Lori Wilde - My Secret Life

His head was buried between her legs, his tongue stroking her hooded femininity. She savored the wild ride. This encounter was special. Something she’d remember to the end of her days. She did not want reality to intrude.

He teased her clit, circling slowly at first, and then faster and firmer, pulling her toward a beautiful climax. But he wasn’t going to let it be that easy. He eased off on the pressure, slowed down. And then he took her up again. Up and down in a tumult of sensation until she thought she’d go mad with need.

“I want to feel you inside me,” she murmured. “I have to… feel you. Now.”

He pulled back, rose to his feet. She heard him rustling. What was he doing? She was so wet and hot and achy. She needed him. Now, now, now.

“Do you have a condom?” she whispered.

“Got it covered,” he said.

There was a slight tearing sound of a small package being opened.

She touched him down there, through the opening in his leather pants. Her hand closing around his steely shaft, and she heard his low groan of pleasure.

He was so hard. So big.

“Hurry,” she insisted, growing suddenly scared against a nameless sense of dread crowding inside her chest. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said, pushing her shoulders against the wall, “and grab the clothing rods.”

Heart pounding, she did as he asked. One hand wrapped around the hanging rod on the right, the other on the left, her legs serpentined around his hard waist. She could feel the tip of his penis throbbing against her bare buttocks.

She felt like an acrobat, a trapeze artist. It added to the excitement.

Carefully, he entered her warm wet center. She could feel the material of his pants rubbing against her thighs as he moved. Katie reflectively closed her eyes, gasping in reverence.

What an incredible sensation .

She was entranced, filled up by him. She relished the wonder of his body, the excitement of her fantasy, of the life force pulsing through him and into her and back again.

He pushed into the hilt.

And then he began a slow, meticulous thrusting.

Swept away, she matched his tempo, arching her back, pushing against him, using the hanging rods as a fulcrum, increasing the tension. The rhythm between them was quite extraordinary. They were so in tune with each other.

He thrust, she parried.

It was almost mystical.

This slow, sweet journey. The intensity rising and swelling, dropping and climbing.

“More,” she gasped, barely hanging on to her French accent. “I’ve got to have more.”

“Greedy,” he accused.

Yes, yes, she was greedy and not the least bit remorseful.

Biting need flowed through her body. She needed this intimacy, needed him. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and she held him tightly.

The orgasm rose in her, in a hot, loud knot. She let go of the hanging rod so she could stuff her right fist against her mouth to hold back her cries of ecstasy.

He gave one last thrust and his body twitched with the power of his own climax. The sound of his breathing was rough against her ears.

And just after his release, she came as she’d never come before. Wave upon wave. An entire ocean crashing through her.

He held her as she shuddered in his arms. Then, after they’d recovered, he dressed her in the dark, tenderly slipping on her stockings and her shoes. When he was finished he pulled her to his chest and kissed her softly one last time.

“Oh, Richard.” She breathed. “You were magnificent, as I knew you would be.”

He made a startled noise and stepped away from her.

“What’s wrong?” Katie felt his alarm. Hurriedly, she pulled the mask that had gotten pushed up on top of her head back down over her face and quickly adjusted her wig.

“Richard?”

He did not answer, but the coats mumbled as he brushed past them in his effort to get out of the closet and away from her.

Katie fumbled on the wall for the light switch and found it just as he opened the door.

The closet was bathed in light.

Their eyes met.

The pirate captain raised his palms. Katie found herself staring at the barbed-wire tattoo encircling his left wrist. Alarm shot through her, but her brain was still not processing what her eyes were telling her.

This man was not Richard Hancock.

This man was Liam James.

With dawning horror, Katie gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. She’d just had sex with her sister’s boyfriend!

STUNNED, Liam could only stare as the woman in the French-maid costume almost knocked him down getting past him. In the stark glare of the closet light bulb, he saw her auburn wig was knocked askew, blond curls were peeking out around it.

“Wait,” he called.

She tossed him one last panic-stricken look over her shoulder. Even with the mask covering most of her face, she seemed oddly familiar. Did he know her?

He shook his head to clear it. Who?

Brooke. She reminded him of Brooke Winfield.

The synapses in his brain fired rapidly as alarming thoughts crowded in. Had Brooke dressed up in the French-maid costume to seduce him at the party? But Brooke had brown hair and she was taller than this woman.

And then it dawned on him and he recognized where he’d seen that saucy little walk before.

She was Katie Winfield. Brooke’s baby sister.

Shoving a hand through his hair, Liam groaned aloud.

He had to go after her, had to explain himself. Had to justify what he’d done. Had to make sense of what they’d done together.

Liam took off after her, but she’d already disappeared in the crowd. People were staring at him, pointing and tittering. Agitated, he glanced down and saw that his bare chest was exposed from where Katie had ripped the buttons off his shirt and that his pants were unzipped.

Frantically, he tugged up his zipper as he ran. He was desperate to talk to her before she got away. But by the time he reached the front door, she’d already fled to the parking lot.

“Katie!” he yelled as he stumbled down the stairs and out onto the asphalt road, just as her red BMW convertible sped past him.

All he saw were her taillights disappearing into the darkness, leaving him feeling like the world’s biggest jerk.

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