Stolen Moments Read online

  Michelle is pressed up against my back. Her hands come to rest on the desk at either side of me, effectively trapping me between the desk and her body. Her warm, taller-and-stronger-than-mine body. Her lips are dangerously close to my ear; I can hear her gentle breathing and wonder why she’s so calm and I’m such a disaster.

  “You seem nervous, Jamie,” she says, and the vibration of her voice against my ear—saying my name so intimately—sends shock waves straight to my groin. I bite my bottom lip to keep from whimpering like a puppy. “Are you nervous?”

  I swallow and nod slowly, not trusting my own voice. She’s moved forward ever so slightly and her forearms are tight against my sides. I am so her prisoner right now.

  “Am I making you nervous?” Her voice is nearly a whisper.

  I nod again. “Yes,” I manage to rasp.

  I feel her hands moving. As she rests them on my hips, she murmurs, “Your cheeks are so red. It is pretty hot in here.” She sounds so innocent, like we could be sitting in a diner having lunch while she’s talking. Her hands move around to the front of my jacket and unfasten its one button. “Maybe you should take this off.”

  This time, a small whimper does escape my lips as the fabric of the top half of my suit is moved over my shoulders and down my arms. I hear it hit one of the chairs behind us and I feel so exposed I might as well be naked. It’s at that moment that it all becomes clear: she’s ambushed me. The late call, the empty office, the closed blinds, the locked door. She planned this. The understanding does nothing but push my arousal higher. I plant my hands on the desk in front of me in an attempt to maintain my balance. My knees are weak and I can feel the damp palm prints I’ll leave to mar the surface—if and when I ever move again. She rakes her fingernails slowly up and down my arms and rests her chin on my right shoulder. I feel the gooseflesh break out across my entire body and I feel like a teenage boy, ready to explode at any moment.

  Her hands slide up to my shoulders as she says, “You know, I really, really like your hair like this. But…” She unfastens the clip and I can feel her fingers softly unraveling the braid. Her voice is so matter-of-fact, yet so, so sexy—a combination that one would think is impossible. Her fingers are gentle and in a minute, my hair skims my shoulders, adding to the tactile sensations threatening to overload my brain. She presses her face into my hair, whispering, “There. That’s better. God, I love the color.”

  My breathing has become embarrassingly ragged and I’m sure that if I weren’t balanced on my hands, I’d collapse to the floor, nothing but a puddle of quivering goo. She begins massaging my shoulders. Her grip is gentle and firm at the same time and it occurs to me that she is the perfect dichotomy. Strong yet gentle. Soft yet firm. Giving yet demanding. I feel her pelvis push into my backside again and I try to stifle a small gasp. I’m sure she hears it because I can feel her smile against my hair. Her right hand snakes up my throat and firmly grips my chin. Before I even comprehend the movement, she’s turned my entire body and I’m facing her, my chin in her hand. I’m surprised to see her breathing almost as rapidly as I am. The edge of the desk is pressing into the small of my back; she’s got two or three inches on me, and the sensation of being trapped by her is both frightening and exhilarating. She surrounds me. The tip of her tongue runs over her bottom lip and I feel my eyes glaze over at the sheer sexiness of the act. She smiles wickedly before covering my mouth with her own.

  I hear myself groan into her mouth and I automatically bring my hands up to rest on her waist. Heat pours off her body. The woman can kiss like there’s no tomorrow. My mind flashes back to the “giving yet demanding” description I thought of earlier. Her kiss is giving; it’s glaringly obvious that she wants me to enjoy what she’s doing. At the same time, she’s definitely the one in control, her tongue demanding that I surrender whatever it is she wants from me. And I have no doubt that I will. Michelle Adams has me so completely turned on, so aroused, that it’s almost ridiculous to realize I’m still fully clothed and all she’s really done is kiss me.

