squeezed her other
breast, a fingernail rasping across the tip. She cried out again, almost
delirious with the jolts of pleasure he ignited with every touch. She clenched
around his erection, her body shaking with a second orgasm.
And still it wasn’t enough. He continued to feast
on her breasts, his pelvis digging into hers as he tried to push deeper,
harder. He rubbed against that special place inside of her and she arched her
back in surprise, shocked that she could come again so soon. She opened her
mouth in a soundless moan as she surrendered body and soul. And this time he came
with her, pulsating deep inside of her, murmuring her name over and over until
he finally collapsed on top of her.
Through the haze of encroaching, satiated sleep
she felt him pull out of her and roll to his side. He dragged her against him,
wrapped his arms around her as though she were his anchor in a stormy sea.
“Maggie,” he whispered. “ Mine .”
4
The jarring ring of the bedside
telephone rudely pulled her out of a deep, dreamless sleep. She stretched
across the bed to answer it, eyes half closed. “Hello?”
It was a recorded message, a wake-up call. It was
eight o’clock.
Sweet, blissful memories of making love with
Jason flooded over her. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see him
lying beside her, but his side of the bed was empty. No sounds came from the
bathroom. He was gone. She was almost on the verge of tears until she saw the
folded note next to her pillow. She opened it. Good morning, Maggie Rose. I
didn’t want to wake you. I’ll see you soon. Hope you didn’t mind the wake-up
call. Thank you for another beautiful night. J.
She pressed the note to her smiling, tremulous
mouth. When the phone rang again she reached for it eagerly, happiness in her
voice, hoping it was him. “Hello?”
“Hey, Maggie, it’s Tim. Did you get a good
night’s sleep?”
She guessed she’d probably slept for less than
two hours, but she felt wide awake, excitement at the knowledge that she would
see Jason in only a couple of hours pouring adrenaline through her veins. “I
sure did,” she fibbed.
“Good, good. I’m heading down to the lobby café
in about forty minutes. Can you be ready by then? Rob wants to strategize
before we head over to Jagz.”
After assuring Tim she’d be there, she hung up
the phone and raced to the bathroom. She turned on the shower then took a look
at herself in the mirror. She did a double-take, eyes wide with horror when she
saw the reddish-purple mark on one side of her neck, just above her collarbone.
Against her pale skin it stood out like a dollop of blackberry jam in a glass
of milk.
“That man!” she seethed even as her body tingled
with the heady memory of his mouth at her neck. “Did he have to give me a
hickey right there ?”
And then she started laughing. Anyone who
could’ve seen her at that moment would’ve thought she was a candidate for a
straitjacket. Her very first hickey. She remembered the fast girls in high
school wearing them with pride. She’d been both appalled and envious. It was a
sign of ownership, the age-old need for man to mark his territory, his
possessions.
Thank God she’d thrown a scarf in her carry-on at
the last minute, thinking she might need it on the plane. It wouldn’t be perfect,
but it would have to do.
Thirty minutes later she took one last inspection
in the hallway mirror. The black, sleeveless sheath dress hugged her curves, emphasizing
her sculpted shoulders and arms. The length hit just above the knees. She’d
decided to keep her legs bare, a pair of nude pumps giving the illusion of
longer legs. The final—unplanned—accessory was a silk scarf in sapphire blue,
twisted just so to hide the betraying mark on her neck. She hoped it stayed
put.
Grabbing her black leather handbag, she headed
out of the room. There was only a little over one hour to go before she saw
Jason again.
Mike Brosky hailed her when she entered
breast, a fingernail rasping across the tip. She cried out again, almost
delirious with the jolts of pleasure he ignited with every touch. She clenched
around his erection, her body shaking with a second orgasm.
And still it wasn’t enough. He continued to feast
on her breasts, his pelvis digging into hers as he tried to push deeper,
harder. He rubbed against that special place inside of her and she arched her
back in surprise, shocked that she could come again so soon. She opened her
mouth in a soundless moan as she surrendered body and soul. And this time he came
with her, pulsating deep inside of her, murmuring her name over and over until
he finally collapsed on top of her.
Through the haze of encroaching, satiated sleep
she felt him pull out of her and roll to his side. He dragged her against him,
wrapped his arms around her as though she were his anchor in a stormy sea.
“Maggie,” he whispered. “ Mine .”
4
The jarring ring of the bedside
telephone rudely pulled her out of a deep, dreamless sleep. She stretched
across the bed to answer it, eyes half closed. “Hello?”
It was a recorded message, a wake-up call. It was
eight o’clock.
Sweet, blissful memories of making love with
Jason flooded over her. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see him
lying beside her, but his side of the bed was empty. No sounds came from the
bathroom. He was gone. She was almost on the verge of tears until she saw the
folded note next to her pillow. She opened it. Good morning, Maggie Rose. I
didn’t want to wake you. I’ll see you soon. Hope you didn’t mind the wake-up
call. Thank you for another beautiful night. J.
She pressed the note to her smiling, tremulous
mouth. When the phone rang again she reached for it eagerly, happiness in her
voice, hoping it was him. “Hello?”
“Hey, Maggie, it’s Tim. Did you get a good
night’s sleep?”
She guessed she’d probably slept for less than
two hours, but she felt wide awake, excitement at the knowledge that she would
see Jason in only a couple of hours pouring adrenaline through her veins. “I
sure did,” she fibbed.
“Good, good. I’m heading down to the lobby café
in about forty minutes. Can you be ready by then? Rob wants to strategize
before we head over to Jagz.”
After assuring Tim she’d be there, she hung up
the phone and raced to the bathroom. She turned on the shower then took a look
at herself in the mirror. She did a double-take, eyes wide with horror when she
saw the reddish-purple mark on one side of her neck, just above her collarbone.
Against her pale skin it stood out like a dollop of blackberry jam in a glass
of milk.
“That man!” she seethed even as her body tingled
with the heady memory of his mouth at her neck. “Did he have to give me a
hickey right there ?”
And then she started laughing. Anyone who
could’ve seen her at that moment would’ve thought she was a candidate for a
straitjacket. Her very first hickey. She remembered the fast girls in high
school wearing them with pride. She’d been both appalled and envious. It was a
sign of ownership, the age-old need for man to mark his territory, his
possessions.
Thank God she’d thrown a scarf in her carry-on at
the last minute, thinking she might need it on the plane. It wouldn’t be perfect,
but it would have to do.
Thirty minutes later she took one last inspection
in the hallway mirror. The black, sleeveless sheath dress hugged her curves, emphasizing
her sculpted shoulders and arms. The length hit just above the knees. She’d
decided to keep her legs bare, a pair of nude pumps giving the illusion of
longer legs. The final—unplanned—accessory was a silk scarf in sapphire blue,
twisted just so to hide the betraying mark on her neck. She hoped it stayed
put.
Grabbing her black leather handbag, she headed
out of the room. There was only a little over one hour to go before she saw
Jason again.
Mike Brosky hailed her when she entered
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