RoxannesPirate Page 2

  Roxanne was about to protest, but she was curious. He made the words “private club” sound like a rare and wonderful thing. She followed him through the door, stumbling slightly. The room resembled a fine library. It was finished in light wood paneling with dark blue carpeting and brass light fixtures. A group of business-suited men sat in blue leather club chairs at one end, a dark-haired man sat at a white cloth-covered table at the other. This man was bent over his cell phone, a tumbler of amber liquid on the table near his elbow. It was to him her guide led her.

  “Mr. Delgado? This lady is here for you.”

  The dark-haired man looked up and Roxanne’s mind went blank. Dark eyes under black eyebrows, wavy black hair, olive skin, strong cheekbones and jaw, a slightly crooked nose, firm lips under a black mustache. His face had an aspect of concentrated intelligence and virility.

  Somebody somewhere had waved a magic wand and produced her pirate in beautiful living flesh—and he was dee-licious.

  Chapter Two

  The hotel employee waved Roxanne forward then turned and walked away.

  “Yes?” Mr. Delgado asked. He leaned back in his chair. His crisp white shirt and crimson silk tie set off his dark features perfectly. His charcoal gray suit was elegant, the gold signet ring on his pinkie glittered in the light—a pinkie ring, not a wedding ring. His eyes rose to Roxanne’s face, one black eyebrow arching like a facial question mark. “What can I do for you?”

  Roxanne’s brain buzzed but she remembered the envelope in her hand. “This is for you.” She handed it to him.

  “Please, sit.” He gestured to the chair near his. “Miss?”

  “Roxanne.”

  Mistake! She should have thought of an alias, given him the name of a fascinating woman, a woman who knew all about fun. She sat on the chair as gracefully as she could, though she had the odd sensation that she was not in complete control of her movements. She watched him open the envelope and draw out a folded letter. His fingers were long, ending in cleanly manicured nails. Her heart flipped when she saw the wiry black hair on his wrists that peeked out from under his white cuffs. Under his expensive tailored clothes, he was a male animal. She could picture the black hair on his chest, on his legs, at his groin.

  Mr. Delgado read the letter and chuckled.

  “Well, this is very generous of Mr. Cooper, but I’m afraid I must decline.” He refolded the letter and tapped it on the table. “You would be a lovely companion, but accepting such gifts from business associates often has unfortunate complications.”

  Roxanne’s throat tightened. She imagined his lips pressed to her ear, imagined him ordering her to spread her legs for him.

  Mr. Delgado put the letter on the table and picked up his drink.

  “I’ll let Mr. Cooper know that it was not due to any failure on your part that I declined the offer. I’m sorry to have caused you any inconvenience.”

  Don’t send me away! Panic fluttered in Roxanne’s belly. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, press her tongue in his mouth, grind her pelvis against him. What was wrong? It had something to do with the letter.

  “May I read the letter?” Roxanne’s voice sounded unnaturally low to her ears, not at all her normal speaking voice.

  Mr. Delgado widened his eyes, but he courteously said, “Be my guest.”

  Roxanne smoothed the letter open. She had to read the words twice before she could grasp their meaning. Carlos—I know how rough you’ve had it. Here’s a little something to help you relax. Enjoy! T. Cooper.

  Her heart pounded. He thought she was the little something that had been sent to help him relax. He is the finest-looking man you’ve ever met. If you make him want you, you can have him. Make him want you. Make him want you like he’s never wanted anyone before. You can do it. She leaned forward, the better to show off her cleavage. She caught the faintest whiff of his scent, musky and slightly floral. The smell made her ache.

  “Is your reluctance,” she enunciated the words carefully, “due to personal commitments?”

  He glanced at her breasts, shook his head and smiled.

  “Not at all.”

  Good, she didn’t have to drill holes in his moral armor. “I understand your concern, Mr. Delgado, but my evening is all arranged.” She traced the curve of one breast with her fingers. His eyes fixed on her hand. His lips parted when she ran one finger lightly over her raised nipple. How much she wanted his hands on her skin! “I would hate to spend the rest of my evening alone. Perhaps you might spare me a little of your time?”

