Sunday, October 21, 2012
Today's muse: You can always tell when I'm writing an erotic scene in Madison's Avenue. The pent-up energy needs to be unleashed.
* * *
The doorbell chimes a melody he recognizes, but can’t quite name. Drew grins as the notes fade out.
“It suits her.”
He runs calloused fingers through sun-kissed hair, wonders if he should have gone for a trim before picking up Andrea. He shrugs it off. It’s just a picnic with friends. It won’t matter that he’s needed a cut for more than two weeks now.
His hand drops when she opens the door, his palm instantly damp.
Andrea smiles—that seductive subtle curve of lips that always has need coiling deep inside him. The smile gets him every time. It’s shy and beguiling; it’s innocent and seductive. Most days, the smile alone is enough to leave him wanting. But today…god…today she’s wearing a long floral dress that drapes down to her bare feet. The bodice is nothing more than two narrow triangles of fabric wrapped around her neck, cupping her breasts in reverence.
“Hi.” Drew manages to keep his smile casual, his tone light, though his mouth has dried up and the blood rushing in his ears is deafening. “Ready?”
Andrea steps back and waves him in. “I just need to get my sandals.”
Drew sags against the wall when she turns away. Sweet Jesus.
Andrea comes back down the hallway, ivory sandals dangling from her fingers.
Drew clears his throat. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
She stops just steps away from him, looks down at her dress, then back up at him. “Yeah. Why?”
“You can’t wear that to the picnic.” He shakes his head, as though the matter is closed.
“Pardon me?” Blue eyes flash with rage and she tosses back her hair. “There’s nothing wrong with this dress.”
Drew puffs out a breath. “Maybe not, but you can’t wear it. I won’t let you.”
It’s like watching the wind whip into a funnel cloud, he thinks. Her back stiffens and she throws her shoulders back. Her breasts strain against the fabric, begging for attention. He knows too well how they fill his hands.
“You have incredible nerve telling me what to wear.”
Before she can fold her arms across her chest, Drew spins her around and presses her against the wall, pins her arms above her head with one hand. Andrea bucks against him, bares her teeth like a wild animal.
“I’m not taking off the dress.”
Dammit she’s hot when she’s pissed off. “You don’t have to.”
“Damn straight I don’t.”
Drew frees a hungry breast from its halter, kneads the hard nipple between his thumb and finger.
“I’ll take it off for you.” His lips curve in a smug smile when Andrea goes still. “If you wear this, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. But you’ll have to change fast,” he says, as he pulls her dress up around her waist. His lips nibble on the soft skin below her ear, the spot he knows drives her crazy. “We don’t want to be late for the picnic.”
Andrea unties the halter, lets the dress slither to a puddle around her ankles. “What picnic?”