Janice Johnson - The Baby Agenda

He wished she’d brought more than one.

Will ripped it open and put on the condom. Two long steps and he was at the bed, where her legs were still splayed wide. He ran his hands up them, caressing, squeezing, until his fingers reached her damp center and he stroked as he knelt there. Not until her hips rocked again did he lower himself, taking her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss even as he pushed inside her.

She was tight. So tight he had a brief, horrified moment of wondering whether she might be a virgin. But he met no barrier, although he had to quit kissing her to grit his teeth at the exquisite pressure her body put on him. He was a big man, but he’d never felt anything like this.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked roughly.

She was panting for breath and her eyes were dilated.

“No,” she whispered. “Oh, no.”

Will moved. Out, in, slowly this time. He was near to exploding, but he had to give her pleasure first. Had to.

“Never felt…anything…this good,” he groaned against her throat.

“Please.” She wrapped her legs around his hips and rose to meet his next thrust. “Oh, please.”

He knew what she needed. He just wasn’t sure he could hold out long enough. He tried to blank his mind as he plunged, again and again, clasped so tight by her. He’d been holding his weight from her on his elbows, but now he reached down with one hand and gripped her hips, lifting her higher, changing the angle at which their bodies met.

“Will?” She sounded…almost frightened. Stunned, certainly. And then she cried out, and her body spasmed. He drove himself in her as deep as he could go and let the climax roll through him, the pleasure so powerful he couldn’t have formed a coherent thought if his life had depended on it.

He collapsed on top of her and couldn’t move.

Through a haze, it occurred to him that he’d never felt this amazing in his life. That sex had never approached being this powerful. He didn’t know how or why it had been this time. Maybe something about the night, about having watched her for so long through the glass. And they didn’t know each other.

That was it: anticipation, and mystery.

Eventually he made himself roll to one side and tuck her against him, her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin. Eyes closed, he smiled, imagining those tendrils reaching for some kind of toehold, like ivy scaling a brick wall.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his voice thick.

She snuggled closer and said nothing.

Will let himself drift, aware of the change in her breathing as she fell asleep. And, in drifting, he slept himself.

It was probably the unfamiliar weight of her head on his shoulder that awakened him. Will was disoriented only for a moment. He reached up with his free hand and brushed curls from his mouth, then tilted his head enough to be able to see her face. Her lips were parted, and a faint snore came to his ears.

His body stirred, and Will wished again that they had more than one condom. He supposed he could call down to the front desk… But she was sound asleep. She didn’t surface when he gently disentangled himself. Wishing for another condom had reminded him that he hadn’t removed the last one, or cleaned up.

What he should do was get dressed and go. Staying longer wouldn’t bring anything but frustration and, come morning, an awkward conversation he’d as soon not have. She’d asked for one night; he’d told her it couldn’t be any more than that. What else was there to say?

Will eased away, used the bathroom, then quietly got dressed. He found a pen on the desk and wrote quickly on the back of one of his business cards:

You are beautiful. I wish more than one night had been possible.

Will.

He underlined the are with a dark slash.

He picked up her clothes and laid them over a chair, then tucked the covers under her chin. She sighed and shifted before sinking back into deep slumber.

Will took one last look at her face and the vivid hair spread across the pillow, turned off the lamp and quietly let himself out of the room.

MOIRA WOKE WITH A START. Her mouth felt disgusting and she tried to work up some saliva. When she moved, a headache blossomed. Ugh. Was she coming down with something…?

She opened her eyes and remembered. Oh, Lord, she thought in shock. Had she really…? She squeezed her eyes shut. Yes. Yes, she had.

Behind closed eyelids, she pictured him, broad and tall in the darkness, the way she saw him first, then his rough-hewn face above her here in this bed, his short dark hair and the deep brown eyes looking so intensely into hers. She saw him so vividly, she expected to see him in reality when she opened her eyes, even though she knew better.

When she rolled enough to check out the other side of the bed and the room, it was to find herself alone. He was gone. They’d had sex, and he’d left her sleeping.

After, Moira noticed, picking up her clothes so they weren’t left wadded on the floor.

With a groan, she got out of bed, snatched up her clothes and rushed into the bathroom. Her stomach felt queasy but not too bad. She couldn’t exactly say she was hungover, although she wished she hadn’t had the last drink or two. Maybe, with a clearer head, she’d have had more sense than to take a hotel room and invite a perfect stranger into bed with her.

Shame crawled over her skin like goose bumps. What on earth had made her do something like that? She’d had only one lover in her whole life, and that was a college boyfriend. All these years since, she’d never even been tempted to have a one-night stand.

Until last night. When she’d not only been tempted, she’d done it.

The shower was blessedly hot, and she stayed in it for a long time. Getting dressed afterward wasn’t fun, given that she didn’t have clean underwear and had to put on an evening gown and high heels. She’d have killed for coffee and breakfast to settle her stomach, but no way was she going in a restaurant dressed like this, advertising that she’d had a hard night. She could order from room service… But that seemed silly. She’d be home in forty-five minutes.

With no brush, either, all she could do was loosely braid her wet hair. Her evening bag…she spotted it lying atop the dresser, next to a TV schedule and some local promotional brochures. Her keys had fallen to the floor for some reason, and as she bent to pick them up she saw her lipstick, too. She grabbed the purse and straightened, stuffing the lipstick inside as she turned for the door. Moira had no idea where the room key was and didn’t care. At last, gingerly, she picked up the business card with the short note written on the back. A painful lump seemed to form in her chest.

Why can’t we have more than one night? But she wouldn’t call him. He’d made clear his limitations. If he wanted to, he could find her.

Moira dropped the business card in her purse and let herself out of the room. All she wanted was to get to her car, preferably unseen, and go home.

Then she would try to understand why she’d so foolishly gotten naked with a stranger, however kind and sexy he was.

But she knew, of course: her feelings had been hurt and she’d needed consolation. Foolish was the word for it, Moira thought, blushing as she crossed the hotel foyer under the gaze of a woman behind the front desk. And risky. That was another word for having sex with a stranger.

Except, he hadn’t hurt her, and she knew he’d used the condom. Because he’d remembered, not because she had. She’d been lucky. Done something dumb, and escaped any of the myriad possible consequences. She should be old enough not to have to learn a lesson this way, but apparently she wasn’t.

Moira got into her car and momentarily laid her forehead against the steering wheel.