Touch Me, Page 8

  clean his backside and then wash his hands. Caitlyn gnawed on her lip, anticipating the disappointment of him putting on his clothes and leaving her lying there alone to sort through her suddenly jumbled emotions. Her heart skipped in delight as he returned to the bed and lay beside her. He really had come back.

  Owen rested his head on Caitlyn’s belly, one hand gently stroking the inside of her thigh as he took deep, calming breaths. Caitlyn’s body continued to shudder with aftershocks of pleasure as she slowly reconnected with earth. It was a long way down from nirvana.

  “Wow,” she said after a long moment. “Just… wow.”

  Owen chuckled softly and turned his head to place a suckling kiss just above Caitlyn’s navel. Her flesh quivered. Goose bumps rose to the surface of her skin. It seemed every inch of her wanted to be physically closer to the man—even her damned hair follicles.

  “I’ve never…” she whispered, unable to find the words to express the depths of her pleasure, but feeling the need to try. To let him know he’d been amazing, although amazing just didn’t seem like a strong enough description. Nor did phenomenal, earth-shattering, or fantastic.

  “You’ve never what?” The deep timber of his voice made her nipples pebble. He noticed—bless him—and rubbed his lips over the sensitive tip of her breast. She shuddered. Her body wanted more of him.

  “I’ve never…”

  His tongue flicked out, teasing her into wanting still more. She lifted a weary arm and ran her fingers through his hair, toying with the soft, slightly sweat-damp strands at his nape.

  “You’ve never…” he prompted.

  She took a deep breath, her body quivering as she exhaled. “Come so hard that I felt it in the soles of my feet. You’re something special, Owen… uh… Owen… Um…” Dear God, she’d just had the most amazing sexual experience of her life, and she didn’t even know his last name.

  “Mitchell,” he supplied, as if he were a mind-reader.

  “Owen Mitchell,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “You’re supposed to save your regrets for when we’re awkwardly putting our clothes back on and avoiding each other’s eyes.”

  “But I don’t regret it,” she said. “Not at all. I only regret that I didn’t find you sooner.” She flushed, realizing too late that it wasn’t the kind of thing you said after having sex with someone you didn’t know.

  “Were you looking for me?” he asked, amusement in his tone. She knew he’d be smiling. Wasn’t sure if he’d laugh at her or not, but what the hell? She liked him. And she wanted him to like her too. Would being frank scare him away? Or make her intentions clear? She wasn’t sure. That’s what she got for marrying the first man who ever paid her any attention.

  “I must’ve been. If not, I should have been.” She took another deep breath, her heart thudding with nervousness. “I’m sorry if I’m going about this all wrong. You probably do this kind of thing all the time.”

  “If I’m lucky.”

  She laughed and hugged him with as much strength as she could muster. “So what do we do now? Are we supposed to put our clothes back on and go our separate ways immediately? Or can I stay with you longer?”

  “We do whatever we feel like.”

  “What do you feel like?” she asked.

  He lifted up on his elbows and stared down at her with such intensity, it stole her breath. She hoped their night together wasn’t about to end prematurely because she was such a novice when it came to one-night stands.

  “Pastrami on rye,” he said.

  Having thought he was going to say something profound, she laughed. “Do they serve sandwiches here?”

  “No,” he said, “but I’m sure we can find one somewhere. Are you hungry?”

  She wasn’t really, but she did want to spend more time with him. Preferably in a horizontal position. The man had definitely earned himself a sandwich. And despite her best intentions to keep this as impersonal as possible, she wanted to know about him. Know everything about him. Beside the fact that he was a-maz-ing in bed. And might be sexually attracted to his best friend. She couldn’t let herself dwell on that though. Owen obviously knew his way around the female anatomy. It would be a horrible tragedy if he switched teams.

  “Yes,” she said. “I could go for a sandwich.”

  “I like the bread lightly toasted and double pastrami. And don’t forget the dill pickle spear on the side.”

  He wasn’t really expecting her to get up and make him a sandwich was he? She lifted her head and caught the smirk on his lips, right before he kissed a trail along the bottom of her ribcage. The man was a consummate tease, she decided.

  “Would you like a cold beer with that?” she asked.

  “That sounds heavenly,” he murmured against her skin. “And some waffle fries.”

  “With cheese?”

  “Ketchup.”

  “Anything else with your order, sir?”

  “Make yourself something real nice while you’re up,” he whispered, trailing soft kisses down her belly toward parts of her that could still feel the effects of that delightful cock piercing of his.

