Dance: Dance of the Seven Veils Read online

  “Say it!”

  “I want you,” she whispered.

  “Not right.” His grip on her hips tightened into hot pincers.

  “I want you to fuck me. Now!” She lifted one hand off the counter and grabbed his hard cock, stroking it, pulling him inexorably closer. “Please, Savidge, please, I want you inside me!”

  On a groan, he rammed his cock into her.

  She cried out as she felt the thick hardness of him fill her with an inferno of heat that penetrated deep into every cell of her being. With her right leg still over his left shoulder, she braced herself on her arms to withstand his onslaught. But he stood motionless, buried to the hilt inside her, hands gripping her hips until she felt the crescents of his nails digging into her soft flesh. He stared into her eyes, his dark ones piercing deep into hers.

  Time stood suspended. She saw a drop of sweat coalesce on his temple. Saw the untamed fire in his eyes, the throbbing of a vein in his neck. Then he withdrew his cock, slowly, inch by scalding inch, until only the tip remained inside her. She murmured her discontent, lifted her pelvis to recapture him.

  One side of his mouth tilted up. “What? Tell me. What do you want?”

  “Savidge, don’t tease me,” she whispered breathily. “Please.” It came out a sob.

  Slowly, inexorably, he pushed his engorged cock partway into her slit.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Please…more…”

  Once again he rammed all the way in, stayed there, his breath coming fast and hard against the side of her face. Somewhere in a far corner of her consciousness, she heard the door close softly, presumably Andrea leaving, her part in this seduction completed.

  “Is this what you want? Like this?”

  “Dammit, Savidge, don’t tease me!” Lyssa was so hot, so frustrated, she could barely see straight. She squeezed her inner muscles in a frantic attempt to feed her hunger. “Move it!”

  He obliged by pulling halfway out again.

  With a hiss, Lyssa lifted her left hand from where her fingers had splayed against the cool marble of the counter, and grabbed one tight, round globe of his ass, strained to pull him closer against his token resistance. A devilish grin spread across his handsome face. His eyes sparkled with a lust that made Lyssa’s breath stop. Then they darkened, and all trace of playfulness vanished from them.

  He moved slowly, pulling back so just the tip of his cock was inside her, then reversed direction unhurriedly, until he was again embedded, his gaze all the while holding hers. He pulled back again, then established a rhythm that gradually gained momentum, ratcheting both of them to a higher and then yet higher plane of sensation, until she was almost incoherent with wanting. Every stroke brought her closer to fever-pitch, until she felt the spasms start, then build, squeezing him, milking him, and ultimately sending her over the edge.

  The pace of his movements accelerated as he captured her ecstatic cry with his hot lips, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as vigorously as his cock thrust into her slit. Lyssa thought she couldn’t soar any higher, but the sensuous assault surprised another, stronger orgasm from her, like hurricane waves smashing to the shore one atop the other. Her head lolled back, exposing the long curve of her throat to his devouring mouth as he moved like a hot piston against her.

  Suddenly he swore. “I can’t believe I forgot—”

  With a groan, he pulled out, her name both prayer and curse on his lips.

  Lyssa roused herself from a rapturous haze at the sudden withdrawal. She saw his face contort, the muscles and veins in his neck stand out, felt the sudden release of his grip on her hips.

  And realized immediately. No condom. They’d been too eager, both of them. In a swift, graceful move, she slid her leg down from his shoulder, pushed him back a step, slipped off the counter and sank to her knees. Her hand slid atop his where it gripped the base of his near-to-bursting cock. She guided it into her mouth in time to capture the first throbbing spurts of his semen. She felt him grab a fistful of her hair as he held her head immobile, his hips still pumping, fucking her mouth as he emptied himself into her with a long, guttural cry.

  Lyssa tasted her cunt juices on his cock as she sucked him, swallowed his essence, held him in her mouth long after the feral sounds he’d made subsided into jerky, rasping breaths. In a way, she gained comfort from holding him this way, like a baby needs his thumb or his mother’s breast to be safe, to be whole. It was an alien feeling to her, but utterly welcome. As though she’d come home.