  “Perhaps.” His smile was still amused. “Would you like a drink, Roxanne?”

  “What are you having?”

  “Lagavulin. A single malt scotch from the island of Islay.”

  “May I try some?”

  He held the tumbler out to her. She ignored the glass and brushed her lips lightly against his mouth. His mustache tickled her lip. The effect on her was electric. Her nerve endings vibrated.

  He drew in his breath. He was no longer smiling.

  “That was nice,” Roxanne said. “Do you mind if I try another taste?”

  He did not turn away. She pressed her mouth firmly on his and parted her lips. His lips parted and the tips of their tongues touched. His mouth had the smoky taste of this whiskey. He let out the faintest groan.

  She pulled away. His lips were still parted. She rested her hand on his inner thigh. Under the fine wool fabric, his leg was solid and strong. She squeezed it gently.

  “Ah, Roxanne, that’s not fair.”

  He wanted her.

  “I can assure you, Mr. Delgado,” she said, “if you need to relax, I’ll be very effective.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Call me Carlos, please. You seem eager to do your job, Roxanne.”

  “It’s your mustache, Carlos. I would so much like to feel it on my skin. The thought of it makes me tingle all over.”

  The muscles around his jaw tightened.

  Neurons fired in Roxanne’s brain and body in an entirely new way—she had to show him how much she wanted him, had to make him see her need, had to make him give in to his own. She draped her leg over his. She took his hand from where it rested on the table. His smile grew broader as she slipped his hand under her skirt and rested it on her naked thigh. His hand was so warm.

  “I want to please you, Carlos. Touch me and you’ll know how sincere I am.”

  She slid his hand up her thigh to her crotch. His fingers brushed against the thin silk between her legs. She could hardly breathe. She would do anything to have him. She hooked her finger under the side of her panties and drew the thin fabric away from her moist flesh. “Really touch me,” she begged him.

  His dark eyes narrowed. The tip of one of his fingers traced the tender edge of her labia. She pressed his hand and arched her pelvis so that the tip of his finger slid into her, its passage made easier by the copious fluid that drenched her.

  She groaned. Her vaginal muscles contracted around his finger. She whispered, “Take me.”

  His eyelids fluttered. He drew several rapid breaths.

  “You’re very persuasive,” he said.

  She used all her willpower to pull away from him and release his hand. She brought her legs together and sat back in her chair. She was on fire.

  He raised his finger to his nose and sniffed it. He said, “Your scent lingers.”

  She pressed her hand on his crotch. His cock was amazingly stiff. “Please, Carlos. I need you as much as you need me.”

  His cock twitched under her hand. He chuckled but his hands clutched the cloth on the table. “It seems you’ve caught me at a very weak moment.”

  “Have I convinced you?” She squeezed his cock again.

  “Oh God yes.” He took a deep breath. “I think we should continue our conversation elsewhere.” He stood and slipped off his suit jacket. He held it in front of his body to hide his erection. “Come.”

  She stood and took the elbow he offered her. She was grateful for the suppo
rt. The room was spinning pleasantly.

  They were not alone on the elevator. They stood next to each other, silent, but she could tell from his sidelong glance and smile that he was thinking about what was to come. They reached the door to his room, though the floor seemed to slope oddly. He took out his key card. Dimly she was aware that there was danger in what she was doing, but when he opened the door, she followed him in.

  They walked into the living room of a suite—the bedroom was visible through a door at the other end. She glimpsed a desk in the corner, a flat screen television mounted above a fireplace and a brown leather sectional couch with a large, rectangular leather ottoman as a coffee table.

