Читать книгу Passion - P.F. Kozak - Страница 10

Ivan pulled away from me. I couldn’t believe he had the willpower to stop now; I almost forgot we still stood in a restaurant. I heard him ask, in a barely audible voice, “Do you want to get a room?”

Looking into eyes that pierced my soul, I touched his face. With whatever voice I could muster, I answered, “Let’s do.”

He gave me another small kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

Somehow I managed to lower myself into my chair. I still had half a glass of wine left, which I sipped in an attempt to collect myself. I watched Ivan make his way across the room, nearly bumping into a couple leaving the dance floor.

So, my fairy godmother gave me a reprieve. But would the glass slipper fit? I stifled a giggle, which caused me to hiccup, as I thought of his girth when he pressed into my side. The damn thing better fit. It would be an interesting bit of business if it didn’t.

Ivan listened intently to the maître d’ and then said something in return. After patting the man on the back, he hurried back across the room.

Beyond caring who might notice my groin, I went in search of the maître d’ and a key. This bit of business gave me a chance to catch my wind and allow the urgency of the last few minutes to subside. This seemed a mixed blessing. I knew it would give me more sustaining power for later, but it also gave Pash a chance to cool off as well.

Not wanting to give her time to change her mind, I quickly located the maître d’ and asked for a room. Even though they had told me this would be no trouble when I called for a reservation, I still felt relieved when the maître d’ reached for a shelf and picked up a piece of paper with a key attached. When he noted the room number from the key on the paper, I realized they had kept it with my bill, just in case.

Without my asking, he told me, “Sir, room service will be available until midnight and then again at six A.M., if you care to order dessert or breakfast.”

“Very good. It would be quite fine if we could have an iced bottle of champagne and some fruit left outside the door at eleven thirty. Thank you so much for your help.”

Impressed with the efficiency of this operation, I went back to the table to see Pash sipping what was left of her wine. Mellow, I thought. Just stay mellow. When she saw me, she gave me a questioning look. I walked behind her chair, put my hands on her shoulders and whispered into her ear, “Room number twenty-two is ours.” Trying to sustain at least some semblance of chivalry, I added, “That is, if you are still inclined.”

She stood up, picked up her bag and said softly, “I am still inclined.”

Ivan put his arm around my waist as we walked toward the lobby. As we passed a sign for the ladies’ loo, I realized I really had to piddle, the result of drinking so much wine. I stopped him in the hall. “Would you excuse me for a few moments? I have to spend a penny.” I pointed to the sign. “I shan’t be long.”

“I’m sure they have one in the room.”

I felt my face get warm as I told him, “I don’t believe I can wait.”

He smiled, saying, “Well, go on, then. Maybe I best go now, too.” He gave my bottom a pat and headed down the hall to the gents’ sign.

Before making my way into the toilet, I watched him for a moment walking down the hall. He radiated confidence, wearing his strength and virility like a tailor-made suit. Yet he had such grace and poise. The need to piddle interrupted my reverie. Even in the most delicate of situations, some things can’t be ignored.

Actually, this gave me a few minutes to gather myself, to check my hair and makeup and to pop in my cap. I said a small thank you that I had the presence of mind to bring it. Looking in the mirror, I saw my neck had blotched and, sure enough, so had my chest. The stigma of having fair skin—it is impossible to hide a flush. It is like wearing a neon sign that flashes I’m aroused!

Pash’s well-timed detour to the loo happened while willie was being cooperative. I actually had to piss, too. I hadn’t noticed it before, what with everything else going on. Once in the room, I expected he and I would be more than a little preoccupied.

I put the condoms in my trouser pocket so they would be handy when the time came. I figured now all I needed do was let nature take its course.

Knowing it always takes a woman longer in the loo, I waited in the hall for her. When she came out, she walked right up to me and slipped her arm through mine, saying, “Shall we?”

As we went up the stairs, there was none of the twittering and fawning I had grown accustomed to in this situation. She seemed quite comfortable with the fact we were about to make love. I realized for years now that I had been bedding girls. This time I had myself a real woman.

We found room twenty-two on the second floor at the end of the hall. I had done this sort of thing before in London, but I had never felt like this. It felt very natural to be standing beside Ivan, watching him unlock the door to our room. He turned on the light as he walked in. I followed him while he waited to close the door behind me. Still with the manners, I thought as I laid my bag on the bureau.

