The Wild Side Read online

  She went to step back into the room, and her bravery went AWOL for the second time in twenty minutes. Call her a wimp, but she wasn’t up to strutting around in tiny underwear in front of a fully-clothed stranger. Her eyes lit on a shawl draped over the folding chair in the corner; she snatched it up and wrapped the silky material around her like a strapless gown.

  So she was chicken. Fricassee her.

  She counted to three, barged back into the room and caught sight of Riley rising from a crouch next to the rear of Randstetler’s tin-can-giraffe sculpture.

  Melissa glanced surreptitiously around the room. No trapeze. Nothing too strange unless she started wondering if Riley had overly fond feelings for Mr. Giraffe. She gestured to the shawl. “I’ve got on the…things under here. They fit.”

  His brow lifted in skeptical amusement. “Prove it.”

  She summoned all her nerve and found it didn’t meet the amount required to drop the shawl and stand there in front of him in next-to-nothing lingerie. “I can’t. Not like this. Not like I’m a…cow at an auction house.”

  He chuckled, picked up the drink he’d taken from her earlier, and walked closer until he stood in front of Rose’s bed. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. We can take this at whatever pace suits you. Okay?”

  More than one sentence. Lots of words. Melissa nodded happily. A warm and comforting feeling came over her, as if he’d strung up a safety net beneath her, so if she stumbled on this crazy tightrope adventure, she wouldn’t splat on the pavement. How many psycho pervert killers would say something so nice? Her daring rose, along with the excitement engendered by his dark intense gaze, measuring her reaction.

  She let the shawl drop.

  Riley froze, her drink in his hand, eyes going over her minutely. “Nice.”

  The word came out in a slightly husky tone that told her just possibly he thought it was very very nice.

  That was all the license her inner bestial slut from hell needed. Her courage grew, blossomed, catapulted her into a sexual confidence she’d never felt with Bill or any other man. She walked to Riley, put her hands to his shoulders and lifted her face, hungry for the taste of his mouth and the tender, passionate way he’d kissed her before.

  He did kiss her, but only once, all too briefly, then took her shoulders and sat her on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Everything. Okay, not everything. No handcuffs. Not yet. But if Kim Basinger could take an ice bath, so could she.

  “Ice.” Melissa pointed to the drink in his hands and gestured to her body. “All over me. I want to see how it feels.”

  He gave her a quizzical look, then fished a piece of ice out of her drink and held it to her lips. She opened for him and tasted, savoring the hot burn of whiskey and the cold burn of ice.

  He dipped the ice again, held it for her to suck, and moved closer so his body seemed to be above and all around her. He put the glass to her lips and tipped forcefully so whiskey trickled down the sides of her mouth, dripped onto her chest and rolled down into the red bra in a cold, fiery stream.

  Melissa reared back. He followed, tasted the whiskey beside her mouth, pushed her back on the bed and licked the drops from the swell of her breasts in the too-tight bra—leisurely strokes with the tip of his tongue on her wet skin. His hands came around to unhook her bra; she felt her breasts released from the confining material, heavy and free. With the release, the last of her inhibitions left, skulked out of the room like the party-poopers they were.

  “You’re beautiful.” He slid his hands over her breasts, then retrieved more ice from the glass next to the bed and pressed it to her neck, slid the cube gently down and over her nipple. The burn of the ice was exquisite; his touch, his nearness, even better. He ran the ice over to her other breast, watching her with an almost unbearable intensity.

  “Do you like that?”

  “Yes.” Her voice came out a breathless whisper that made his eyes darken further.

  He kept the ice on its erotic journey, cold drips running down her sides, warmed by her body before they dropped onto the bed. His other hand slid down her stomach, found the thong panties and pulled in a regular rhythm that drew them tight over her wet center, then released. Tighten, release, tighten, release.

  Melissa’s breath came in slow, irregular pants. She shivered and burned in a hot-cold swirl of sensation. Through it all Riley watched her, invaded her cocoon of ecstasy with his stare. What did he see? What was he looking for?