  As if hearing my thoughts, her hands begin exploring. They scorch me through the silk of my camisole and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the garment fell to the floor in flames. She pulls the hem of it out of my skirt and wrenches her mouth from mine long enough to pull it over my head. A quick, approving glance at my lace-covered breasts and she’s feasting on my lips again. This time when her hands come to me, it’s skin on skin and she’s the one who moans. She wraps her arms around my torso and squeezes me to her, pushing her tongue more deeply into my mouth.

  My hands are on her back and it suddenly occurs to me that she’s way overdressed. I pull my mouth away from hers long enough to focus on the buttons of her suit jacket. Her eyes clear momentarily and she stops my hands with hers. “Hey,” she says and her voice is an octave or two lower than usual. “I’m not done with you.” Her tone carries a hint of a threat that sends a wave of excitement up my spine.

  “At least the jacket?” I ask, and my voice cracks. I clear my throat. “Please?”

  She holds my gaze, then spreads her arms out to the sides in surrender. I hastily unbutton her black jacket and slide it off her arms. I praise heaven above when the red silk tank is revealed. “Oh, God,” I mutter, earning a satisfied grin from her as I toss the garment aside. She closes the gap between us, but before she can kiss me again, I fulfill my longtime fantasy and latch my mouth onto her shoulder. I’m sure to leave a mark.

  This time, she’s the one who whimpers. It’s very soft, almost inaudible, but it’s there and I hear it and savor it. I taste every bit of the bronzed and perfect skin of her shoulder, working my way to the junction of her shoulder and neck where the scent of the perfume I adore is strongest. Much to my delight, Michelle lets her head fall back and gives me open access to her throat. I take full advantage. Her fingers work their way into my hair as I bathe her neck and throat in kisses, but before I can move southward, I feel her hand close in a firm fist and pull my face back up to meet her lips.

  And just like that, I’ve lost the upper hand. Again. Not that I mind.

  She pulls me close, exploring the depths of my mouth, filling me like molten lava or whatever else there is that’s hot and liquid. The hand she uses to cup my left breast startles me and I jump, my gasp of surprise changing easily to a moan of pleasure as she causes first one, then the other nipple to stand at attention, visible even through the fabric of my bra. I push into her hand and try to give as much as I can. She’s made me so very wet I find it hard to believe I haven’t floated completely out of the room yet. I feel her fingers slide down and around and fumble with the zipper at the back of my skirt.

  “Off,” she demands, pulling back and watching as my skirt falls to the floor in a heap around my pumps. I watch her face as my state of undress registers and a broad grin breaks across it. “My, my, Ms. Carmichael. No panties under the hose. Who would have suspected you to be such a naughty girl?”

  “It’s the only way to be sure there are no panty lines,” I stutter in my own defense. My voice is barely recognizable. I swallow hard as I stand before her and she scrutinizes me.

  “I have to say, that new gym membership was a very smart purchase. You look…amazing. Strong. Firm. Sexy.”

  I look down at my attire. I’m wearing only my bra, my pantyhose, and my black pumps. Michelle thinks I look amazing. I think I’m dressed just right for a porn flick. I smile anyway, because a compliment is a compliment and I have been working hard at the gym and Michelle just told me I’m sexy. My face splits into a grin. “Thank you.”

  “Can I see the rest?” she asks as she comes closer.

  Reaching behind me, she unclasps my bra without any further discussion. She wings it over her shoulder with a twinkle in her eye, then runs the outsides of her forefingers over my nipples once, twice, the third time making my breath audibly catch in my throat. Her eyes cloud a bit and I realize she likes the sounds she’s causing me to make. She slides her fingers beneath the
waistband of my hose and pulls them down around my knees. Our height difference is to her advantage here, because she grasps the backs of my thighs, lifts, and sits me on her desk. She pulls off my pumps and hose in one swift movement and I chuckle to myself at how smooth she is. Because I am now completely at her mercy with my legs spread apart while she stands between them. She’s got a hand on each of my knees and she stares into my eyes with intensity as she gently pushes out, opening me further. I think my heart may beat right up and out my open mouth at this point; I seriously wonder if I might have a heart attack. I’m not sure how long I can keep up with her, and it’s a distinct possibility that she just might be the death of me, that I might keel over dead, right here on her desk in all my naked glory.