  “Jesus,” he croaked. “Lyssa, I’m sorry I had to…”

  With her mouth still clasping his deflating cock, she felt him bend down unsteadily and put his hands under her armpits, as if to lift her to her feet. But Lyssa decided she liked the status quo right this minute. With a slight negative shake of her head, she shrugged his hands off and tightened the pressure of her mouth on his cock. She’d never before been the slightest bit curious about a man’s anatomy, but somehow it felt right that she should run her tongue around the crown of his cock, feel the smoothness of the jutting ridge, tuck the tip of her tongue inside his opening. She cupped his balls experimentally, learning their texture, soft now and hanging low between his legs, one slightly larger than the other.

  Above her, she heard a low moan, and felt her lips stretch into a smile. She’d never known such power over a man before. She tucked her head back, letting the cock slip out of her mouth. It bounced against his balls with a soft thwap. She swirled her fingers into the crisp, wiry hairs surrounding its base, marveling at the difference in texture between it and the wavy hair on his head. With an index finger she traced the dark blue vein running along one side of his cock and watched, fascinated, as it twitched and began to swell. She moistened her finger, stroked the vein, glided her finger around the crown. The cock twitched again, swelled to a larger circumference.

  “Woman, you’re killing me,” he growled, and lifted her to her feet in a decisive swoop that left no room for resistance. As soon as she stood erect, he bent down to ravish her mouth in a kiss so torrid that her knees would have buckled without his arms around her in a death grip.

  “Jesus,” he said when he finally allowed her to come up for air. “What you do to me.”

  He kissed her eyelids, one after the other, then the tip of her nose, her cheek, her temple. Then tucked her tenderly to his chest. Lyssa closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his waist, and let the rhythmic thud of his heart beneath her ear soothe her. The heat of him against her torso comforted her like a roaring fireplace on a cold night. She inhaled a deep, bracing breath. And smelled the strong scent of sex, felt the scrape of his chest hair against her naked breasts.

  Her eyes popped open. They were both naked, having just fucked like rabbits in the executive washroom on the twenty-first floor of a high-rent Philadelphia office building, and the administrative assistant probably had her ear against the door to discern when she might discreetly knock to remind them that the real world awaited them.

  “Savidge.” Lyssa shoved him away, her face heating until she was sure she looked like a cooked lobster. He’d transformed her into a greedy, needy lump of hormones and nerve endings every time they crossed paths. She had to put distance between them before she burned to a crisp—or died of embarrassment.

  Robert Savidge captured her hands in his and lifted them to his mouth. He kissed her fingertips, each in its turn, before releasing them. “You make a man forget his responsibilities,” he murmured. “I’d apologize, but…” He crushed her to his chest, buried his face in her disheveled hair, ran his hands up and down her back. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  “Don’t keep my hands off you?”

  “Please,” she croaked. “Don’t make it worse.”

  With a resigned sigh he stepped away from her. And tripped, barely managing to keep upright by grabbing onto the marble counter. Looking down, Lyssa realized that his trousers and navy briefs were still pooled around his ankle
s. Which reminded her of her own nudity. Turning quickly away from the wry look on his face, she shimmied into her own panties and slacks and spied her now-dry bra and shell on top of the ironing board.

  “Lyssa, I—”

  “Just—go,” she said, turning her back to him in a belated show of modesty.

  She felt his eyes on her back for a moment, then heard the door open. Before it closed again, she heard him say, “Here, you might want this.”

  Only after she heard the door close did she turn around. He had thoughtfully set her purse on the counter.

  Lyssa closed her eyes. She had to get far away from him, as fast as she could. Or she might find herself falling for such a sensitive, perceptive man who could turn her brain into cooked oatmeal and her knees to mashed potatoes.

  Chapter Five

  “You’re not running away again.”

  Lyssa felt trapped. She’d opened the washroom door a crack to see if she could escape without further embarrassment, and there he was, waiting for her, looking sexy and sophisticated and totally at ease. For long moments as she’d combed her hair and repaired her makeup, she stared at the stranger looking back at her from the washroom mirror. She’d turned into an odalisque, lusting after a man she’d only met a few days ago.