The room had a quaint Old English feel, with a large, four-poster bed dominating the decor. Ivan walked past me, taking off his coat as he walked. His shirt looked like it needed to be wrung out. “It seems I got a bit warm again,” he said with a good-natured smile.

“Looks like you did at that,” I commented as he hung his coat on the back of a chair. My word, he looked spectacular with that shirt clinging to him. I’ve often heard how much men enjoy wet–T-shirt contests. It seems women should start a campaign for a reciprocal wet dress-shirt contest. “Do you know something?” I asked, waiting for his response.

“What?” He delivered his line brilliantly.

“I have never seen a wet shirt look so awfully good.”

I turned to see her looking at me, unabashedly admiring me. It took me a moment to recover from that one. Christ, she threw me yet again, over a damn sweaty shirt. The time had come to see if Miss Passion had been given a right proper name.

“Is that so?” I asked, pulling her up against my damp shirt.

“That is indeed so,” she replied, rubbing my chest with both of her hands.

“It seems to happen often when I am around you.”

“What, you don’t sweat when you’re alone?”

“Not like I do when I’m with you.” Still holding her tightly against me, I asked, “Now you tell me something. How the hell did you come to be named Passion?” Without taking her hands from my chest, she told me.

“According to my father, I was conceived in a moment of pure Russian passion. The day my mother delivered me, he sprinkled vodka on my head and christened me Passion, proclaiming I should grow into a beautiful Russian flower and honor my passionate soul. My mother, completely gone over this crazy Russian, agreed my name would be Passion Flower.”

While explaining my name, I could feel that now familiar ridge rising between us again. As he continued to hold me, I thought surely the heat from his body should be making that damp shirt steam. He spoke evenly and conversationally while he reached up and unzipped my dress. “I saw the F on your registration form and wondered what your middle name could possibly be. Passion Flower, huh? That is some name. Your father must be quite a character.”

“He is,” I said, trying to mimic his easy manner, even though I hardly felt calm. Since he had started to undo my dress, I started to loosen his tie.

“So have you honored your passionate soul?” he said, lowering the dress to my waist.

“I do my best,” I answered as he kissed my shoulder.

He stepped back then, leaving me standing there with my dress half on, half off. I had no idea what he was doing. He walked behind me and finished unzipping my dress, sliding it down my legs. “The zipper got stuck and I didn’t want to tear it; it’s such a beautiful dress.”

I stepped out of my shoes, and then the dress, with him still holding on to it. He took it to the cupboard and hung it up, saying, “We have to see to our clothes, considering we have to wear them home tomorrow.” I felt very exposed, standing there in my lacy slip, and very, very warm.

The look on her face when I took her dress to the cupboard should have been captured on film. I finished undoing my tie. “Could you please hand me my coat?” I wanted to see her move in that slip; it so nicely hugged her curves.

I took the coat, dropped my cuff links in the pocket and then put my coat in the cupboard beside her dress. I rather liked how they looked, hanging side by side. I just kept talking, being very concerned about the state of our clothes. I watched her upper arms turn as pink as her neck. I have seen women flush with excitement before, but not as rosy as she.

I wanted to let her simmer for a while, letting the anticipation build, so I busied myself finding the thermostat, to turn up the air. The room did seem a bit warm and promised to become warmer in just a few minutes. So, I did the gentlemanly thing, seeing to our comfort.

I also knew damn straight that I had regained the upper hand. She had no choice but to wait out my disrobing and the meticulous care of our clothes. I had also inadvertently begun a striptease for her. After the comment about my shirt, I suspected she might enjoy a little show.

After handing me my coat, she sat down on the edge of the bed. I stood facing her and, one slow button at a time, I undid my shirt. I left it open while I took off my shoes and socks. Then I disappeared into the toilet, taking a hanger with me. I explained through the door, “I best hang this wet shirt on the shower rod so it dries by morning.”

When I came out, all I had left were my trousers and my watch. I walked over to the bedside table and took off the watch, with a quick glance to check the time. Ten fifteen. I had more than an hour before they were to deliver the champagne, plenty of time for the first round.

All right, Dr. Kozak, have it your way. I sat down on the bed and waited. I saw him reset the thermostat and felt the cool air hit my back almost immediately. Bless you, I thought. Then he started with the shirt.