  As if sensing my worry, she smiles a tender, knowing smile. “You’re just as beautiful as I imagined you’d be.” There are tiny laugh lines around her eyes and she’s never looked sexier to me. She closes what little space there is between us, hooking the back of my neck with one hand as she kisses me and sliding the fingers of the other into the wetness between my legs.

  Her fingers probe me as she moves her lips to my ear and whispers, “I’ve got you now. You’re mine.”

  I feel myself melting right there in her arms, and she kisses me again. Swallowing my groan, she pushes forward until I’m flat on my back on her enormous desk, my legs dangling uselessly over the edge. Her mouth works its way down and she begins sucking at my breasts—first one, then the other, giving each equal time and doing something with her tongue that I can’t visualize, but I can certainly feel. I’m positive I’m leaving a giant pool on her desk. I feel like shapeless putty in her hands. I was right on the money when I said the woman has power.

  She works her way lower, in no hurry at all. Soon, I’m clamping one hand on the edge of the desk above my head and the other over my mouth to stifle my groans and cries. If anybody had told me two hours ago that I’d be sprawled naked on my back across Michelle Adams’s desk with her head tucked between my legs and her mouth doing terribly sexy things to me, I’d have laughed them right off the planet. Yet here I am. Chills run up my body as she hits a particularly sensitive spot. I inhale with a sharp gasp and grab her hair. She takes this action for what it is, pushing herself into me, grasping my hips and pulling me closer. My legs are draped over her shoulders now, and I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to. Which, of course, I don’t. I’ve never allowed a woman to have such complete control over me, sexually or otherwise, and I find the combination of the unfamiliarity and the decided unease to be more arousing than I care to admit.

  I feel Michelle’s hands tighten on my hips, then one of them snakes up to fondle my neglected breasts and I realize my orgasm is speeding toward me. My breath catches in my throat and all of a sudden, I’m hyperconscious of where we are. Is there a cleaning crew? Might some poor, unsuspecting custodian find him or herself on the receiving end of my embarrassing shouts of pleasure? Before I can worry any further, it envelops me and I clamp my teeth together, allowing only small grunts and whimpers to escape as Michelle makes me come in her mouth. Every muscle in my body tenses. My back arches. My head tilts back and I squeeze my eyes shut as the pleasure rips through me. Michelle rides it out with me, slowing her pace in relation to the sounds I’m making (or trying not to make). Once I feel like I’ve returned to earth and my body begins to relax, I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. She brings her eyes up to meet mine. Our gazes hold for several seconds before she smiles and I chuckle softly. She shakes her head with a grin, her face still only inches from my soaked and throbbing center.

  “Not quiet in bed, huh?” she teases.

  “Not by a long shot.” I use both hands to brush the hair from her face. “Come up here,” I say.

  Her hands play with mine as if she’s debating my request. Then her eyes twinkle with mischief. At the very moment I realize she’s captured both my wrists, she whispers, “Again.”

  “Oh my God.” It’s the only coherent thing I can manage to say before she plunges back into me, pushing her tongue deep inside and holding tightly to my wrists so I’m completely and totally her prisoner. She owns me. The thought sends a new rush of arousal coursing through me and it’s only a matter of a few short minutes before she has me riding the crest of a second, more powerful climax. I feel like my body is on fire…that any minute, I’ll just spontaneously combust and Michelle will have to call in that poor custodian to sweep the ash residue off her desk so she can finish working. This time, there’s no noise at all coming from me. It’s all too pure, too intense for sound. There’s only feeling. My body under hers, hers on top of mine, her hands holding me captive, my muscles taut like the string of an archery bow.

  I come down more slowly this time, trying to get my breathing under control before I hyperventilate. The second I feel her grip slacken, I reclaim my hands. Pushing her gently away, trying to alter my position using what little energy I have left, I pant, “No. No more. No more. Please. You’re going to kill me.”

  She laughs, but relents. As she stands up, her eyes linger on my naked body and she wipes her mouth. “God,” she says with simple amazement. I can feel every inch of my skin flush a deep red and I grin like a schoolgirl. She winks at me, then hands me some of my discarded clothing.