  “No problem. I’ll just make my way to the nearest kitchen. I should probably take off these stockings so I’m barefoot.”

  He lifted his head and grinned. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’d prefer if you wore those and those sexy as sin white high heels while you prepare my meal.”

  “And nothing else, I presume.”

  “That’s a decent presumption,” he said. His hands skimmed the skin along her sides.

  “Glad you approve.”

  “You might as well put your clothes on. It will be at least an hour before my sexual appetite matches the hunger in my belly.”

  “So why are you still touching me?”

  “Because you’re beautiful,” he told her, as if to say duh.

  And he was doing a great job at making her feel that way when she had felt anything but beautiful for the past six months. “Thank you,” she said, grateful that her voice didn’t crack from the emotions welling in her throat.

  “No, thank you.” He slid up to gaze into her eyes before capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. After several toe-curling moments, he tore his lips from hers and scooted off the edge of the bed. “If I don’t get up now, I’m going to end up getting up again.” He glanced at his glorious cock to let her know which part of him would be up again. “And if that happens, we’ll be at this place all night. I don’t think I can stand to listen to the guy in the next room make those distracting sounds for much longer.”

  Caitlyn hadn’t noticed until Owen mentioned it, but coming through the wall was some sound between grunting and yowling. She’d had almost forgotten where she was, why she’d come here, and that Owen was just some pick-up at a sex club.

  “Oh yeah, little pussy cat,” their wall-mate hollered, “reach under there and scratch my balls.”

  Caitlyn giggled.

  “That’s it, pussy cat.” The words penetrated the wall. “Now meow for me.”

  Caitlyn couldn’t hear the woman’s meows, but the man’s sudden and startling barks sent her into hysterics. She laughed until tears sprang to her eyes and her belly ached.

  “Okay, yeah,” Caitlyn said, forcing her body from the bed. “Let’s get out of here. Find some place for me to make you a sandwich.”

  “I don’t really want you to make me a sandwich, Caitlyn.”

  She grinned. “I know that. I can tell when you’re teasing.”

  “And you were teasing me back?”

  She nodded. Owen drew her into his arms and held her close. She smiled against his shoulder.

  “Can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” he said.

  “I don’t mind,” she assured him.

  “Well, here, no, but in a restaurant? I might embarrass you.”

  “We could get room service in a hotel,” she said. “Then you can put your hands anywhere you like.”

/>   “I sort of want everyone to see that you’re with me,” he said.

  She crinkled her eyebrows. “Why?”

  “Because you’re a smokin’ hot babe and I get off on the ego trip.”

  She stepped back, one step and then two. What? He’d taken his constant stream of compliments one step too far. No man said things like that unless… Caitlyn scowled and leveled him with her best glare of doom. “Okay, how much did Jenna pay you to make me feel like a million bucks?”

  “Pay me?”

  “You’re a male escort, aren’t you?” No wonder he was so good in bed. Women paid him to be good in bed. She slapped him in the chest with both hands, pretending not to notice his look of astonishment. “I should have realized it sooner. You’re really smooth, Owen Mitchell, if that’s even your real name.”

  She expected him to either admit he was paid to entertain women or indignantly deny it. She never expected him to cover his initial astonishment, real or put-on, with a hearty laugh.

  “Do you think I could actually make money doing this?” he asked, pausing to catch his breath. “You know, in case the rock star thing doesn’t work out for me.”

  “What?” Caitlyn stared up at him with her mouth agape. “You’re not a rock star. You liar. Everything you’ve said to me has been a lie, hasn’t it?”

  The teasing light died from his eyes. “Caitlyn, I’ll allow you to insinuate that I’m a male prostitute. I’m even okay with you struggling to believe I’m part of a famous rock band, but you don’t get to blatantly call me a liar. I’m not a liar. I never lie. I might tease and exaggerate a bit, but I don’t lie.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was truly angry, but his body was tense and his expression had gone hard.

  “You haven’t been lying to me?”

  He shook his head, and she concluded he was the best con man on the planet, an award-winning actor (both distinct possibilities), or he was telling the truth. She felt a mix of relief and concern. Relieved that he was legitimately attracted to her and her friends didn’t have to pay a hot guy to sleep with her. Concerned that she liked that knowledge more than she should. She wasn’t even over Charles yet, was she? This was just a revenge fuck or something, wasn’t it?

  “Wait,” she said, “So you’re really a rock star?” She giggled as soon as the words escaped her lips, because seriously, who claims such things and expects people to believe it without some proof? “A rock star?”

  “Yep. We were the headlining band in the concert at the AT&T Center tonight.”

