The Mistress Mistake

She was weary, but not sleepy.

Grabbing her pillow and coverlet off of her bed, she went back to the couch and slid down onto it. She had a nice view through the gauzy curtains over the French doors; she could see all the way through the wrought iron fencing to the softly rippling water of the swimming pool. She focused on the water, and pretended she was watching television as she finally felt the sweet oblivion of sleep overtake her.

****

Jessica's internal body clock and the full moon shining its light through the French doors told her it was the middle of the night when she was awakened by the sound of her front door opening. She sat up and clutched the coverlet to her chest, but couldn't contain the loud gasp of fear that escaped her lips.

Panic and relief hit her simultaneously as she recognized Connor's large form illuminated in the small amount of moonlight shining into the room. He must have heard her gasp, because he turned toward the couch where she reposed in a semi-sitting, semi-reclining position.

They stared at each other in silence across the small room. Jessica's panic fled and only relief, harsh and all-encompassing, pulsed through her veins.

He turned and bolted the lock and came to stand next to the couch, looking down at her. She couldn't identify the emotion playing across his features, but she offered him a tentative smile, both because she wanted to, and to offer him an olive branch after the way they had parted.

After many long seconds of studying her, his mouth tightened in what she knew was an effort to smile back at her. He reached out his hand and cupped the side of her face, running the pad of his thumb softly over her cheek.

It was the first touch he'd given her that contained any gentle emotion, since the night he'd taken her virginity and said such sweet things to her. She sighed and rubbed her cheek against his palm, enjoying his tactile touch and the gentleness of another human being, something she received so little of in her life.

At her display of affection, his hand stilled momentarily and she heard a slight hiss leave his lungs.

But then just as suddenly as he'd stopped, he began to caress her again. Seconds ticked by while neither of them spoke, and the only sound in the room was their heightened breathing and the beat of her heart that ricocheted through her ears.

Dropping to his knees in front of her, he pulled her to the edge of the couch where her legs dangled on either side of his hips. He wrapped both hands around her face and lifted it, and then he held her eyes with his until his lips closed over hers.

It was the first real kiss he'd given her since that very first night. The kisses he'd forced on her a few hours before didn't count; they'd been full of icy contempt and were meant to punish, meant to exert his dominance and control.

These kisses were different.

Her lids slipped closed as she moaned softly from her chest, and at the small noise, his tongue pushed between her lips and tangled with hers. He kissed her over and over again, his hands gripping her scalp as his tongue and lips demanded her response.

She gave it to him readily, his sudden gentleness and need for intimacy a soothing balm to her painful heart. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she fell into the kiss as if he truly belonged to her, and she forcibly pushed every other thought from her mind and pretended that he was hers to keep forever.

Her arousal grew swiftly to fever pitch, and from his ragged breathing, she knew he felt the same.

It was no shock to her then when he reached down, and without hesitation, slid her panties from her hips and tossed them aside.

But she was utterly shocked when he released her from the kiss and pushed his head between her legs. He gripped her knees and pressed them far apart, and then ran his hands up the inside of her thighs and opened her, spreading her femininity apart, and then put his finger on the spot above her sex that aroused her and made her soft and pliant for him. He focused his gaze between her thighs, and then raised his eyes to hers and slowly asked, "What other things have you never done?"

Chapter Six

Connor's voice sounded deep and tortured as he asked her that question, but he didn't wait for a response from her; he moved his attention back to her spread thighs.

He swirled his finger over and over her clit, and then swiped his tongue from the bottom of her exposed pink skin all the way to the top.

She tensed and let out a small sound, and at her moan of approval, he did it again, and then again.

Her hands clutched his hair as his tongue sank inside of her, while he manipulated her clit between his fingers, massaging and pulling at it. She whimpered again as she was lashed with an intensity she'd never felt before. An awesome, incredible intensity that had her hips lifting and pushing against his fingers and mouth.

He ran his other hand up her torso until it landed on her breast, and she immediately stiffened against him. She still couldn't do it; she still didn't want him to touch her there. He must have felt her withdrawal, because he released her breast and settled his hand on her hip, his fingers sinking into her flesh as he gripped her tightly.

The worry went away just as quickly as it had come, and Jessica fell back into a world she'd never visited before. As he continued to play with her, she felt her orgasm just out of reach and began whimpering, needing something more.

He redoubled his efforts, and slipped two fingers inside of her as his teeth and tongue took over on her clit and began rasping against her.

The dual intensity was exactly what she needed and she felt her brain splinter in two as a soft wail left her lips and she was inundated with a kaleidoscope of colors and a wave of pleasure so intense she thought her heart might stop beating.

Endless moments later, as she slowly came down, her blood cooling and her breathing evening out, she was mildly aware that Connor was stripping off his clothes and coming over her.

He pushed his torso between her legs, dragged her butt to the edge of the couch another inch and plunged into her, a groan thundering from his chest. He hung over her, and began pumping inside of her, steady strokes that became stronger and more erratic as they went on.

She wrapped her arms around his back, and lifted her legs around his hips. It didn't take longer than a few short minutes, and he was coming inside of her, stilling against her as he pushed deep inside and she could feel his seed hitting her womb.

Shock that he'd forgotten a condom almost overrode the shock from the unexpected, intimate experience she'd just had with him.

Long moments passed as he lay against her, the sound of his breathing slowing to a steady pace.

She ran her fingers through his hair and whispered, "You forgot a condom."

Connor lifted his head from her shoulder and his eyes nailed hers. She felt the attraction, deep and intoxicating, that flowed between them. "It doesn't matter. You wouldn't fuck around on me, would you?"

She was almost annihilated by his harsh vocabulary after what had just taken place between them, but chose to ignore the words and concentrate on the implication they contained, which sounded like trust. "No, I wouldn't," she whispered.

"You don't need to worry either."

As he pulled back from her and helped her to her feet, her mind raced over that statement. Without the use of a condom, her need for the bathroom was more immediate than his, and as she shut the door and cleaned herself up, she thought about what he'd said.

When they'd started their relationship, she'd been too afraid to demand fidelity, but as the days had clicked by and he'd visited her on every single one of them, she'd hoped she had nothing to worry about. And his abbreviated assurance, she believed, was just that. It was his way of telling her that he wasn't sleeping with anyone else either, and that he didn't intend to.

Relief spread through her system as she let herself out of the bathroom and he went in. She retrieved a clean pair of panties and slipped them on, under her shirt, and went out to the living room to wait for him.

He came to stand in the doorway between the bedroom and living room and as if they did this every day and it wasn't something new, he said, "I'm starving. I didn't eat anything."

She met his gaze and took a sustaining breath. "Me, either. Do you want me to nuke the tacos?"

"Yeah, sure."

Standing up, she walked to the kitchen while he took the place she'd just vacated on the couch. While she was busy getting the food ready and pouring out glasses of iced water, he called from the other room, "You don't have a television."

No shit, Sherlock. "Yeah, I know." She moved everything to the small dinette and he joined her there.

They ate in silence, her heart beating loudly in her ears at the unfamiliarity of the situation. He didn't say anything more while they ate, but he stared at her steadily most of the time. She had a hard time swallowing her food in front of him, even though her appetite had come roaring back.