That Man 2 (3 page)

“Oh, Blake,” she said softly as she hovered above me and ruffled her fingers through my hair. “Let me make you feel better. Tell me what I have to do.”

I moaned. “Oh, tiger, I want to feel your lips again on mine.”

She smiled dreamily and slowly lowered her head. Her lips touched down on mine. My back arched. They were silky petals. I nibbled and gnawed them as strength poured through my body. We moaned into each other’s mouths. Her lustrous hair danced across my flesh and blood flowed to my dick. Ahh. She was making me feel alive again. Instilling me with potency.

My breathing shallow, I ran my fingers through her hair. It was even thicker and silkier than I’d imagined. Waves of satin. Another soft moan escaped her throat, and she let me deepen the kiss with my tongue. Her tongue found mine and followed it in a hot sensual dance—just like our first kiss at my club.

My cock grew harder. I gently pulled away.

“What’s wrong, Blake?”

I traced her lips with my finger. “Nothing. I just need more.”

“Tell me what you need.”

I held her dreamy gaze in mine. “I need to be inside you.”

She smiled and her eyes glinted with wonder and determination. Wordlessly, she stripped me of my pajamas, and then I watched as she shrugged off her gossamer gown and exposed her body. Her skin was unblemished porcelain, her abdomen flat and taut, and her breasts, two sweet scoops of vanilla ice cream with little cherries on the top. She kneeled between my legs, and her shimmering hair swept over her shoulders like a whimsical cape. In a word, she was beautiful. I cupped her sensuous breasts in my palms and kissed each one of her cherries. She tasted as divine as she looked.

She gazed down in awe at my arousal. Then in slow motion, she wrapped her fingers around my girth, barely able to make them meet because of my size. She held her hand there, waiting for her next step.

“Tiger, spread your legs and put it inside you.”

Silently, she did as bid and slid my cock across her wet folds. I jumped when I felt the tip nudge against her pussy. With a thrust, I plunged it inside her, letting her guide me along with her hand. I felt her tight muscles clench around my hot, thick length. And then I began to pump in and out of her.

“Oh, Blake!” she cried out.

I woke up drenched in sweat. In my dream, I had made beautiful love to Jennifer McCoy, and she had healed me. But now I faced reality. I felt sicker than I did yesterday. Every muscle in my body ached, and I was depleted of energy. With the little bit I had, I rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. I glimpsed myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked like shit. Like something the cat dragged in. I pissed, brushed my teeth, grabbed a glass of water, and climbed back into bed. I thought I was fucking dying.

Over the next few days, I barely got of bed. Not having shaved, showered, or combed my hair, I resembled a pathetic old cowboy in one of those low-budget Westerns. My hair was a rumpled mess, and a thick layer of stubble lined my jaw. The only thing I was missing was a broken in cowboy hat.

My mother’s housekeeper, Rosa, brought me a care package every day, but I barely touched a thing. My concerned mother had called the family doctor, but he said there was little I could do. Rest and drinking lots of fluids were my best bet. So, I stayed mostly in bed, with my plasma TV on 24/7 to give me some company. I knew I was really, really sick because I was watching Doris Day movies on The Movie Channel.

My only other link to the world was my iPhone. I kept it under my pillow and forced myself to check my e-mails whenever I was awake which wasn’t too often. I had told Mrs. Cho to circulate an e-mail, telling my staff to contact me only if there was an emergency. The Korean-born mother of four was turning out to be the best secretary I’d ever had. And I’d had many.

I longed to hear from Jennifer McCoy. I didn’t. I sent her an e-mail letting her know that it was unlikely I’d be going to Vegas for the focus groups. She responded with a sad face emoticon. I returned the e-mail with the same one. The truth: I was sad. I missed being at my office. And I missed seeing her.

Finally, on Thursday, my fever broke and I actually felt a pang of hunger. I crawled out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. I opened the well-stocked refrigerator and pulled out a jar of applesauce and container of cottage cheese. I never ate this pansy crap, but that’s what I was in the mood for. Standing up, I devoured it all. They must be super foods because I felt a hell of a lot better. I immediately took a shower and shaved, and then got back into bed. I reached for my iPhone and composed an e-mail.

To: Jennifer McCoy

Subject: Focus Groups

Please come by my apartment today at five p.m. to discuss the above. Here is the address
:
10580 Wilshire Boulevard.

Thank you. —BB

I hit send. In a beat, she responded—she’d be here. I suddenly felt a hell of a lot better, but I wasn’t going to let her know that.

*

At a little before five, Ms. Punctuality showed up at my door. She looked ravishing though a little fatigued in a little black pleated skirt and fuzzy white sweater. Her tortoiseshell eyeglasses were sitting on top of her head, and she was carrying her briefcase along with a large shopping bag. Her purse, as usual, was slung over her shoulder.

I was wearing my Turnbull & Asser blue and white pajamas and barefooted. “Hi, thanks for coming.”

Her green eyes fluttered. “Sure. No problem. How are you feeling?”

Ushering her inside my apartment, I faked a cough. “Not so good yet. But I don’t think I’m contagious anymore.”

That adorable smile curled on her lips. My cock stirred. She looked me over.

“That’s good. Where would you like to have our meeting?” Her eyes soaked in my spacious Wilshire Corridor condo with its expensive Italian furniture and spectacular views of the city.

Another cough. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to do it in my bedroom. I really need to lie down.”

“Um, uh, okay.” She was definitely taken aback.

