how long before what I am becomes an issue? How long before you’re wonderin’ where I am and who I’m sleepin’ with? Bothered I don’t answer when you call ‘cause you know I’m fuckin’ somebody else?”
His lips become a hard line.
I clear my throat, put the polish back on my words. “So to do this, to give you what you want…it wouldn’t be fair to you. You know that.”
Q gives a firm bob of his head. “Then can we see each other again, like before?”
It won’t go back to being like before, we both know. But with a man like Q, I can’t simply walk away. Twice. That might be stretching my acting skills to the limit.
“Like I said, I’ll have to think about it. But I can give you tonight.” I smile, looking into his eyes. “Anything I can do for you tonight?”
A playful smirk tips his lips. “Anything?”
It’s a whispered caress. My body trembles from the shivers running through it. For you? Yes. Anything.
Sliding closer, Q cups my face in his warm hands, presses his lips to my forehead. Then he kisses my cheeks, my jaw, my br ow. He takes his time, brushes my face with his lips and soft strokes of his thumbs and I close my eyes, enjoy the sensation.
A moment passes and I feel him watching me; lids flutter open to see my reflection in the dark pools of his irises. Our faces are so close his warm breath feathers over my lips a heartbeat before he touches them with his. This breaks the rules again and Q doesn’t care. My mouth opens and his tongue traces the inside of my bottom lip.
Q pulls me to him, rocks back on the sofa and extends his legs, sweeping me along so I’m lying fully on his body. Arms wrap tightly around me, and I ride the wave of his cresting and falling chest. Head tilted, Q explores my mouth with his tongue, slides along mine sensually, and I can’t help but reciprocate, feeling his flesh harden in the cradle of my hips. I writhe against him, and he lightly massages my scalp with his fingertips.
He tastes wild, strong, like fresh spring water and clean air and damp earth.
Real.
I haven’t kissed a man since long before I became a doxy; too intimate, and stage kissing is something that is taught.
This is not a stage kiss; not lips pressed to chins with heads turned strategically away from the audience’s watchful eye; not imitation or intimation; not a trick of light or illusion, but it’s magical.
Absolutely magical.
Any audience can see this is a kiss of lovers. I’d be lying to call it anything else.
We part, and I gasp for air…for him. I want to taste him again in my mouth, want to savor his hunger for me. My mind is deliciously foggy with thoughts of maybe—maybe I can spin that fast—and I shake my head to clear it.
Too close to his kind of naked, need to get back to my version of human.
I work at the buttons of his shirt, but he stops me, gripping my hands.
“I don’t care about your rules, Rosie.” Lips meet mine again, just a soft peck. “And I know you don’t either.”
Without another word he helps me up, guides me toward the door. On autopilot, I shrug into the coat he holds, dip when he slides my purse onto my shoulder, unable to keep the confusion from my face. Q has a voracious sexual appetite, one that I’m very happy to feed, so this is…unusual. Off script. None of this is what I expected; not the kiss, not this dismissal, not this unnerving feeling that he’s right.
His arms wrap around me, and he hugs me tightly to his hard body. I can hear the steady pulsing of his heart in my ear, the rhythmic beat like Q’s own musical score.
I love this song.
But the contact isn’t enough.
The tempo increases, bass drum a little louder.
I press a bit closer, trying to get more of him.
Q must agree; releases me long enough to push off the jacket and purse he just helped me into. They land at my feet as he lifts me, holding me against the wooden
His lips become a hard line.
I clear my throat, put the polish back on my words. “So to do this, to give you what you want…it wouldn’t be fair to you. You know that.”
Q gives a firm bob of his head. “Then can we see each other again, like before?”
It won’t go back to being like before, we both know. But with a man like Q, I can’t simply walk away. Twice. That might be stretching my acting skills to the limit.
“Like I said, I’ll have to think about it. But I can give you tonight.” I smile, looking into his eyes. “Anything I can do for you tonight?”
A playful smirk tips his lips. “Anything?”
It’s a whispered caress. My body trembles from the shivers running through it. For you? Yes. Anything.
Sliding closer, Q cups my face in his warm hands, presses his lips to my forehead. Then he kisses my cheeks, my jaw, my br ow. He takes his time, brushes my face with his lips and soft strokes of his thumbs and I close my eyes, enjoy the sensation.
A moment passes and I feel him watching me; lids flutter open to see my reflection in the dark pools of his irises. Our faces are so close his warm breath feathers over my lips a heartbeat before he touches them with his. This breaks the rules again and Q doesn’t care. My mouth opens and his tongue traces the inside of my bottom lip.
Q pulls me to him, rocks back on the sofa and extends his legs, sweeping me along so I’m lying fully on his body. Arms wrap tightly around me, and I ride the wave of his cresting and falling chest. Head tilted, Q explores my mouth with his tongue, slides along mine sensually, and I can’t help but reciprocate, feeling his flesh harden in the cradle of my hips. I writhe against him, and he lightly massages my scalp with his fingertips.
He tastes wild, strong, like fresh spring water and clean air and damp earth.
Real.
I haven’t kissed a man since long before I became a doxy; too intimate, and stage kissing is something that is taught.
This is not a stage kiss; not lips pressed to chins with heads turned strategically away from the audience’s watchful eye; not imitation or intimation; not a trick of light or illusion, but it’s magical.
Absolutely magical.
Any audience can see this is a kiss of lovers. I’d be lying to call it anything else.
We part, and I gasp for air…for him. I want to taste him again in my mouth, want to savor his hunger for me. My mind is deliciously foggy with thoughts of maybe—maybe I can spin that fast—and I shake my head to clear it.
Too close to his kind of naked, need to get back to my version of human.
I work at the buttons of his shirt, but he stops me, gripping my hands.
“I don’t care about your rules, Rosie.” Lips meet mine again, just a soft peck. “And I know you don’t either.”
Without another word he helps me up, guides me toward the door. On autopilot, I shrug into the coat he holds, dip when he slides my purse onto my shoulder, unable to keep the confusion from my face. Q has a voracious sexual appetite, one that I’m very happy to feed, so this is…unusual. Off script. None of this is what I expected; not the kiss, not this dismissal, not this unnerving feeling that he’s right.
His arms wrap around me, and he hugs me tightly to his hard body. I can hear the steady pulsing of his heart in my ear, the rhythmic beat like Q’s own musical score.
I love this song.
But the contact isn’t enough.
The tempo increases, bass drum a little louder.
I press a bit closer, trying to get more of him.
Q must agree; releases me long enough to push off the jacket and purse he just helped me into. They land at my feet as he lifts me, holding me against the wooden
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