Naked Treats (6 page)

He rolled to one side and slipped on the condom,
rolled back to her again.

She was waiting for him, knees up and open wide, eyes
big on his cock.

He knelt between her legs, then grabbed a nearby
pillow and pushed it beneath her.

“Lift your hips. Yeah, that’s better. Perfect angle.”
Propped up like that in the lamplight, her pussy shimmered with her
juices, looking like exotic, mauve flower petals studded with fresh
dew. He smelled her readiness, her excitement. Later he would
definitely lick those delicious folds, suck that delectable bud.
For now, he just needed to come, needed to be inside her.

He pushed his aching cock between her lips, holding
back to stroke the head across her clit before entering. He dipped
in, pulled out, using his cock to smear her slippery juices into
every crevice. She watched him through lowered lids, her mouth
parted, panting. Each time his cock advanced she gave a soft gasp.
As he began to pump gently inside her she laid back and closed her
eyes.

Bracing himself above her, he sheathed himself
entirely in her snug, warm passage. For a second he hovered there,
amazed at the sense of well being that overtook him.

I’m
home.

The clear thought bloomed in his head, and then
shattered as he began to move above her, his pelvis slapping
against her body in an ancient rhythm. With each powerful stroke a
ragged sound jerked from her throat, but he hardly heard it. His
own building excitement insulated him from every sensation except
the blood filling his thrusting cock. His entire world closed in to
just those few inches of turgid flesh, gliding in and out, surely
by now on the verge of bursting.

He cried out as the incredible sensations overtook
him, his entire body pulsing, going rigid, then finally slack.
Inside his skull, explosions of light coincided with the rushing
noise in his ears. He let his head fall forward, whooshing air out
as his heartbeat slowed. When he finally opened his eyes and looked
down into her face, she was grinning.

“Admit it, Mr. Cranston. You obviously needed to lose
a little control.”

Chapter Seven

As first light crept between the drapes the next
morning, Rose peeled back the covers and slipped out of Zack
Cranston’s bed without looking back. She stopped in the powder room
to pee and comb her hair, then buttoned her coat, grabbed her bag
from the hall table, and eased out the front door.

In the main lobby, an unfamiliar young doorman gave
her a quick up-and-down and smiled distantly as he escorted her
outside.

“Have a nice day, miss.”

After several long moments, a lone cab rounded the
corner and stopped for her and she got in. Sinking down on the
stiff leather seat, she let her shoulders slump and her head fall
back. Water began to leak from under her eyelids.

How could she have been such a fool? She’d slept with
Zack Cranston. She had lost her most lucrative client. How would
she ever explain to Mikey that her promise of hiring an attorney by
this summer had been premature? More tears seeped out. As the warm
cab rumbled through the sleeping city, Rose dabbed at her face with
a tissue and tried not to remember the details of the night she’d
just spent in Zack’s bed.

To say she had slept with the man was a gross
overstatement. She may have napped for an hour in the wee hours
this morning, but before that, they’d done every possible thing a
bed was designed for except sleep. Her face heated as she recalled
the variety of positions they’d tried and the sex games he’d
introduced her to. She had shocked herself by finding how much she
enjoyed having her limbs bound to the four bedposts while he
ravished her without mercy. And never had she loved giving a man a
blow job as she had Zack. His beautiful cock was long and thick, a
real mouth full, but he tasted absolutely divine. At one point, he
had even spanked her. She shifted on the seat as she remembered the
steely-velvet feel of his palm on her naked behind.

They had showered together around midnight, and she
thought no man had ever been as gentle as Zack as he washed her
breasts and between her legs. Then they’d made a wonderful snack of
custard and Gouda and garlic bread, washed down with wine, shared
in bed as well. The whole night seemed like some kind of erotic
fairy tale.

And here she was this morning. Cinderella escaping
from the castle in her pumpkin coach.

He had wanted her to stay the day. As he drifted off
this morning, he’d been murmuring plans for taking her to his
favorite brunch spot. She’d let him go on, already knowing she
wouldn’t be there when he woke.

