As he savored the cherry taste of her mouth, he played with the top of her stockings, slipping a finger along the band that held them in place. Sutton seemed to like him there. She opened her legs the smallest amount, an invitation to explore. He splayed his hand across the top of her thigh, being careful to make sure her dress covered his hand. She bit down on her lip as he inched higher. Another cue. Another sign. He moved closer, sliding his fingers to her panties and pressing against her. There. Between her legs. Where she was already damp beyond words. You couldn’t fake that kind of arousal.
“Can I touch you?” he whispered.
“Please do,” she said, and Reeve knew she was aching too, burning with the need to be touched, to feel some kind of release. He slipped his hand into her underwear, and she groaned under her breath, leaning her head back in the chair. As he stroked her, he imagined her spread out across the chair, arms thrown back, neck long and inviting, legs wide open as he tasted her. God, he wanted to bury his mouth between her thighs, to smell her, inhale her, run a tongue across all that wetness. He wanted to breathe her in, and kiss her deeply. She was a feast of a woman; the slightest touch seemed to turn her on, as if she was ready to go at any moment, a live wire, just needing the combustion to set her off.
“I totally want my tongue between your legs right now,” he whispered in a low and husky voice that belied his own reckless thirst for her.
“I want that too,” she managed to say as he stroked her, his fingers moving up and down all that glorious wetness. She was trying so hard to be still, to be quiet, as she moved her hips in the smallest of ways, not enough for others to see, but enough for Reeve to know how much she wanted him. He pressed a palm against her, and she let a little moan escape. Then she clasped her hand over her mouth to muffle her noises as he worked her. She was rocking back against his hand, and she was so soft and silky wet, and her little breaths were coming faster, and she spread her legs another inch or so, and damn, this woman was all fire and heat. He was going to make her come in a Broadway theater, and he knew in this instant that she was so deep in the throes of passion that she didn’t care anymore if anyone saw or anyone heard. She was so far gone into the crest of the orgasm he was about to give her. He wanted to slam into her, to enter her and feel that wetness wrap around him. But for now, he was thrilled to feel her arch against his hand, once, twice, three times. She inhaled sharply, and took several quick deep breaths as she came in his hand.
Gently, carefully, he moved her hand from her mouth, and kissed her, just as softly and just as tenderly as he’d had when he started. Then the curtain fell and it was time for intermission.
Chapter Five
Sutton lay wide awake in bed, ashamed. The Artful Dodger was burrowed deep under the covers, curled up at her feet where he slept every night. She stared at the red numbers—3:01 a.m.—reflected on her ceiling from her digital clock. She berated herself quietly. Why had she let things go so far? How out-of-control stupid was she to let Reeve get her off in the theater? My god, she was a professional and a business woman. Fine, she might be known for her taste in man candy, but still. That was about her eye for talent. Not about some sex-crazed insatiable need to be touched at all costs. What would be next? Would she start diddling herself on the subway? Rubbing one out in the ladies room at her office? She flipped onto her stomach, embarrassed at the thoughts. Sutton loved sex, and she loved men, but she also cherished control. She was much more apt to make the first move, to be the first one to unzip the guy’s pants, to take him in her mouth, to bring him to orgasm, than the other way around.
She loved the smell of a man, she loved stubble, she loved that they have stubble, that they can grow it and that they can shave it, she loved how kissing a man was a perfect mix of soft and hard, she loved the smell of soap on a guy’s neck, the cut of a firm belly, the feeling of strong arms. But she also loved taking charge, setting the mood, being the first to go below the belt.
Because once she let someone touch her and bring her to that rapturous place of blissful release, she was hooked. She fell quickly, and Reeve was so very fall-able. He tied her in knots. He was beautiful and dreamy-looking, with those soulful eyes that looked as if they’d seen the world even though he was only twenty-four and had probably merely seen New York City and Ohio. And his hands, the way he touched her was as if she’d given him the secret code to her body, the right numbers and the proper combination, and he’d unlocked them. But there was more. She felt her heart lunge toward him when he’d saved her back in her office, and then again in the theater with his easy chatter and confident charm. Before he’d even touched her arm, or kissed her jaw, or slid a hand inside her panties. He’d stepped in and handled the Pinkertons. He’d said the right things and he’d said them with ease, as if they truly were boyfriend-girlfriend. That was the problem. Sutton had very nearly started to believe the fake relationship that she’d engineered.
She could see herself with him, dating him, going out to dinner and a movie, each of them playing casting director-in-hindsight, offering opinions on who would really have been best for each part in each flick they saw. Other times, they’d walk her dog in the evenings, picking up a bottle of wine on the way home, enjoying it on her couch as they talked and touched each other all night long, waking up together in the morning.
But that wasn’t their reality, so why would he have made her come after Janelle left? There was no need to keep up the show when no one was watching. So why? Sutton noodled on possibilities then landed on one. He was probably a Method actor. He was playing the part, staying in the role even when off-stage. She was acting too, she reminded herself. She was totally in character as well. Besides, she’d never fall for an actor, so everything was fine. She reached down in the covers and gently scooped up her sleeping dog, tucking him tightly in her arms.
The hot water beat down hard on Reeve’s body. But it did nothing to turn off his thoughts. Sutton was confusing the hell out of him. After the play, she was her usual sparkly, sassy, playful self. But not once did she say anything about what went down in the box seats. Not that he wanted a blue ribbon pinned on his chest, or a gold star in his homework book for being a good boy. But a soft whisper in his ear would have been nice. An acknowledgement that he’d turned her inside out. But she acted as if nothing had happened, and so he’d followed her lead, and they’d chatted about the play, then other plays, then books. She quizzed him endlessly on why he liked Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas so much and he soon ran out of answers. He just liked it, okay? It was the first time he’d felt flustered and put-on-the-spot. With Janelle, it was easy to make shit up. With Sutton, he felt as if he were being grilled, and he didn’t know why. Then she hailed a cab, opened the door, and sent him on his way with a quick kiss on the cheek. She leaned into the taxi driver’s window and gave the dude a twenty and waved a too-cheery goodbye.