With each successive button, I saw more. Good God, I tried not to gape. He had the most impressive chest I had ever seen and a washboard stomach, all covered with thick, dark hair. Even with all the hair, the definition looked as though a sculptor had cut his torso from marble. Lifting all that hay, I thought as he bent to take off his shoes. He seemed to forget about me while he took care of his shirt.

I caught sight of myself in the bureau mirror, sitting on the bed, half dressed. I shivered, not knowing if the air had chilled me or if I just felt very vulnerable. Very probably, both.

Ivan finally came toward the bed, only to walk right past me and put his watch on the bedside table. Then he reached into his trousers and casually tossed some condoms by his watch. So, Dr. Kozak, you came prepared. Why should that surprise me? So did I.

I wanted him. I throbbed with wanting to touch him and be touched by him. For the last three weeks I had wanted nothing else. So my feminist nature felt indignant—she could just crack a window and get over it! I could not deny I wanted him more than I had ever wanted any other man in my life.

I remembered how I desired him in my dream, how it felt to be so close to him on Nutmeg, how he kissed me in the restaurant. I wanted more of that, more of him. He sat down beside me on the bed and slowly pushed me backward.

I had her right where I wanted her. When I sat down beside her, I knew my last little gesture had not escaped her watchful eye. Yes, Passion, I did come here meaning to sleep with you. Why else would I have condoms in my pocket?

I had her smoldering, in more ways than one. I lowered her onto the bed and ran my hand between her breasts. The lace on her slip barely hid her nipples. I brushed them lightly, enjoying the feel of the hard nubs against my hand. I would finish my striptease for her directly. Right now I wanted to enjoy her, to smell her, to taste her.

I could tell she wasn’t used to this. She was usually in control. Not tonight, Redhead. I had her off balance, not being able to predict what the bloody hell I would do. She didn’t know how to respond or what I expected of her. I could feel the conflict inside her as I held her still.

She strained against my hold, trying to regain some leverage. Capturing her mouth with my own, I kissed her, slowly, deeply. Her fingernails raked down my back as my tongue pierced her mouth. In one moment she resisted, trying to push me off her. In the next she surrendered, violating my mouth with hers. Our tongues met, our breath merged, our mouths fused. When I released her, she gasped for air.

Her leg, wrapped in the satin slip, pressed against my cock. As I rubbed my hard-on against the smooth surface, I licked her neck. The heady scent of her skin and hair made me burn for her even more. I whispered into her ear, “You like this, don’t you?”

“You son of a bitch!” She rasped out the curse as she took hold of my arm and squeezed, damn hard, almost puncturing my bicep with her nails. My cock liked that, it liked that very much.

I rubbed her breasts and pinched her nipples, actually harder than I had intended. Arching her back, she twisted her teat between my fingers and shuddered.

“Oh, God, Ivan!” she moaned as I continued to torment her pair.

“So, Redhead, you want it a little rougher? I can handle that.”

Bending over, I took her nipple in my mouth right through the slip. Squeezing it between my teeth, I sucked as hard as I could. My weight pinned her to the bed. She strained against me, but I didn’t let her move. I slowly ran my hand down her belly, letting it rest between her legs. “Ivan, please, I can’t stand it. I can’t move!”

What I couldn’t manage, the slip did for me. She involuntarily tried to open her legs more to accommodate my hand. Her slip bound her legs together, sublimely so. I applied pressure to that delicious mound and released several times, while generously lavishing attention to each breast. By the time I rolled off her, she was well on her way to being delirious with desire.

How could Ivan do this to me, how could he make me feel like this? I wanted to fight him off and submit to him at the same time. I had no recourse but to submit—he ruddy well had me immobilized!

I knew I should stop resisting and enjoy it, but I couldn’t just passively lie there. I wanted to move, I needed to move, but he wouldn’t let me. When I tried, he wouldn’t let go of my nipple. He pinched it so hard, an electric shock shot through me and jolted my clitoris.

Then my flipping slip wrapped around my legs, making me feel like a trussed hen. The sheer torture of his hand pressing into me and not being able to rub against it nearly made me scream. I begged him to let me move, to let me rub. My clit throbbed with wanting more pressure. The complete and utter bastard just kept torturing me!

He finally got off me. Before I had a chance to recover my senses, he pulled me into a sitting position. I felt like a rag doll. I gasped out, “Are you off your head, you lout?”

He peeled off my slip, saying, “What kind of language is that for someone who writes books about postmodern culture?”

As my mind tried to register that he knew about my books, he pushed me back down on the bed. I spat at him, “Bugger off, you ignorant git!”