  What must he think of her? It couldn’t be any worse than her own low opinion of herself, acting like a bitch in heat or worse, a nymphomaniac who so easily succumbed to the first man who tried to seduce her.

  No, that wasn’t fair. Other men had pursued her at the Platinum Society, but she’d turned them away. It was Robert Savidge she’d chosen to seduce with her dance, and he simply took what she offered. And, damn, she had been in heat. Had been consumed with satisfying the raging hormones she hadn’t known she possessed over the many unhappy years of her marriage. How could she blame Savidge? After all, they’d met at an orgy, for heaven’s sake.

  She wondered if she’d ever be able to accept that earthier side of herself. Just how earthy she’d been had scared the daylights out of her.

  “Please, Lyssa, hear me out.” Robert Savidge stood in the anteroom a non-threatening distance from her. He gestured to one of the wing chairs they’d sat in before, indicating he wanted her to sit down and continue their attorney-client chat as if they hadn’t just rubbed bellies to a volcanic explosion a few minutes ago.

  Lyssa stood her ground in the doorway, her teeth clenched.

  Soft piano music wafted through hidden speakers. Yanni, she thought. Soothing, New Age music meant to calm. She had no intention of calming down. Robert Savidge could take his randy appendage and shove it in the nearest pencil sharpener. She would not, would not, be just a handy receptacle for his lust.

  “If you could give me the confirmation number,” she said, trying to put frost and disdain into her voice, “I’ll be on my way. We still have last-minute packing to do. We’re leaving at seven tomorrow morning for Dartmouth.”

  “Lyssa—” her name fell like warm cognac from his mouth, “—we have to talk about it.”

  She lifted her chin in defiance. Her mouth thinned to a tight line.

  He took a step toward her. She tensed.

  “Lyssa,” he tried again, “try to see it from my point of view. You came to my father’s home Saturday night, to an orgy sponsored by the Platinum Society, which, in blunt language, is a sex club. You came as the guest of a long-time member, Kathryn Ondov Donaldson. You mingled freely with the guests, allowed men to touch you, to rub their naked bodies against you. You performed a dance of incredible sensuousness, divesting yourself of all your clothes, flimsy as they were, seeing as how they were nothing but a handful of diaphanous veils, and flung yourself naked into my very aroused lap. You spread your legs and allowed, no, you reveled in my mouth on your cunt. The next day you came to my office—”

  “I didn’t know I’d run into you,” she spat the pronoun as though a cockroach had found its way into her mouth.

  “—to my office,” he ran roughshod over her protest, “and melted as soon as I touched you. You wrapped your legs around me and couldn’t get enough of my kisses. You wanted me as much as I wanted you when I fucked you on my desk.

  “Today, Andrea told you she’d seen you at the masquerade and, if I’m not mistaken, showed you the eagle feather tattooed on her breast, but you had already admired it that night, admired her breasts, in fact, hadn’t you? And you didn’t protest, didn’t stop her when she started kissing those rosy nipples of yours.”

  Lyssa gasped. “You watched? Before…before you came into the washroom?”

  He took another step closer, his predatory grin answering her question. She stood her ground.

  “And did you stop to protest when each of us had one of your breasts in hand?” he continued relentlessly. “Or when Andrea pulled down your pants? Or when you demanded that I fuck you? Or when you grabbed my ass to get me closer? I don’t have to remind you that when I belatedly had the presence of mind to pull out because I wasn’t wearing a condom, you went down on—”

  “Stop!” Lyssa squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms against her ears. They felt as hot as her face. “You make me sound like a nymphomaniac.”

  “Lyssa,” he said gently, “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I just stated the facts as I saw them. What I saw was a beautiful, sensual woman who was proud to display her knockout body, a woman who, for some inexplicable reason, chose me out of all the men at the party to offer herself to. Do you blame me for coming back to the well for more?”

