His Sugar Baby(9)

Through the daze that held her, Cathy heard and dimly understood what he was demanding of her. She felt her inner muscles contract with each slick, heavy movement stroking of the same spot building an inferno inside her. Almost panicked, she felt the fiery unaccustomed pleasure pooling again. Incandescent warmth flashed through her body, flushing her skin with perspiration. She felt as though she was melting. Spirals of heat slowly rose, suffusing her being with fever. Foreign pressure built. Her whole body tightened. Her breath hitched in her throat. It was unbearable.

“Tell me to stop, Winter!”

Stroke, stroke. Her body began to bow under the exquisite torture. She flung back her head. Her writhing fingers clawed into the cushions. She choked out the words. “No! No, don’t stop!”

Michael grunted. He breathed harshly above her, pushed himself deep. Winter felt the unfamiliar pressure, the fullness of blood-hot flesh, stretching her, burning her. Then the thick pulsing heat seated inside her began to move, slowly at first, then faster, harder. Something exploded in her mind, in her body. Passion torched her. White heat rocketed through her core, carrying her into freefall with the sparks of a comet’s tail following her down. Then the brilliance flickered out, and it was black.





“Winter.”

Disturbed by the unfamiliar summons, she dragged her eyes open. Groping heavily through groggy confusion, she blinked. Faint gray daylight trickled past the edges of navy-blue drapes. The sight of the strange bedroom disoriented her, and she shut her eyes again. She rolled her head on the pillow. Dull pain shot through her skull. She groaned and forced her eyes open. What the hell happened?

A man stood near the rumpled bed, looking down at her. He was dressed in an expensive shirt and tie and suit. His dark, damp hair glistened. She frowned up at him. She didn’t recognize him.

His eyes were pale ice-blue.

Her memory came crashing back. He had taken her on the sofa. That much she remembered. She must have passed out then. When she had come back to herself, he had somehow brought her into the bedroom, into his bed. He had taken her three more times during the night before allowing her over-stimulated, exhausted body to sleep. She squeezed shut her eyes, willing it all to have been a hallucinatory dream.

“Your clothes are here on the chair. I’ve put fresh towels in the bathroom so you can shower. When you’re ready, come downstairs so that we can talk.” Her eyes snapped open. He walked out of the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind him.

Cathy dragged the tangled mass of hair out of her face. She pushed herself up, and the sheet slipped down, exposing her nakedness. Her body protested even that small movement. Her head pounded with hangover. She was sore all over. Her dulled gaze fell on her clothes. The clothes that had been scattered all over downstairs. The clothes that were now stacked neatly on the chair beside the bed.

The sense of unreality that still fogged her mind cleared with brutal suddenness. She covered her face with trembling hands and rocked back and forth. She was surrounded by his male scent and the smell of sex. Her sensitized body still felt the imprint of his mouth, his hands, the stroke of his hard thick shaft.

She heated with embarrassment. God, what had she done? It couldn’t all be put down to the wine she had drunk. He had played her body as a maestro would play a familiar instrument, drawing the most sublime responses from her.

She had never experienced such sex in her life. She had never orgasmed when intimate with her ex-husband. Yet in a single night with a stranger… She couldn’t bear to think about it. Not right then. Not when that same stranger was waiting for her downstairs.

Cathy threw back the sheet, anxious to break free of the vivid memories of the past several hours. She clumsily snatched up her clothing and stumbled into the bathroom.

After showering and dressing in her crumpled clothing and shoes, she grabbed her purse and went downstairs. She tentatively tiptoed through the area, glancing into the rooms that she passed. She eventually came to the kitchen at the back of the house. She discovered Michael at breakfast. She hesitated in the doorway, feeling acutely self-conscious and uncertain.

Michael did not appear to suffer from the same awkwardness. When he looked up and saw her, he invited her to join him at the table. “I didn’t know what you would like. There’s fresh coffee, fruit and kolaches.”

Cathy seated herself with a murmur of thanks. She was too keyed up to be hungry, but if she was doing something as normal as eating maybe she could get through the uncomfortable experience of facing the man who had given her the most erotic night of her life.

Cathy put a couple of the warm pastries on a plate. Then she poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe. Her hands were trembling, and the hot liquid splashed over the rim of her cup. She flushed, hoping that he had not noticed.

If he did, he chose not to comment on her clumsiness. “I’m leaving for my office shortly, so I will be brief. I have already arranged for a taxi for you. It will arrive before long. This is for you because we are in one another’s company right now.”





Michael laid a hundred-dollar bill beside her plate. He studied her face, gauging her state of mind. He did not allow his own expression to give away any hint of his thoughts. He said quietly, very deliberately, “I enjoyed my time with you, Winter. I want to meet with you again, the sooner the better depending on our schedules.”