“I don’t think so, madam,” he spat back as he grabbed the waistband of my hose. He pulled them off with my scanties, leaving me completely bare. “It’s time to give willie a little ride!”

Pash lay there, quite obviously fuming. Had she not been naked, I think she would have up and walked out. Now the time had come to finish my striptease. I stood up to remove my trousers, taking her in as I did.

The hair between her legs shone brighter red than the hair on her head. Her very fair skin had gone beyond flushed well into crimson. Her breath came in short gasps, making her breasts rise and fall seductively. I needed relief and I wanted it from her.

I stripped to the skin in one quick movement, stepping out of both my trousers and underpants at the same time. Not taking my eyes off her, I reached down and picked up a condom, tearing it open and rolling it onto my aching cock. Pash didn’t move, lying flat on her back, right where I had left her. Almost imperceptibly, I saw her legs open a little wider.

For a brief moment I calculated how I could get around Ivan and lock myself in the toilet. No one had ever treated me like that, like some sort of trollop. But I looked at him standing in front of me, now naked, and a realization swept through me.

I had never been this aroused in my whole life, not with anyone and certainly not alone. There I lay, in the raw, with the most beautiful man I had ever seen about to make love to me. I watched him put on a condom and realized I wanted to know how that astonishing organ would feel inside me.

I expected he would simply lie on top of me, but he didn’t. He lay down beside me and propped himself up on his forearm. With his erection resting against my leg, he slipped his middle finger between my legs and started rubbing. I lifted my arse off the bed, trying to press harder against his hand.

When I did that, his finger slid inside me, making me yelp a little. He didn’t pull it out. Instead, he let me lunge against his middle finger while he used his thumb to rub me off. I humped harder and harder still, losing sight of everything except the sensation.

I watched as Pash masturbated against my hand. Her utter abandon mesmerized me. I had never seen a woman so lost in the act, so caught up in her own arousal. She pumped against my hand with increasing strength. I tried to help her along.

When I felt the spasms beginning, I pressed hard inside her and rubbed vigorously. She gasped and started to shake, her whole body trembling while her arse lifted off the bed. I continued to stroke her until she had quieted, her breath still coming in ragged gasps. I smiled, knowing she, too, had come prepared with some protection.

I had my eyes closed, trying to catch my breath after the most intense orgasm I had ever had. I felt Ivan move and realized he had knelt over me. I opened my eyes to see him watching me. He held his penis, checking the condom, and then lowered himself on top of me. I opened my legs wider as I felt him press into my body. He penetrated me, stretching me with his size. He didn’t hurry, giving me time to adjust. Thankfully I had ample lubrication and he successfully slid in the whole way.

At first, he didn’t move. He just stayed completely inside me, supporting his weight on his forearms. I found myself holding him, stroking his back and his hair. The band had come off. I had never seen his hair down, only pulled back in a ponytail. With it hanging around his shoulders and with the whiskers, he looked like he had just stepped out of another century. It seemed I had an honest-to-god Renaissance man on top of me. Ivan looked at me and whispered, “You feel so damn good.”

I whispered back, “So do you.”

As he started to move, I followed suit, first slowly and then building momentum. I found myself responding to him from a place beyond arousal, wanting to help him finish as he had helped me. I used my body to help him, letting him pleasure himself as he saw fit, feeling a deep satisfaction that I could do this for him. I raised my legs so that my pelvis tilted back, allowing him deeper penetration. He lifted himself up on his hands and lunged at me, burying his cock deeply into my vagina. Again and again he lunged. With my legs still up, I relaxed and rocked with his movement.

Suddenly his body stiffened and he grimaced, making a sound that actually sounded like an animal growling. His face transformed with his climax as he bared his teeth and snarled. His pelvis slammed into mine at least four, maybe five times. Sweat dripped off his face and splashed onto my cheek, running down my neck. He had his eyes closed, suspended in the void of his orgasm.

I wiped the sweaty beads from around Ivan’s eyes and waited as he slowly came back to himself. When he finally rolled over onto the bed beside me, he muttered, “Jesus H. Christ. That was good!”

Fucking hell, she gave as good as she got! She didn’t just lie there and let me do my business. She let me screw the arse off her. Christ, I wasn’t used to a lover keeping pace with me! I usually had to hold back, but not this time. My intensity didn’t put her off, it downright spurred her on!