of his sport shirt. He squeezed one between his thumb and forefinger.
Samantha moaned. She didn't want to. She was supposed to be... He squeezed again and she couldn't remember whatever it was. No man, ever, had made her respond so quickly, so easily.
"You're so ready tonight," he whispered, his eyes full of praise. His tongue filled her mouth and she melted into his body at the same time that she arched into the hand on her breast. He touched the waistband of her long black skirt. "Let's get this off too."
"Yes," she whispered back. Then froze. No! No, she was supposed to be stopping this. Ending this. But his hand gave a parting tweak to her hard, tingling nipple and she couldn't hold onto her resolve.
He helped her stand, and as he unfastened the buttons of her skirt she told herself maybe it would be better this way. Why, yes. She'd always been at her best telling men what to do when she didn't have her clothes on.
As if to prove her point, when her skirt dropped to the floor, he groaned. "You're going to kill me, sweetheart."
Some habits never died. Under her long black skirt she wore a tiny triangle of gauzy black panty and a black garter belt and stockings. The first time she'd been with D. B., she'd discovered how much he liked her bad-girl underwear. And as the saying went, if the shoe fit - or in this case, the lingerie...
Then she couldn't think anymore, because he brushed his big hand between her thighs to push her panties aside and slide his long middle finger inside her. She was already wet - how had he known? - and her body bowed.
"D. B...."
"Shh." He positioned her in front of him, that finger still penetrating her. "Let me look at how pretty you are."
Pretty. "Pretty" was for young girls. Sammy had been pretty. Samantha was beautiful, sexy, she made men -
D. B. slid another finger inside her. She moaned. "So pretty," he said. He cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb across the nipple. His other thumb found her clitoris and he rubbed that too.
Samantha gasped. "D. B., let me, let's..."
"Shh. This is for you."
She braced her hand on his shoulder. Oh, God. For her. When had a man done something for her?
His thumbs continued to strum her. Her head fell back. He was good at this, Samantha thought, as good as she had always been at pretending for men. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them.
But their nameless faces spun out of her thoughts when D. B. touched her. She didn't need to pretend for him. She couldn't pretend with him. She'd tried to pretend she wanted their affair to end and he'd seen through that just as he'd seen through her mantrap-vamp posturing.
He was twisting his fingers inside her. She could hear the sexy, arousing sounds of her own wetness, and her nipples budded impossibly tighter. Her knees softened and she bore down, into those knowing, almost-good-enough fingers. Her orgasm was rising, swirling, a tornado, a hurricane; it was something big and scary and she didn't want to be in it alone.
"D. B.," she murmured, so close she was desperate. "Take your clothes off, your pants ... please. Please."
Again he didn't obey. "This is yours, sweetheart." He thrust his fingers high, then pulsed his thumb against her throbbing clitoris. "Take it, sweetheart."
Samantha screamed. Her muscles spasmed and he groaned as her body locked onto his fingers and she spun into the storm.
The next thing she knew, she was on his lap again, still shivering in reaction. He held her close against him, soothing her with long, comforting strokes of his palm. She lifted her mouth and kissed his chin. "Thank you," she said.
He shifted her closer against his chest. "I think I'm the one who should be grateful."
She kissed him again. "I can make you very grateful."
"Not tonight." His cheek rubbed the top of her hair. "Tonight was just for you. But I'll help you put the chairs up and then walk you home and tuck you into bed."
"But - "
"No. You look too tired." He lifted her chin with his finger and looked into her eyes. "You need your sleep if you're going to be your pretty self in the morning."
Pretty. There it was again. Giddiness rose inside her, glittering bubbles of effervescence that were like nothing she'd ever felt before. It wasn't power. It wasn't sex. She knew what both of those felt like.