My Secret Life. Lori Wilde
he smelled good. Like candy canes and the joy of Christmas morning. She wondered what cologne he had on. Usually Richard wore a much cooler, more sophisticated fragrance.
Hmm, should she ask him?
And possibly spoil the moment? Was she nuts?
That sobering notion quickened her breathing, but it didn’t scare her. And that, in itself, was terrifying.
What was wrong with her? Why was she so willing to walk the edge, to tempt fate, to push the envelope beyond common sense?
Rhetorical question. She knew the answer. Ever since her mother had died she’d felt an overwhelming need to make her emotional pain disappear.
Without Daisy as an anchor, it was as if she no longer had anything to lose. Why not gamble everything for a little fun? What was the point of holding herself in reserve?
Life was short. Live it to the fullest. That was her motto.
Thankfully, his honeyed mouth was back on hers, forcing the dark thoughts from her head, kissing her hard and deep. His wicked tongue did its job, making her forget the emotional pain inside her.
Katie allowed herself to be swept up by the headlong sensation. She refused to think. Her only desire was to feel.
She teetered on her high heels, lost her balance. They stumbled together, slamming into the back of the closet. He laughed then, a hearty, substantial laugh that made her giggle. His arm tightened around her waist.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“I like this French thing you got going on. It’s very hot.”
“Shh.” She wanted him to stop talking and start kissing her again.
“Listen…” he said, “I don’t want you to…”
“No talking,” she commanded.
The costumes made their encounter that much more exciting, but their garments were getting in the way. Reaching up, she pulled off his wig, wrapped her arms around his neck and plunged her fingers through his thick hair.
Her pirate took the hint and his tongue went back to doing maddening things to her mouth and causing wicked sensation to shoot straight into the center of her sex. His leather masked rubbed against hers, creating a sensation so erotic she made a soft mewling sound low in her throat.
Yes, take me to oblivion.
He made a corresponding noise, decidedly more masculine than hers. He ground his pelvis against her pubic bone and she arched her hips, letting him know exactly what she wanted.
Blood surged through her veins in a headlong rush. The darkness was absolute, the anonymity acute. It was incredible.
He kissed her, fiercely, passionately. He tasted so good—all masculine strength and sizzling heat. Restlessly, she tossed back her head, exposing her throat to him.
“Nibble on my neck,” she murmured.
The minute his sharp teeth sank lightly into the tender flesh at her hollow of her throat, she groaned with pleasure.
Quiet. She had to be quiet. People might hear. But she couldn’t even think straight, much less fret about the potential for public humiliation. At this point, she didn’t care.
His palms skimmed up underneath her flimsy getup, his hands scorching the bare skin of her belly.
Desire exploded into the small tight closet with them, sending Katie on a mission of frantic grappling. She snatched at his shirt, tugging and pulling. She heard buttons pop, spit to the hardwood floor with a series of soft plopping sounds.
Once his chest was exposed, she buried her face there and inhaled deeply. His chest hairs tickled her nose and she held the hem of his shirt, still clutched in the fist of her hand.
He growled.
A tiger.
She was in the dark with a tiger.
A sweet fear washed over her. A sugary terror clogging her arteries and making her gasp for more. Her entire body tingled with fear and joy and hungry, secret longing.
Her knees wobbled. Sensing her weakness, he pressed her back flat against the wall of the closet, holding her in place with his hip.
She was on fire for him. She had never wanted any man this badly.
He didn’t speak.
Golden silence.
This was very good. Dark and anonymous and quiet. Nothing but heavy, excited breathing. Not hearing his voice made her feel as if he were pure fantasy and it escalated her excitement beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of.
She felt raunchy and rash and ready. This was exactly what she needed to bypass all her troubles.
Wildly, she pressed the tip of her tongue to his broad chest and licked a long path up to the hollow of his throat. He tasted like a seafaring man. Gloriously rich and salty.
She heard her own pulse thrumming through her ears and it sounded like a river rushing downstream.
His movements were measured, controlled, but at the same time relaxed and easy. His fingers were now trailing circles around her nipples, teasing them into taut peaks.
In the inkiness, in the masquerade, he was a creature of the night. Sleek and primal, sexual in a way that quickened her breath and slicked her palms, along with other, more feminine parts of her anatomy.
The stagnant air in the closet was heavy with the sound of their rough, synchronized breathing. It smelled of the musk from their throbbing bodies. It tasted twisted and taboo.
Who—she found herself thinking in the short gaps between utter delight—are you?
She told herself it was Richard. It had to be Richard. Who else could it be?
Her mind thrilled to the possibilities. Why did she find the idea of a masked stranger so compelling? Why did she suddenly want him not to be Richard?
Was she losing her mind? Had she lost it already? Slipping over the edge of reason in a smoking-hot French-maid uniform?
He kissed her again, the glide of his tongue smooth and perfect.
Her blood moved recklessly through her. There was that thrill again, rolling like an electrical storm. Searing and stark and scary.
The pirate growled again, low and guttural. The sound vibrated through her, set her nerve endings flaming, causing her hips to twitch involuntarily and the deep folds of her moist sex to burn for him.
He unzipped her costume and slipped it off her shoulders in the darkness. Then he unhooked her bra, exposing her bare breasts. The pirate lowered his head and began to sweetly suckle one of her aching nipples while lightly pinching the other between his thumb and index finger.
The synthetic material of his fake beard tickled her skin.
Something inside of her slipped, a ship freed from its moorings, set adrift at sea. She reached up to plane his face with her hand, feeling the solid jut of his cheekbone against her palm.
His mouth was skillful. Gentle when she needed him to be, firm when she needed that, too. This pirate was taking his time.
While Katie appreciated his unanticipated leisure, at the same time it added to her anxiety. The longer this took, the more likely they were to be caught.
And that sent a fresh set of brand-new thrills and chills chasing up her spine.
His arms were strong, comforting. Oddly, in spite of the unconventional circumstances, she felt safe. She wished it wasn’t so dark, wished she could see his face.
What, and spoil the fantasy?
He reached down and, grabbing one of her legs, lifted it up and cocked her heel against his hip. Katie felt her