The Right Fit

Chapter 9

His fingers grazed her cheek, tucking a wave of hair behind her ear. “Un moment,” he said. “A man should be prepared.” He peeled the last mint leaf off her chest then placed it in his mouth.

Maxine giggled through a surprised expression, which faded into a sigh.

Then, with deliberate care, he brought his lips down to hers, perfectly fitting their mouths together. He gently moved his chin starting a slow pace, controlled but with a sense of held back urgency.

This was nothing like the hastily stolen kiss at the club.

The cautious seduction was almost too much for Maxine. She wanted to taste him fully, kiss him back hard—tackle this moment like Alexis Colby.

She raised up on her toes, deepening the kiss. It took hold, growing more certain. The sensation of his tongue sliding over hers sent waves of heat down her whole body. But when his hands moved down her side and along her hips, Maxine flinched, knowing he could feel the bulges the girdle was hiding.

He seemed to hesitate, then he moved his hands to her hair. Maxine relaxed in his arms and concentrated on the kiss. His body moved with hers, turning the embrace into a swaying dance. The kiss went on and on, neither one relenting. Her hands roamed over his back, feeling his muscles flex under her touch. She had to keep reminding herself this was real. And so much better than watching Dynasty.

Maxine felt like she was on a roller coaster that had lost its brakes and the next turn could send her careening off the track. Flattening her hands against his rock-hard chest, she leaned back. “I feel dizzy,” she said. “Like I’m drunk, too.”

He kept her in the embrace then leaned forward touching his forehead to hers.

Maxine wondered if he was about to realize that a super macho sexy guy like him didn’t belong in her cluttered apartment, feeling her body through this extra- large vintage dress.

“I like it,” he finally said. “And I like you.” Maxine could feel his hardness unyielding and certain. He wanted her. And Maxine wanted him. No, wait—she deserved him. This was her rebound lover.

This was her Alexis Colby moment. “Me too,” she whispered. Her fingers traced his lips. He opened his mouth to her touch and, at once, she was kissing him again.

With a quick turn, he moved them toward the couch so swiftly and agile it made her heart flutter. The patchwork quilt wrinkled under their weight. Maxine leaned back, her head supported by the armrest. The long deep kisses lingered, his hands were in her hair, and soon the throbbing inside Maxine couldn’t be ignored. She pressed against his hardness, her hands pushing up the fabric of his top, finding the warm skin on his back. She watched him under heavy lids as he reached behind and pulled off his t-shirt.

Maxine couldn’t hide the awe in her voice. “Are you real or a dream?” she asked, running her fingers up his insanely chiseled chest.

His eyes twinkled back at her. “Oui, Ms.

Dior. Don’t wake up yet, the best part is coming.

****

Antony unclasped his gold wristwatch and placed it on the trunk beside the collection of nail polish. It settled with a heavy clank. The small side lamp caught its reflection and magnified a spot on the ceiling.

He adjusted his weight, leaning on one elbow and started to kiss her again. Her lips were insanely sexy. Antony was completely lost in the feeling of his tongue exploring her mouth. A complicated choreography ensued as their bodies became a tangle of arms and legs.

It was stupid of him to break his code like this, months of going without sex to sharpen his game might be blown on this one night. He could have said no to her invitation and stayed in the cab, but the promise of kissing her again made him accept the offer. Just one more kiss, he’d thought. What harm can come from that?

But the kissing led them to the couch.

And now, as she guided his hand to the side zipper of the dress, he’d completely given up on the code—she was his belle rousse after all.

The zipper made a slick noise as he pulled it down.

Against her neck, he murmured a string of prayers in French, practically comparing her body to a miracle. His hand traced the low cut neckline of the dress; the lace edge of her bra grazed his fingertips. He wanted to crush his lips to her bare flesh and drown in between those two perfect breasts.

She moved under him, reaching for the lamp.

There was a click, then they were in the shadows.

His hand froze. “Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied. But Antony could sense the sadness in her voice. Her lips left small kisses on his face, searching for his mouth.

He pulled away, his hand groping for the lamp. He found the switch and turned it on, studying her face for a clue.