  He was in the way. She closed her eyes, reached to turn his head away. She wanted this to stay physical, stay pure and erotic. Too much awareness of him, of his strength and magnetic presence, interfered with the fabulous sensations he was making her body feel. It could turn this beautiful, primal moment into a complicated emotional experience.

  “Don’t watch me.”

  “I have to watch you.” He seemed to struggle even to whisper the words. “You have no idea…”

  She made a helpless gesture of protest, her accelerating rush into oblivion interrupted, defeated. The rapidly melting ice stopped in the valley between her breasts, then made a slow descent down her stomach, over her navel, leaving a cold, wet trail. He pulled the red lace aside and slid the now-tiny piece down over her heat, making her gasp and laugh a little. Not quite what she expected. “It’s cold.”

  “You thought it would be otherwise?” His voice was gentle, teasing, as he slid the hard, slippery sliver up and down between her legs. “How does it feel?”

  Melissa stifled a shiver. “Like sex with Frosty the Snowman.”

  He laughed, a real laugh that seemed to surprise even him, and held up empty dripping fingers. “I’m afraid he’s…gone.”

  “Frosty, no!” Melissa clapped a hand to her chest. “It’s all my fault. But I got so tired of sex in the deep freeze.”

  Riley laughed again and shook his head, ran his hands down her body. “You are a fun date. And at the moment a chilly one.”

  She pushed aside her pleasure at his compliment and blinked sweetly as if she was going to ask him for a glass of water. “Want to warm me up?”

  His grin turned wicked. He climbed up on the bed, straddled her on his knees and started unbuttoning his shirt. “I think I can do that.”

  Melissa rose to her elbows, wanting to touch him, take her turn exploring his body. “Let me help.”

  “I’ve got it.” He undid the last button and tossed the shirt aside. Melissa drew her hands down his chest and over his waist, then lay back, uninhibited and happy, eager for the weight of his magnificent torso, the hard press of him on top of her, the hot bulge of him between her legs, then the intimate joining of their bodies.

  Instead, he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his arms, and moved his chest lightly down her body, following the trail of warmth with slow, lazy kisses.

  Melissa lay back and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the rough brush of his hair against her skin and the smooth heat of his mouth, distracted by her irrational disappointment. Of course he wasn’t just going to lie on top of her and do it. That’s exactly what she didn’t want, what she’d told him she didn’t want. This was an adventure—only the unexpected.

  He paused with his face between her thighs, then ran his tongue slowly along the length of her, reheating her chilled sex and bringing her lapsed erotic charge sizzling back to life.

  “Oh gosh— I’ve never— Bill wouldn’t— Oh gosh.” The words came out breathless and silly in the silence, but she didn’t care. He took his time stroking her with his tongue, bending now and then to close his lips and suck firmly over her pleasure.

  Melissa held on desperately to her control, fireworks shooting through her body, wanting to hold off, wanting to see what he’d do next, wanting to feel like this just for a few more minutes…or hours… Or days would be fine, too.

  He slid one finger inside her, keeping up the rhythm with his tongue, then two fingers, then pulled the thong up hard and
tight into her backside, and she was gone, pushed over the edge into a burning burst of delight. She clutched his head, strained to hold on to the moment, push it higher, then pulsed into inevitable ecstasy….

  And slowly came down. To lie sated and stupid and dreamy on the pillow, completely unable and totally unwilling to move. Having a fling was the best freaking idea she’d ever had. “How did that feel?” He pushed up and sat on his knees between her legs.

  “I think I could live with that.” She stretched like the major wanton babe she’d just become, and glanced at his straining pants. “What about you?”

  He put a gentle hand on her stomach. “This is your adventure.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to have all the fun.” She struggled to sit up. Why didn’t he ever let her do anything for him?

  “Believe me.” He pushed her back down and kissed her inner thigh. “I’m having fun.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Want to do it again? Or some other way?” He kissed her other thigh, then gently between her legs.

