Lovechild. Metsy Hingle

gave in to the sweet temptation of Liza’s kiss. He had envisioned this moment for months, lusted for it, dreamed of it.

      Reality was a thousand times better than the dream.

      She moved her hips against him, cradling the ache in his lower body with her womanly softness. For a moment Jacques thought he would go mad. He wanted to strip her bare and bury himself in her sweet warmth. When she repeated the motion, Jacques pulled his mouth free. “Sacre bleu!” Curling his fists in her hair, he squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to breathe.

      “Come inside,” she whispered.

      He didn’t resist. He couldn’t resist even if he had wanted to. He didn’t want to.

      The moment the door closed she was back in his arms. She pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, sending him into another tailspin of want and need. When she reached for his belt, he battled with the desire clawing at him and captured her hand. “Liza, do you know what you are doing?” he managed, his voice gruff, shaky even to his own ears.

      “Yes.”

      Jacques looked into her passion-filled eyes, and his body trembled with a new wave of desire. Struggling to hold on to his last ounce of control, he asked, “You are sure?”

      “I’m sure,” she told him. “I know all about your rules, Jacques. No promises, no commitments. Passion and friendship only.”

      The words had been a creed he’d felt he had to live by. They’d been his only weapon to protect himself and others from the darkness inside him. But hearing those words come from Liza’s lips, he suddenly became aware of the coldness of them...and even more he became aware of his own emptiness. “Yes, but—”

      She placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. “I’m not asking for anything more, Jacques. I just want you to make love to me.”

      She released the button on his slacks and eased down the zipper. Her fingers brushed his hardened length and for a moment Jacques feared he would lose control.

      She lifted her gaze to his once more. “Make me believe I’m a real woman tonight.”

      There was passion in her eyes. And doubt. For a fraction of a second he wondered why. Then her fingertips were touching him again, stroking him, driving all thoughts but making love to her from his mind. “Take my word for it, chérie. You are a real woman. And never in my life have I ever wanted any woman more than I want you right now.”

      “Then, show me.”

      The heat in her eyes, the plea in her voice, nearly pushed him over the edge. He tangled both fists in her hair and backed her against the door. He took possession of her mouth, covering her soft lips with his own. He wanted to savage her mouth, plunder it and claim her as his. Instead, he kissed her slowly, gliding his tongue along the edges of her mouth as he sought entry. When she opened to him, his tongue invaded, tangled with hers. He kissed her over and over, concentrating solely on her mouth and reveling in her sounds of pleasure. When she nipped his bottom lip, then pulled his mouth back to hers, Jacques crushed her body to him and deepened the kiss.

      Moments later Liza jerked her mouth free to look into his eyes. “Show me, Jacques. Please.”

      Jacques shuddered at the husky note desire had given her voice. Slipping his arm beneath her knees, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. A small lamp at the bedside table bathed the room in a soft glow, illuminating the raindrops sliding silently down the windowpanes. A thick rose-and-green comforter stretched across the bed. Gardenia blossoms floated in a crystal dish scenting the air with its sweet fragrance. His artist’s eye took in the details and dismissed them all, his every thought, his every breath filled with only Liza.

      He stopped at the edge of the bed and tortured himself by releasing her and having her body slide slowly down the length of his as her feet touched the floor. Leaning her against the bed, he kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. He opened the first button on the excuse for a dress she’d been wearing and kissed the base of her throat. With a patience he hadn’t known he possessed, Jacques forced himself to move slowly. Opening the buttons one by one, he took his time, kissing the skin he had bared. When the last button was free, he eased the dress from her shoulders. It fell in a puddle of shimmering green silk to the floor.

      His blood pulsed with desire as he took in the sight of her womanly curves covered only by scraps of black lace. “God, but you are beautiful,” he whispered and proceeded to worship her with his mouth and hands. He unhooked her bra and feasted on the fullness of her breasts—first with his eyes, then with his fingers as he cupped and shaped her. He caught one dark rosy nipple between his thumb and forefinger, while he lowered his head to her other breast.

      Liza moaned. She clutched at his shoulders when his mouth closed over the other crest, tugging at the tip with his teeth, then laving it with his tongue.

      “Jacques!” Her fingernails bit into his skin as he moved his mouth to pay homage to her other breast, her whimpers of pleasure fueling his own desire.

      He lifted her, placed her on the bed and then joined her. He slipped his hand beneath the black lace to thread his fingers through the pale triangle of curls between her legs. Easing first one finger inside her tight channel and then another, he gently stroked her.

      Liza gasped. Her body shuddered and she lifted herself against his hand as he increased the rhythm and pressure.

      “That is it, chérie,” he encouraged, his own voice ragged with need as he felt the first spasms hit her, sending her honeyed warmth to flow onto his fingers. When her body went limp, he began the slow stroking again.

      “Jacques, no. I can’t ... I ... not without you.”

      “For me, Liza. Let go for me.” Ignoring her cries,he brought her to the peak, again and again, extending his own pleasure and pain as he watched her come apart for him. When he could wait no longer, he stripped off his clothes and moved between her thighs.

      The rain beat fiercely against the window, matching the frantic pace of his pulse. He ripped open the foil packet with his teeth.

      “You don’t need that,” Liza told him. She took the packet from his fingers and tossed it to the floor.

      “What about protection?” he managed to say, as she closed her fist around him.

      “I can’t...” Her voice broke and her eyes shimmered a moment, before she continued. “It’s a safe time for me. I can’t... I won’t get pregnant.”

      He started to argue. To tell her he didn’t want to take any chances. But then she was opening herself, guiding him into her heat.

      “Just to be safe—”

      But then she was drawing him deeper inside her, arching her body, lifting her hips. And he forgot about arguing. He forgot about thinking. All he could do was feel.

      He drove himself into her, unable to wait any longer.

      “Jacques.”

      He slid his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the movements of their bodies with the length and speed of each stroke. Then she was tearing her mouth free, wrapping her legs around him. Lightning flashed outside the window, thunder exploded in the distance, rocking the building.

      Jacques watched in wonder as the first storm of pleasure hit Liza. Then she was crying out, convulsing around him and he was racing to join her in the storm—

      

      “What about the chocolate mousse?” Liza was saying. “Do you think it’s a safe choice or should we stick with the fruit compote?”

      Jacques jerked his attention back to the present. He gave himself a mental shake to clear his head of the seductive memory, realizing he didn’t have a clue as to what they were discussing.

      “If neither of those appeal to you, the chef also does a wonderful strawberry cheesecake,” Mr. Newberry offered.

      Jacques looked down at the chocolate