  Carlos draped his suit jacket on a chair. He took off his tie and laid it on his jacket. He turned to her and held out his hand. It was all the inducement Roxanne needed to stand on tiptoe and wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. The smoky warmth of his mouth and the soft pressure of his tongue were intoxicating. He pulled her against him, his hands pressed into her back. The hunger she had felt before was doubled, tripled. She gripped the back of his neck and probed his mouth with her tongue and ground her pelvis against his erection. He made soft sounds of pleasure. She fumbled with his belt and zipper, freeing the hard muscle of his cock from his pants and silk underwear and squeezed it. He was thick and long, a wonderful handful. He groaned and pushed her away.

  “It’s been a long time for me. I don’t want this to end too soon. Let me touch you.”

  Her hands felt empty without his cock to hold. She let him pull her close, let him untie the knots that held her halter in place, let him drop the halter on the floor.

  “You are so lovely,” he said. He gently stroked her breasts. She whimpered when his hands touched her skin—the feeling overwhelmed her. “So lovely,” he repeated. He turned her slightly and kissed her neck. His tongue traced the curves of her breasts and circled each taut nipple.

  She shivered. She had forgotten the sharp thrill of a wet tongue on sensitive skin.

  He unzipped her skirt and pulled the waist of it and her panties down her legs, his face now level with her crotch. She stepped out of her skirt and panties. He stood, keeping space between their bodies, and put his hands between her legs. She spread her feet apart. The thick tip of his finger traced her folds and slid into her. She moaned. She was wet and open and needed him so. She reached for him, but he stepped away.

  “I want to undress.” He unbuttoned his shirt and put it on the chair. He took off his pants and silk briefs. His body was long and lean. A fine black fan of hair spread across his chest down his belly to join the thick hair at his groin. His cock rose up like a steel beam and twitched when she knelt in front of him.

  She flicked her tongue over the smooth head of his cock. It twitched again. She started to take it in her mouth, but he tugged her hair and pulled her away. He was breathing hard.

  “Don’t. That’s not what I want from you.” He pulled her to the ottoman. He lay down on it and pulled her on top of him. He held the base of her head. He kissed her feverishly on her mouth, on her neck. He sucked and bit her breasts. He was not gentle.

  She could hardly breathe; her desire for him was dizzying.

  “Fuck me, Roxanne.”

  She rose off him to grab her evening bag. She opened it and took out a condom. She couldn’t tear the packet with her fingers, so she tore it open with her teeth. He watched her and stroked his cock with one hand, waiting for her.

  “Hurry!”

  She unrolled the condom on him. He reached for her and pulled her against him. “Fuck me!” he said. “Fuck me hard!”

  She straddled him and lowered her hips, crying out as he filled her. Oh God, it was good to have his cock inside her! She rocked against him, trying to find the rhythm that would please him, and then pleasing him was the furthest thing from her mind and body. She could feel her orgasm building. She dug her fingers into the olive skin of his belly and rode him without any thought but reaching that peak of pleasure, frantic for her release. His dark eyes narrowed, his mouth opened wide. And then she was there—her passage convulsed with the force of her climax, spasms flooded her, she cried out and was erased and made wonderfully new. He clutched her thighs so hard his grip hurt. His hips arched under her. He stiffened and shut his eyes. He groaned then let her go. She collapsed onto him. His arms went around her and held her gently. Her passage continued to spasm around his softening cock, the pleasure slowly dying away. He gently tugged his cock out of her. She hated to part with him.

  “Oh, that was good,” he said. “Well worth the complications.”

  “There won’t be any,” Roxanne said. She was dazed. Was there ever a more marvelous feeling? She kissed his neck. They lay together for a few minutes. He sat up.

  “Excuse me, I need to dispose of this.”

  Roxanne lay back on the ottoman, enjoying the momentary peace in her body. It would not last—she could feel desire fluttering at the edge. She would want him again soon. She sighed deeply and cupped her breasts. Her nipples were still hard.

  He came back from the bedroom wearing a crimson silk dressing gown. It was a lovely color against his olive skin. He held out a terry cloth robe to her.

  “I don’t want you to catch cold.”

  She sat up and took it. She put it on. She realized she was still wearing her sandals. She unbuckled them and let them fall on the floor next to her discarded evening bag. She reached down and pulled out another condom, which she put in the pocket of her robe. Good girl, think positive!