  Again? “Uh…I don’t think I can this soon.”

  “Ever tried?”

  “Well, not with—I mean…” She rolled her eyes. Like she was really going to share her solo sexual experiences with someone who could have women lining up outside his door with a snap of his fingers. “I just can’t yet.”

  “Okay. No problem.” He climbed off the bed and knelt on the floor next to her.

  Melissa frowned. What was with this guy? He didn’t take his pants off and he didn’t go horizontal?

  “Riley, no offense, but I feel a little like a science experiment alone on this bed.”

  For a weird second his features froze, and she was terrified that by wanting to lie with him she’d broken one of the Laws of Casual Sex that everyone knew but her.

  “You’re awfully far away, is all.”

  He nodded and stretched out next to her, lying somewhat stiffly, like an adolescent boy who was scared of what he might do. Melissa hesitated, then pushed up against his side and wrapped his arm around her. To hell with his neuroses. This was her fantasy. The ice cubes might not have gone so well, but she’d risked hell and humiliation to get him here, she’d survived the first round and now she wanted it all.

  To her relief, he pulled her to him and kissed her temple. “What do you want to do when you’re ready?”

  Melissa sighed. Some women might be able to toss off requests like, “You know, Riley, it’d be swell if you’d spread honey all over my body and lick it off,” but she was pretty damn sure she’d mess it up.

  “Have you ever, I mean, well, spread honey all over someone—a woman—well, I mean, of course a woman, not like you wouldn’t be with a…well, have you?”

  She hid her face in his shoulder and groaned silently. For a horrible second she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Not that she could blame him. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d said herself.

  “Why are you doing this, Melissa?”

  Her stomach dropped. “You think the honey sounds stupid.”

  “No.” He lifted her face so she had to look at him. “I think it sounds very sexy. But why do you want sex like this, in a vacuum?”

  Melissa bristled. “You don’t think women can want sex without involvement?”

  “I’m not talking about women, I’m talking about you.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Because it’s who I am.” He gave a casual wave, as if everyone who had half a brain would know that. “But I don’t sense it’s who you are, not in quite the same way.”

  Melissa stifled her irritation. What the hell did he know about her after an hour and a half? “I just want some fun before I’m married.”

  “Why don’t you think you’ll marry someone who can do everything you ever dreamed of?”

  “Because.” She shook her head emphatically. “It wouldn’t be the same. He’d know the real Melissa too well.”

  He tucked his chin down and looked at her quizzically. “The real Melissa?”

  “Yes. The woman you have in bed with you right now isn’t really me. She’s a personality I want to try on for fun. My evil twin.”

  “I see. And who is the real Melissa?”

  “Well…” Melissa searched his eyes for signs he was making fun of her, and was relieved and slightly incredulous to find none. “The real Melissa wears suits and is polite and proper all the time. A sweet sexless woman who never gave her parents a single day of anxious worry. A woman who wants to marry a nice, responsible, supportive man and settle down with two kids and a minivan. That’s the real me. I’m not unhappy with that, I just want to try something else right now, while I can.”

  He chuckled. “Tell me more about this evil woman I’m in bed with. She intrigues me.”

  Melissa rolled away and stared at the ceiling, absurdly grateful for his easy acceptance of what must sound like lunatic rambling. She’d never talked about this strange split she’d been aware of for so long, for fear of being firmly shoved into psychoanalysis. “Sometimes I get this feeling, almost like anger—no, rage, really—and I want to do crazy, irresponsible things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like dress in black leather, spike my hair and walk into a bar alone with an enormous ‘F—you’ attitude. Jump out of an airplane. Yell back at the movie screen. Be astonishingly rude to people who deserve it. Quit my job, say to hell with salary and benefits, and travel around the world on whatever’s in my pocket.”

  “That I’ve done.”

  “Which?”

  “Ditched my life and traveled around the world.”

  “No kidding.” She pushed up on her elbow to watch his face. “When?”