  His voice sounded close to her. Slowly Lyssa let her hands slide down from her ears, opened her eyes. Robert Savidge stood before her, hands casually in his pants pockets, white shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned, tie hanging loose around his neck.

  She lowered her gaze to the parquet floor, idly letting her eyes pick out the intricate pattern of the wood. Her mouth felt dried out, like a cake that had been in the oven an hour too long. “The way you said it sounds…”

  Sordid. She worried her lower lip. “Please. Let me go. I can’t allow myself to think about anything but my daughter. I’m driving her to New Hampshire tomorrow. I’ll be saying goodbye to my little girl and when she comes back for Thanksgiving weekend, she’ll be all grown up. I can’t take any more emotion right now. Please.” She raised her eyes to his. “Just give me the confirmation number so I can go home and tell her everything’s all right.”

  After a long pause, Robert Savidge swore softly and turned away. “Coming right up.”

  Chapter Six

  “Oh, good. You made yourself at home. Have you been waiting long?”

  Lyssa opened her eyes and half turned in the lounge chair. Kat bustled onto the patio carrying a lacquered tray holding a wine bottle and two long-stemmed glasses.

  “I got here about four-thirty.” It was now after six on Saturday afternoon. The air was sultry, the sun tipping behind the tall oak trees in Kat’s backyard. Nary a ripple disturbed the surface of the amoeba-shaped pool. “It felt good to have absolutely nothing to decide for two hours except whether I wanted to jump in and get my hair wet or to stay absolutely immobile in the sun and doze.”

  Kat chuckled. “I can see by the damp ponytail that you actually made a decision.”

  Lyssa lifted her hand to the haphazardly arranged blonde locks inside a scrunchie. “It’s almost dry again. Honest, Kat, I can’t believe getting one young lady off to school could leave such a mess behind. I spent the whole day straightening up the house.”

  “You had quite a week,” Kat observed. “A nine-hour drive up, a day settling Michelle at school, nine hours back and bingo, your vacation’s gone.” She set down the tray on a small wrought-iron table between two chairs. “Here. Make yourself useful and open the wine while I get out of my work clothes. We’ll have a dip before I dish the food.”

  “I lifted the lid. That lamb stew smells heavenly. I’ve never used a slow cooker.”

  “You’re not that organized,” Kat retorted. “You’d have to do
the peeling, browning, and so forth in the morning in order to eat that night.”

  “Very funny.” Lyssa sat up and reached for corkscrew and bottle. “Mmm. Chilean Merlot. What are we celebrating?”

  “I’ll offer a toast in a minute. Just pop the cork.”

  A few minutes later Kat returned and flopped on the adjacent lounge chair. Lyssa thought Kat’s skimpy red bikini showed off her tall, curvy figure to perfection. Lyssa herself wore a backless, white maillot with high-cut legs and a neckline that plunged down to her waist, with a modesty hook at her breast that she’d left undone. She’d bought it at Kat’s insistence but had never worn it before. After her torrid encounters with Robert Savidge, she was starting to feel as though she could be—or rather, was—sexy.

  Lyssa filled each glass half full. Notes of cherry and oak swirled from the bowl to her nose as she poured. They clinked glasses. “What are we drinking to?”

  “Sex, what else?” Kat laughed, the sound low and sexy.

  “Well, um…”

  “Come on, Lyssa. Dish. You had that gladiator tied in knots. Honestly, you could almost see the sparks fly between you. First he devours you with his eyes, then with his—”

  “Stop.” Dammit, her cheeks were getting hot again.

  Kat sat up, leaned an arm on the table between them. “Lyssa, this is me you’re talking to. Your best friend, your maid of honor, your daughter’s godmother, the one who stood beside you when that jerk was screwing around on you.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret. That’s the first time I’ve seen him really get into it. You’ve done something a lot of women in the club would give up their botox injections for. You got him to participate.”

  “But-but—” Despite her reticence to talk about Robert Savidge, Lyssa felt a warmth spread throughout her body at her friend’s comment. “He never—? But wasn’t that his father’s house? How long have you known him?”