateful she didn’t feel the need to wear much makeup. That way the face men saw in the morning wasn’t that different from the one they’d seen the previous night. She lotioned her body and sprayed her hair with perfume. She didn’t want to spray the alcohol-laden product on her skin, didn’t want the acidy taste to get in the way of the other tastes Nick so obviously and so thoroughly enjoyed. She eyed herself in the mirror, pinching her nipples until they stood at attention. After going back and forth between walking in naked and wearing the impulse buy she’d gotten just before she and her ex broke up but had never worn, she decided on the latter. Once again, she had Joy to thank that it was even in her luggage. She slipped the sheer thigh-length white nightie over her head, pulled on the matching white thong, and walked out of her room and toward Nick’s master suite—before she could change her mind.
Just outside his door, she paused and took a breath. Every fiber of her body was on high alert. There had been no need for her to pinch her nipples; just the thought of what was about to happen had them standing at full attention. Tiffany ran her fingers through her hair, took one last calming breath, and slowly, quietly opened Nick’s bedroom door. She took two steps toward the four-poster mahogany bed and stopped. It was empty. Tiffany’s smile was devious as she looked at the closed bathroom door. She hurried over to the bed and climbed up onto it. Nick’s masculine scent immediately enveloped her, a musky scent mixed with sandalwood. Tiffany pulled up the covers and waited, almost giggling with excitement. She imagined the look that would be on Nick’s face when he saw her—surprise, glee, desire? Tiffany rubbed her body against the nine-hundred-thread-count sheets and breathed in Nick’s scent. Come on and get this, Nick Rollins. I’m all yours.
Two minutes passed, and then five. Tiffany hated to ruin the surprise of his seeing her ready and waiting in his bed, but after another minute, concern overrode her desire to stimulate through shock. She arose from the bed, tiptoed to the bathroom, and knocked softly. “Nick?” She waited a few seconds and knocked harder, spoke louder. “Nick?” After another few seconds, Tiffany tried the door. It was unlocked and the bathroom was unoccupied. Then she remembered. Nick had mentioned he was an early riser, one of those rare individuals that needed only three or four hours’ sleep a night. He’s probably having breakfast, she decided.
Tiffany laughed out loud as she anticipated Nick’s return. Figuring she’d hear him when he entered the suite, she enjoyed a stretch and walked around the room. Her gaze was casual as she ran a hand along the mahogany chest of drawers and the matching armoire. He has great taste, she thought, remembering the casual yet elegant way he’d been dressed on the plane and the stylish, chic man whom she accompanied last night. Feeling a bit like a voyeur, she walked to the closet and slowly opened it. The hangers were neatly aligned to the left of the closet—but not one stitch of clothing hung from them. Tiffany frowned, confused, but as she continued to look around the room and then walked into a bathroom devoid of personal toiletries, realization dawned. Nick wasn’t simply out having breakfast. He was gone.
9