“I’m more comfortable in the dark,” she said, averting her gaze.

What she was hiding? She was staring at his six- pack. He had a thin line of dark hair that started at his navel and went down, disappearing under the top of his jeans. He wondered if she found that sexy or would rather if he was totally hairless. There were chicks who were adamant about that kind of thing.

Antony turned off the light as she requested, regretting losing the image of her. After a few awkward tugs, they maneuvered the dress off her shoulders. He pulled it down further, letting it pool at her waist.

Her breathing sped up as his fingertips traced the shoulder straps of her bra. She was content to let his hands roam—as long as they were in the dark. His finger hooked the top of the satin cup and pulled down. She sighed, arching her back, pressing her breast into his mouth. Antony’s erection was tight and throbbing.

In the shadows, he tasted the other breast, imagining the creamy skin, the hard pink tips.

He loved the mass of her body, how solid she seemed. Most girls he slept with seemed fragile compared to his massive frame, almost breakable. He was always holding back, just a bit. But not her. He knew she could handle him.

Still, he took it slow, wanting this to last. He slipped his fingers under the hem of her dress and traced the inside of her thigh. There was a smooth material, flush against her skin. When he touched the place between her legs, he could feel the heat on the other side of the fabric. He kept his hand there, unmoving, but deliberately increasing pressure.

“Ici?” he asked her, his voice full with want. Then he repeated, “Here? Can I kiss you here?”

Chapter Nine

It was a question, but he was full of confidence. He wasn’t asking permission—he wanted her to say it out loud.

“Oh God, y—”

“Yes?” his prompted. “Oui?”

“No.” There was a pause. “Damn, I hate this. I’m…I’m wearing Spanx.” she said the last part quiet, like a secret.

He was not expecting that. After a few beats of silence, he said, “You want me to spank you?”

“No.”

The despondency of that one small word held a weight he wasn’t sure he understood. She sounded regretful. Did she want him to stop? He wished he knew what she was talking about. There was another pause of dead silence. He moved his hand to her knee.

“My, uh…girdle thingy.” “A girdle thingy?”

“It keeps my stomach flat so I can fit into dresses old ladies have donated to charity.” She groaned, then said, “I added the last part out loud by mistake. Sorry.”

Antony let another pause of silence lapse then leaned closer. The leather couch made a crinkling sound under them. “I’m not interested in your girdle thingy,” he said. “I’m interested in what’s under it.” Then he started another session of long, deep kisses. He felt her melt under his weight, lining up her body with his. Antony’s hand slipped between her legs again. He

caressed her there, against the slippery fabric of the Spanx. Almost at once, her hips began to move, matching the rhythm of his touch. He rubbed harder. She tensed against him and his groin pulsated, sending a charge all the way to where his mouth was pressed

against hers.

An urgency sped up the kiss, trying to soothe an unyielding ache inside Antony.

She tilted back her chin. “Yes,” she cried out.

Antony’s wrist worked faster, rubbing the sensitive spot, her wetness only separated from his touch by the thin layer of fabric. He was completely turned on that she was about to come for him. “Oui,” he urged her.

She arched her back and rocked her pelvis, almost throwing him off balance. Her breath came in faster gasps. Antony grunted with effort, never lessening the pressure of his hand. He fought the waves of pleasure building up, making his erection throb.

“Yes, Ace!” Her voice hit a high note and then quivered to nothing.

Antony felt her go flaccid under him as she let out one last sigh, sounding completely exhausted. Mint filled the air between them.

“May I see you now?” he asked, smiling in the dark.

“Yes.” She moved under him, tugging at her bra, pulling her dress back up.

When she was done, Antony turned on the lamp. Her eyelids flickered, adjusting to the change. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “I should tell you,” he said. “My name is not Ace.”

She traced the cleft in his chin. “And my name isn’t Ms. Dior.”

Antony sensed her confident vibe and wanted to test the waters. “Next time,” he said. “We try it without girdle thingy. Oui?”

A quick rap of knuckles on the door made them both freeze on the couch.

“Are you home?” A woman’s voice was urgent and full of panic behind the door. There was a murmur of voices then the sound of a key being fit into the lock.