She trailed behind me to the bedroom. I immediately hopped into bed and pulled the covers up over me. Taking in my vast room with its king-sized bed and myriad of boy toys, she asked me where I wanted her to sit. Her voice was shaky.

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you please sit on the edge of the bed so I can see you.”

An uncertain look fell over her face. She blinked her beautiful leafy eyes several times.

“Don’t worry. I’m not the big bad wolf. I’m not going to eat you.”
Although I
sure would like to
. I bet her pussy was delectable. For the first time in days, my cock showed signs of life. I could feel it throbbing.

Hesitantly, with a nervous smile, she plunked down on my bed, putting her purse and briefcase along with the shopping bag on the carpet.

“What’s in the bag?” I asked.

She relaxed a little, her face brightening. “I brought you a bunch of erotic romance paperbacks. Libby’s handing them out to the focus groups and had a few extra. I thought maybe you’d like to read some. She reached into the bag and pulled one out. “This one’s really good. And funny too. You might really like it.”

I took it from her.
Beautiful Stranger.

“Thanks. Very thoughtful.” I tossed it onto the bed, knowing damn well I’d never read it.

“And you should try the first book in the series too.
Beautiful Bastard.”

Now, there was a title I could connect to. “So, Ms. McCoy, please give me a rundown of the focus groups and your activities in Vegas.”

Without wasting a second, she launched into the schedule she had planned over the weekend, which included observing focus groups, attending a book signing event, and meeting with various writers. It was hard for me to concentrate on what she was saying with her next to me in my bed. I had the burning urge to rip off every stitch of her clothing and flip her on top of me. My cock was in an uproar, but the thick duvet hid what was going on beneath.

She continued to babble on, oblivious to my arousal. My eyelids lowered. And then I groaned. She stopped short in the middle of a sentence. Her eyes were wide with alarm.
Perfect.
I groaned again, this time louder.

“Oh my God. What’s the matter, Blake?”

“I think I’m having a relapse.” My voice was a raspy whisper. “My doctor said this could happen.” I groaned yet again, this time adding a shudder.

“Oh no!” Terror filled her voice. “What can I do?”

“I feel so fucking hot.”
Oh, did I!
“Would you be kind enough to sponge me down.”
And give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

“Of course. Where’s your bathroom?”

“Over there.” I weakly pointed to a door opposite my bed and groaned once more.

She leapt up from my bed, and in a heartbeat, she was back with a large sponge in her hand. She sat back down on my bed and dabbed the moistened sponge on my face. She was so close I feel her warmth.

“How does that feel?” she asked.

“So good, Jennifer.” Her touch was gentle and loving. I longed for her lips on mine.

She palmed my forehead. “I think you’re cooling down.”

Not.
I was heating up. Yet another loud groan. “It’s like there’s a fire in my body.”
Raging in my groin.
I pulled the duvet down to my hips. “Jennifer, would you mind sponging down the rest of me?”

I sat up a little, and without a word, she helped me off with my pajama top. With each button she undid with her nimble fingers, an inner firework went off. A chain reaction of scintillating sparks. I lowered myself to my fluffy pillow and kept my eyes on her as she soaked in my bare chest. She was clearly in awe of my chiseled pecs, defined six-pack, and that perfect pelvic V that peeked out from the covers. Working out had its benefits.

Taking the sponge back in her hand, she began to run concentric circles around my taut flesh. Slow and sensual. I closed my eyes and moaned with pleasure. Beneath the covers, I had a serious boner.

“Oh, Blake, are you in pain?” Her voice was soft, a mixture of compassion and concern.

I opened my eyes halfway. “Just a little.” My balls were aching and my cock was blazing. I so wanted her.
My angel.

Shutting my eyes again, I let her rub away. She sensuously sponged every part of my upper body as well as my muscled arms. I savored every stroke.

About ten minutes into the body wash, I took the sponge out of her hand and sat up. “I feel much better now. I can’t thank you enough.”

Her eyes connected with mine. The air between us was charged with electricity. “It’s okay. It’s the least I could do.”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I have a ton of delicious food my mother sent over.”
And breakfast too?

Tension swept over her angelic face. She glanced down at her watch. “I can’t. I promised Bradley I’d meet him for dinner since I won’t be seeing him this weekend.”

Fucking Dickwick. Every muscle in my body tensed. My cock sunk like the Titanic.

She gathered her things and stood up from the bed. I was too debilitated to see her out.

“You should stay home tomorrow, Blake. I’m sorry you won’t be at the focus groups, but I’ll keep you posted with the results.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled as she padded toward the door and disappeared.

I sunk back in my bed feeling sicker than I’d felt all week.

*

I couldn’t get myself out of bed on Friday morning. I’d had a feverish, restless night of sleep. Not because of any damn flu. Jennifer McCoy was in my blood like the plague.

I stayed in bed all day. I opened that
Beautiful Stranger
book and read a few random pages. Of course, I’d have to pick the part where they kiss for the first time. I slammed the book shut and pulled the duvet up over my head and then jerked myself off. Would I ever be able to tell Jennifer McCoy that
I
was the beautiful stranger who she’d kissed blindfolded in a game of Truth or Dare?

At five o’clock, I heard the door to my apartment click open. Only one person had the keys. My mother. One short minute later, she was striding into my room with my grandmother by her side. Both were wearing jogging outfits, my mother’s from overpriced Lululemon, and my Grandma’s from now defunct Loehmann’s.