  He tugged at the belt around his waist.

  “Would you like a drink?” He moved to a sideboard against the wall. “I’m afraid I don’t have a wide selection. There are soft drinks and sparkling water or wine—a crisp white from Argentina or a full-bodied red from Chile.”

  Roxanne stood. She had to hold on to the ottoman for balance.

  He gestured again to the cabinet. “What will it be?”

  She didn’t need a drink. She needed to curl up with him, stroke him, nuzzle him. She nestled into a corner of the sectional. “Whatever you’re having.”

  He poured two glasses of red wine. He took a seat on the sectional beside her and handed her a glass. She took a sip.

  “It’s good.”

  “You like it better than the scotch?” His smile was mischievous.

  She laughed. “I like them both for different reasons.”

  He swirled the wine in his glass. “I have an awkward question. How long can you stay?”

  How long does a hooker stay? “All night if you’d like.”

  “Oh, I’d like. That encounter was unusually rushed for me. The next time, I’d like to go slower and enjoy it more.”

  “You seemed to enjoy it fine.”

  “So did you. I guess you like your work.”

  Should she tell him the truth? Wasn’t she proud of her honesty? But he liked this pretend vixenish Roxanne. He might not like the real, serious, sad Roxanne. Why not go on pretending for a little longer? “Someone like you makes it easy.”

  He smiled.

  She brushed the hair back from his forehead. She wanted to hear more of his husky voice.

  “Is your family from South America?”

  “My father’s family was from Venezuela. My mother was a farm girl from upstate New York. I was born in Miami, but my family traveled a great deal. I spent my childhood all over the world. And you?”

  “My family didn’t travel much. I’m a Jersey girl, born and bred.”

  “And you spent your summers down the Jersey Shore, right?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Ever go sailing? I love to sail. My dream is to sail around the world.”

  “My family wasn’t sailors,” Roxanne said, “but I love the ocean.” She stretched out her legs across his lap. “When I was little, we had a summerhouse at the shore. At night, I would lie in bed and listen to the ocean. It was like a great beast, wild and untamable, but I found the sound reassuring.�
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  He smiled. “Then you are a sailor at heart. Still, as you said, the ocean is a wild beast. You never know when she’ll turn on you.”

  “Is the ocean female? I always thought it was male. The god Poseidon or Neptune.”

  “The people of Hawaii thought of her as female. Some African tribes did too.” His face was warm and open, as if talking to her gave him great pleasure. “It’s funny, much about the ocean could be male or female, but a ship is always womanly. I would never think of my sailboat as male. I steer her, guide her, I’ve learned all her ways.”

  “And you’re the one in control.”

  “I like to think so, but she has a way of proving me wrong. Like a woman.”

  They shared a soft laugh. She felt as if she were floating in a pool of warm water. She liked looking at him and listening to him, but she hungered to touch him again. She had an inspiration. “Would you like a massage, Carlos?”

  He looked down almost shyly. “I would love a massage.”

  The bedroom furnishings reminded her of the private club—light wood furniture, blue carpeting, brass lights. Carlos took off his robe and lay down on the bed. Roxanne dropped her robe on the floor.

  She began with his feet. He had well-shaped feet with long toes. His calves and thighs were well-developed. His skin was olive toned with fine black hairs curling all along his legs, but his sculpted buttocks and muscular back were hair free. There was a thin, long white scar below his shoulder blades.

  “Your shoulders are tight,” she told him.

  “I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

  “Personal or business?”

  “Both. And now I’m tied up in a lawsuit. I hate lawyers—even my own.”

  “Ah.” His words made a hole in her lovely dreamlike haze. Quickly she sought to close it. “Think of something more pleasant. Turn over.”

  She massaged his fingers and right arm.

  “You have a beautiful body, Roxanne. Large breasts, pink nipples, slender waist.” He looked at her like a connoisseur admiring a work of art. “A beautiful body and a pretty face.”