  “When I dropped out of Princeton.”

  Melissa gaped at him. The fantasy stud of her life went to Princeton? She suddenly pictured him at age eighteen, earnestly toting around a heavy backpack, discussing Kant with a bespectacled professor, possibly even sporting a pimple or two.

  She grimaced and willed the image away.

  “That upsets you?” He spoke quietly, watched her face as if he didn’t want to miss any nuance of her reaction.

  She shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Apparently I pictured you jumping full-grown out of a Playgirl magazine.”

  “Centerfold Without A Past?” He reached up and playfully pushed her bangs aside, but his eyes stayed serious.

  Melissa winced. She sounded like a complete sexist horror. If any guy had said something even close to that to her she’d have kneed him in the groin.

  “I’m sorry. Again.” She smiled apologetically, put her head back down on his shoulder and put her hand on his chest to feel his heart beating. “Tell me about going around the world.”

  He told her and she listened, drinking in the stories and pictures he painted of everything and everywhere she’d always dreamed of going but knew she never would. Bicycling in the south of France, hiking in Nepal, camping in Australia, banquets in Hong Kong, Nile cruises through Egypt… As he spoke, her visions of scenery and civilizations gave way to visions of Riley. Why had he dropped out of college? Why had he left the country? Was he running? Restless? In some kind of trouble?

  She pushed the thoughts away. Not her concern. Riley was her fling, her fantasy, her boy toy. She shouldn’t be caring about anything but their time together in the here and now.

  “Sounds fabulous.” She spoke lightly, stroked the hair on his chest to bring their physical relationship back to the forefront where it belonged.

  “It wasn’t quite as glamorous as it sounds. It was kind of a tough time, actually. I think I was…running away from my life—or rather from what my father expected of my life.” Riley cleared his throat, his voice suddenly halting, unsteady, as if he were in a confessional. “Not quite the same driving force as simply wanting to experience what’s out there, as you do.”

  Melissa nodded, and stroked down to his stomach, outlining the defined muscle with her fingertips, hardly daring to breathe. If
he talked like that, shared his feelings, his vulnerable side, she was going to start caring. She didn’t want to care. She wanted this to stay in the realm of fantasy adventure, where it belonged. Caring was for the guy you went to dinner with and went home to meet his parents.

  She stroked the line of hair that went down his stomach and ran her hands lightly over the bulge in his pants, gratified to feel it jump and swell under the pressure of her fingers.

  “Melissa…” He took her hand.

  Melissa tightened her lips. Why wouldn’t he let her touch him? She lifted her head and kissed his throat, slow seductive kisses up to his mouth. He responded, but cautiously, not in the passionate way he had that first night. Melissa increased the pressure, then gentled, dragged her tongue along each of his lips, sent her hand stealing down again, this time to burrow under the waistband of his pants.

  A frustrated hiss of breath rushed in between his clenched teeth. The sound excited her, aroused her, gave her the permission she needed. She slid onto him and rocked against his hardness, kissing his face and neck, praying for some reaction.

  She got it. He clamped her to him and flipped them so she lay underneath, pushed savagely against her, lifted to release his fly and pushed against her again through the soft heated cotton of his briefs.

  Melissa swept her hands up his back and clasped him hard, savoring the solid heat of his body, meeting his thrusts, aching for the feel of him inside her, aching with a power she didn’t understand, didn’t want to analyze or question. She’d deliberately shattered his control so they could explore the boundaries of shared physical pleasure. That was all. That had to be all.

  To her shock and horror, Riley stopped moving. Lay still, then pushed himself off her and crossed the room to stand facing away from her, muscles in his shoulders bunching as he did up his pants. “What…what’s wrong?”

  He turned and faced her. “This isn’t what you want, remember? You don’t want plain old sex. You want honey.” He spat out the word as if it was an insult, then strode into Rose’s kitchenette. Melissa half rose from the bed, breath coming fast, her arousal tinged with panic. “What are you doing?”