“I look like I just got out of the shower. Not at my best, but clean.”
“Well, I can’t wait to dirty you up again. And that wasn’t fair, by the way.”
“What wasn’t fair?” She squeezed a small amount of water from her hair.
“You taking a shower without me.”
“Oh.” She let out a nervous giggle. “I didn’t actually decide to take a shower until I got into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and I looked like such a mess, so I—”
“Are you kidding?” He stalked toward her and opened her robe. Her breasts beckoned. “You looked great. There’s nothing sexier than a woman who’s just been fucked.” He took one breast in the palm of his hand. Heavy and plump, it fell in a beautiful mass, filling his hand perfectly. “I’ll forgive you for leaving me out on one condition.”
“What’s that?” She smiled, and her lips trembled a little.
Was she nervous? After what they’d just shared? He squeezed the breast in his hand and ran his thumb over the tight nipple. “Next time you take a shower, you invite me. In fact”—he eyed the table, specifically the strawberries and chocolate—“I think I can guarantee you’ll keep that promise.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
He sauntered to the table, picked up a strawberry, and swirled it in the chocolate. He returned to Stacy, who was still standing with her robe open, her lush breasts in full view. Michael grinned as he touched the chocolate-covered fruit to the tip of one pert nipple.
“I’ll just get you dirty again.”
* * *
Stacy shuddered. The sauce was warm, like hot fudge, and it seemed to light her nipple on fire. The intense heat surged through her and landed between her legs. Michael busied himself painting her other nipple, and as the sauce dripped down over her areolas, her breasts, and her belly, Stacy felt as though she were dripping to the floor as well. Fresh nectar gushed from her pussy and dripped down her thighs.
What was going on? Confusion coursed through her brain like a speeding bullet. Why was Michael Moretti doing this to her? What on earth did he see in Stacy Oppenheimer, introvert extraordinaire? The girl who walked into a room and was invisible?
Maybe she should lay it on the table and just ask him.
“Michael.”
“Hmm?” He delicately traced her areola with the strawberry tip. Her robe slid off her shoulders and puddled to the floor. The chocolate was long gone now, and the friction from the tiny strawberry seeds tightened her sensitive skin even further.
“I…I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what, baby?”
“What you’re doing here.”
“That’s an easy one.” He raised the strawberry to her lips and traced them.
Seemingly of its own accord, her tongue darted out and tasted the tang of fruit and the bittersweetness of chocolate.
“I’m painting you with chocolate. Then I’m going to lick it off you. And then I’
m going to put you back in the shower, only I’m going with you this time.”
“Oh, lord…” Stacy’s head spun. Her wet tresses clung to her shoulders and back while her core heated. Really, did it matter why Michael Moretti was painting her with chocolate? Why he wanted to shower with her? Why he seemed to want to make love to her?
Correction—fuck her. This was not lovemaking. It was fucking, pure and simple.
Still, there were over one thousand women at this conference, all of whom would love the chance to spend an evening in Michael Moretti’s arms. He could have any of them, and he had chosen her. Amazing.
Why question it? She might not like the answer.
She could like the experience, though. Indeed, she did like the experience. So far she liked it a lot. And she was comfortable—more comfortable than she thought possible with this handsome man who seemed to want her. Though not quite ready to completely shed her introvert status, she had stumbled way out of her comfort zone tonight.
It felt damn good.