Why? What would be so awful about spending the day
with him? Because now that they’d crossed that line she’d fought
not to cross, they couldn’t go back to professional chef and
client. If she showed up at his home again in her little apron,
he’d either want to pester her for sex, or, if he regretted what
they’d done, get rid of her immediately. They didn’t have a future
together either way.

And now there was no hope for Mikey either.

The cab pulled up in front of her building and she
dragged herself up the three flights of stairs to her door. Lizzie
must have stayed out, too, as no one was home when she entered.
Just as well, no questions to answer. Another shower washed away
the last of Zack’s smell, then she crawled into bed and fell
instantly to sleep.

****

Zack turned on his side, feeling in the dim light for
Rose’s form on the bed beside him. He could still smell her
fragrant body, but the other half of the bed was empty, the sheets
cool. He sat up and listened, hoping to hear the muffled clink and
clatter of breakfast preparation. The apartment was still. The
clock showed just after nine.

What the hell. After the amazing night they’d spent
together, he’d thought they’d at least spend the day together too.
He had all sorts of plans in mind involving brunch out and the
afternoon in—most definitely in–here between the sheets with her
warm, willing body.

Sex with Rose had far surpassed anything he’d ever
imagined. Not only did she taste and smell better than any woman
he’d ever had, but they had seemed to be in synch from the
beginning. The way she moved and laughed and sucked his cock made
him want her again and again. The way her body had felt, pressed up
against him had given him his deepest slumber in years. He had
dreamed of his carefree childhood.

He had dared to imagine her being here to wake up to,
even after today.

But the lady hadn’t stayed. She’d run scared. It
didn’t surprise him, really. She had her life ordered the way she
wanted it, with a stranglehold on every detail. Sleeping with a
client was verboten. Now that they’d broken the rule, he supposed
he’d never see her again. She had warned him as much last night
when he’d had her pinned to the bed. At the time he hadn’t wanted
to think ahead, only to get his cock into that delectable pussy of
hers. Now the full ramifications of his actions hit him like an
ice-cold wave.

No more Sunday breakfasts with Rose. No more naked
breasts dipped in Hollandaise, no perfect ass framed by the apron
ties, no creamy thighs, no luscious mouth coaxed into a smile. No
polite conversations about the weather, no sports scores predicted,
no menus planned.

It was true, he could see plainly now, that they
hadn’t really spent much time together. But he knew what he needed
to know about her. She was caring and determined and smart and
sexy. And her body fit together with his like a soft, lovely glove
on his hand.

Damn it. He’d blown it with her, and he didn’t see
any way to fix things between them. A painful sense of loss settled
over him as he showered and dressed then wandered into his office
to check his email. There was a message from his assistant about
the prison break, which reminded him to call Phil for an update on
the situation at Mid-Orange. There was nothing new to report. While
he had him on the phone, he asked Phil what kind of an inmate Mike
Phelps was. Trouble-maker? No. Good kid who fell in with the wrong
crowd, keeping his head low, doing his time.

As Zack hung up, an idea struck him.

He made a couple more calls, then changed into a
business suit and left the apartment.

The following morning, Sunday, Zack waited hopefully
for the scrape of Rose’s key in his door. Maybe she had changed her
mind and would show up, willing to take up where they had left off.
Or perhaps she would drop by to return his key. At the very least,
she would call him to say she wouldn’t be there. But he didn’t hear
from her, and on Monday there was a voice mail from the employment
agency officially terminating his contract with her. Her key came
in the mail two days later.

Chapter Eight

“Is anything wrong dear?” Millie Hunt looked up from
her lunch of lentil soup and fruit salad with a concerned
expression.

“Wrong? No. No. I’m fine,” Rose assured her. She put
a few tea biscuits on a saucer and brought them to the table along
with a cup of Millie’s favorite decaf, heavily creamed. She set
them by the woman’s plate and turned back toward the kitchen.

“You’ve just seemed a little down all week, dear. Are
you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired.”

The fact was that she was exhausted from lying awake
the last few nights worrying about Mikey. She’d be going to see him
in a couple of days, and she’d have to tell him that she’d lost her
Sunday client, the one who was paying her extra. How could she bear
to disappoint her little brother after practically promising he’d
be home for Christmas?