  “Oh yeah?” That was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard and maybe he didn’t like being called a liar, but she was about to call him one again. “What instrument do you play?”

  “What?” he said with a crooked grin. “You don’t think I’m lead singer material?”

  He wasn’t lying? He really was a rock star? She took another look at him, unable to believe someone this attractive and apparently famous would want anything to do with her. He was definitely dynamic enough to be a lead singer. “Do you sing?”

  “A little,” he said, “but mostly I play bass guitar.”

  “What’s the name of your band?” She realized that he was sharing personal information. This was a good sign, wasn’t it? She had to keep him talking, because if he was her revenge fuck, she wanted to continue to seek her revenge for a lot longer.

  A loud thumping on the wall broke the spell Owen had over Caitlyn. How did he do that, make her feel as if they were the only two people on earth?

  “I’ll tell you all about it over a sandwich,” he said. “Do you have clothes in the outer dressing room?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think what’s left of that negligée legally counts as clothing.”

  He cringed at the discarded pile of torn lace on the floor. “Sorry about that. I don’t usually get so worked up that I rip off a woman’s clothes.”

  She smiled. “I liked it. It made me feel irresistible.”

  “You are irresistible.”

  She was starting to believe him. Starting to remember that she was sexy and desirable and beautiful, even if her husband hadn’t been smart enough to see it. “You’d make a fortune,” she said with a smile.

  “Huh?”

  “As a male escort. I’d definitely pay for this feeling.”

  He snorted. “You don’t have to. But it’s good to know I have something to fall back on, you know, if I get myself kicked out of the band or something.”

  He stepped away and retrieved his black dress shirt from the floor. He helped her shrug into it and slowly buttoned it from its hem—which hit her midthigh—to the very top button just under her chin.

  “That should keep the hawks at bay,” he said and tapped her nose with his index finger.

  “The hawks?”

  “Men circling to make their kill now that I’ve chased away those man-hater vibes you were giving off.”

  “I still hate men,” she said. “Well, one man. But not you. I like you.”

  “You’re making this way too easy for me,” Owen said.

  She tilted her head at him coyly. “Should I be playing hard to get? A little late for that, don’t you think?”

  He shook his head. “I hate players probably as much as you hate your ex-husband.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you a player?”

  He scowled. “Not intentionally. I’m looking for something and just don’t know exactly what it is yet.”

  “Do you honestly think you’re going to find what you’re looking for in a sex club?”

  “Maybe I have.” He winked at her. “You’re going to call me, right?”

  “Depends,” she said.

  “On what?”

  “Will you answer?”

  He smiled. “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll call you.” Caitlyn found her shoes and put them on. He watched her with his devilish little grin firmly in place and only then reached for his own clothes.

  “Then I’ll give you my number,” he said.

  She watched him slip into his underwear and slacks. As he fastened his leather belt, naughty ideas began to filter through her thoughts. Ideas that involved belts. Would he let her try all those fantasies that she didn’t want to admit she had? And did he really want her to call him or was he just getting her hopes up? She wasn’t sure why she didn’t trust him—he hadn’t done anything to break her trust. In fact, he’d been absolutely wonderful. Too good to be true. She kept waiting for him to treat her badly, as if she deserved such treatment.

  Damn, Charles sure had done a number on her. Maybe she should have given her heart time to mend before getting in this revenge fuck. What if this turned out to be something she wasn’t ready for? She wasn’t looking for a relationship, but she’d be an idiot not to see how far things could progress with Owen. He wasn’t the kind of guy who came along every day.

  “So you never answered me: what’s the name of your band?” she asked as he settled a hand on her lower back and directed her out the door.

  Heads turned as they passed through the main lounge. She was sure they were all looking at Owen. He had a gorgeous body and he happened to be shirtless.

  “Sole Regret,” he said close to her ear, as if it were a secret.

  She caught the scent of his body and the spicy, slightly sweet fragrance of his cologne. When he leaned away again, she inhaled that same delectable scent from the fabric of his shirt at her shoulder. She wouldn’t mind wearing his shirt for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, they had paused just outside the changing rooms and she was going to have to find her own clothes and relinquish the garment to him. There were, however, two problems with that. One: she would no longer be surrounded by his intoxicating scent. Two: the clothes she wore to the club were likely to send him packing. She didn’t exactly have the sexiest wardrobe.

  “I think I’ve heard of them,” she said. She had never heard of a band called Sole Regret and figured he’d been playing up the star part
of rock star.

  He chuckled. “No you haven’t. I can tell. If you had, you’d be