  I get dressed, trying not to feel uncomfortable in the silence. As is normal behavior for me, I attempt to fill it. “So,” I say with a grin. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Michelle. Are you this good to all your vendors?”

  “Only the sexy ones.”

  She’s sitting in one of the chairs, her legs crossed, watching me dress, and I actually feel like her gaze is slowing me down. I feel like I’m trying to get dressed and she’s undressing me with her eyes and therefore, I’m stuck in some kind of limbo. If she told me right now to take my clothes back off and spread my legs for her, I would. In a heartbeat. “How do you do that?” I blurt the question out before I can stop myself.

  “Do what?”

  “Make me feel like I’m completely powerless.” I have my back to her now and I’m afraid to look at her face, afraid I’m pushing, afraid of making her regret ever touching me. In the next instant she’s standing behind me, much as we were when this whole thing started. Only this time, she fastens the clasp of my bra instead of opening it. She pulls the zipper to my skirt up rather than down.

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” she says softly. “We just seem to have chemistry.”

  “You think?” I ask derisively and she laughs.

  “I’ve had a thing for you for a very long time, Jamie.”

  “You have?” I stammer.

  “Mmm-hmm. And I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

  “You have?” I’m horrified at this prospect; I pride myself on my subtlety! Her arms slide around my waist and she hugs me from behind. I feel her nod against my hair.

  “It turns me on every time…that look you get in your eyes.”

  She flicks her tongue against my ear and my body turns to Jell-o as I lean my head back onto her shoulder and groan. The idea of her knowing what was going on in my mind all those times and finding it arousing is just so sexy. I’m shocked to feel myself becoming wet all over again.

  “Michelle.” I shake my head in disbelief. “My God. You’re going to give me a heart attack. I swear.”

  “Maybe. But not tonight.” Michelle squeezes me, then lets me go. “What does your schedule look like next Tuesday?”

  When I turn to face her, she’s in front of her laptop and apparently looking at her online planner. “Tuesday?”

  “Yeah. I have a trade show coming up and I’m going to need some stuff.”

  “Oh.” I’m jarred by the sudden leap right back into business, but I manage to find my briefcase and pull out my Day Runner. Trying not to let my hurt show, I say, “I’ve got a lunch appointment and a one thirty, but otherwise I’m open. What time are you thinking?”

  “Around six thirty?”

  My head sna
ps up and her eyes are twinkling again. My center tingles at the prospect of another go-around with Michelle Adams and I nod, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. I’m already planning a sneak attack. A quick image of her on her back on the desk shoots through my head and I shudder with erotic anticipation. The subject of next Tuesday’s meeting? Role reversal. I toss her a knowing grin.

  “Six thirty sounds perfect.”

  An Element of Poetry

  Eevie Keys

  “I’m nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  I held my violin up for close inspection, willing my hands to stop shaking. I had just tuned her, and the music wasn’t perfect—I wasn’t steady enough. With a deliberate sigh, I tried again, plucking the E string to hear its high-pitched whine. It was just a little bit off-key—and that was just slightly driving me nuts.

  You sat demurely on the love seat, hands folded. It had surprised us both that such a drab dressing room might have a love seat. It was antique looking and well worn, little claw feet pressing into the dirty boards that passed for a floor behind the stage. But behind the curtain? Oh, that was another world—well-polished oak and maple, worthy of a master artist’s feet. Music, dance—it was all art.

  You had once told me that music was art. You, the artist, the painter who could shape worlds with your hands. You told me that what I most treasured was art. I remember feeling different—after you told me. Like I was somehow making a difference.

  When I first met you, I thought you immortal. What you chose to do with your fingers and soul would forever be regarded by the world. I knew that your bright strokes and dancing curves would make any woman fall to her knees—your art was your spirit, unashamedly bare for all the world to see—there, upon the canvas. You could have won anyone, with your art, you know. You could have charmed the angels with it.

  But you did not charm angels. You charmed me.