She had hoped the agency would find her a suitable
new client to replace Zack Cranston, but so far that hadn’t
happened. And she refused to consider his offers to resume their
former arrangement. Yes, he’d called her several times on her cell
phone, apparently having stored her number following her call to
him two weeks earlier. She’d listened to his first voice mail
message and deleted the others without listening. So what if he’d
been an incredible lover? The last thing she needed was to get
sucked into some kind of distracting sexual relationship with him.
And she certainly couldn’t continue to take his money for cooking
if they were sleeping together. The boundaries would be far too
blurry. She didn’t for a minute believe his protestations that they
could simply resume a business relationship.

“Well, you let me know if there‘s anything at all I
can do to help,” Millie said, her voice deepening just enough to
catch Rose’s attention. The woman’s eyes gleamed as they roved over
Rose’s bare breasts.

“Thanks. I’ll do that,” Rose said, wondering if she’d
shortly have to replace her weekday lunch client as well.

****

On Sunday, Rose waited in the family visiting room,
her stomach twisted into anxious knots. Then Mikey came through the
metal door, his face splitting into a broad grin the moment he saw
her. He hurried forward with a new spring in his step. Rose’s heart
ached.

As soon as they hugged and sat down across from each
other, she covered his hand with hers.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Me first. Me first.”

“Okay.” She could wait a few more minutes to break
her brother’s heart.

“I’ve got a new attorney.”

Rose blinked. This was the last thing she’d expected.
“What?”

“An attorney from Feinstein, Jackson and Lowe came to
see me last Saturday. They’re taking my case at no charge.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Mr. Cranston reviewed my case and says he’s
gonna file an appeal right away. He’s sure he can get me off.”

“Mr. Cranston?” Rose’s heart stuttered. “Your new
attorney is Zack Cranston?”

“Yeah. He says he used to know you. Isn’t this great,
Rose?”

Rose nodded, her mind spinning. “And they’re taking
your case pro bono?”

“If that means for free, then yeah. No charge. Mr.
Cranston says they have a budget for a certain number of free cases
every year. It’s lucky he happened to hear about mine. Now you
don’t have to work so hard, sis.”

“Yes, that’s very lucky indeed.”

On the shuttle bus home she struggled to process this
latest bit of news, but her feelings refused to be pigeonholed into
a convenient category. On the one hand she felt a great sense of
relief. Earning the extra money for Mikey’s attorney would no
longer be an issue.

But her relief was tinged with suspicion and
resentment. She’d been clear with Zack Cranston. Their relationship
was over. How dare he presume to worm his way into her good graces
again, using Mikey as his unwitting tool? The more she thought
about it, the madder she got.

****

The offices of Feinstein, Jackson and Lowe occupied
the thirty-eighth, thirty-ninth, and fortieth floors of an
exclusive Manhattan skyscraper. The express elevator ride itself
was an adventure for Rose when she arrived there Monday morning,
dressed in her only business suit and a pair of heels that were
killing her feet.

“I’d like to see Mr. Cranston, please,” she told the
pinch-faced women behind the huge, teak reception counter.

“Do you have an appointment, miss?”

“No. But I believe Mr. Cranston will see me. My name
is Rose Phelps. My brother is one of his clients.”

The woman sniffed, then spoke briefly into her
headset. In a moment she nodded. “His assistant will be right
out.”

But Zack himself came out through the double doors a
minute later, causing the receptionist to flutter about like a
wounded bird. In two strides he reached Rose’s side, his eyes full
of concern and gladness.

“Rose! How wonderful to see you. Let’s talk in my
office.”

She simply wasn’t prepared for the effect seeing him
would have on her. She had thought herself immune, especially after
the stunt he was trying to pull. But in his charcoal suit, dress
shirt, and tie, she thought he was perhaps the most beautiful man
she had ever known. His subtle but expensive cologne teased her
nose and set her heart racing, reminding her of the taste of his
skin. He held out his crooked elbow and, before she knew it, she
had slipped her hand through it and allowed him to lead her down a
thickly carpeted hallway where low lights caressed expensive oil
paintings displayed on grass cloth walls. At some point they went
through a door into a smaller waiting room where an older woman sat
at a computer. She looked up and smiled warmly at them.