Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (reading a book TXT) 📕

remembering his talented hands on her body as he coaxed responses from her she hadn’t even known she was capable of. Stroked her as he did his guitar. If she tried hard enough, she could evoke the impression of his mouth on her nipples, pulling and sucking on them. Feel his fingers sliding into her, reaching for her sweet spot. His thick shaft filling her.

Emma squirmed in the chair, her sex throbbing with residual sensation. He’d put his lips there, right on her clit, sending heat rocketing through her. Oral sex had never been something Andrew enjoyed, either giving or receiving. Her other experiments in that area had been less than fulfilling, and she had resigned herself to a sex life without that special thrill.

One night with Marc and she discovered she not only loved it, but craved it. His every touch had been an all-out assault on every one of her nerve endings. And the sensations were still there, reminding her of a pleasure more deep and satisfying than anything she could have imagined.

It wasn’t just the act of sex that lingered with her. He’d been so tender, caring, attentive. Focusing on her satisfaction before taking his own pleasure.

Without realizing it, her hand crept down between her thighs and she began stroking herself through her jeans.

Ohmigod!

She yanked her hand back as if fire had scorched it. What was she doing?

Get your act together, Emma. Make breakfast. Read the paper.

All her usual Sunday things—things that could lock last night away in her mind where it belonged. One walk on the wild side was enough.

Wasn’t it?

Or had the hours with Marc released a side of her that refused to be hidden away again?

She glanced at her watch. After seven. She’d been sitting here caught up in an erotic reverie for more than an hour. Sighing, she pushed herself out of the chair and headed for the bedroom. A blinking red light caught her eye, and she realized there were messages on her answering machine. Almost resentfully and reluctant to let the real world return, she pressed the playback button.

“Emma?” Andrew’s voice. “Emma, where are you? Where did you go? What’s the matter? Call me.”

“Emma? Me again. Pick up the phone. I want to talk to you.”

“Okay, damn it. I know you’re there. Answer the phone.”

And the last one, Andrew’s anger evident.

“Emma, where the hell are you? I want to talk to you? I drove over to your house and it’s all dark. Where did you go? We have to talk. Call me at once.”

Emma’s stomach knotted. He drove to her house?

A confrontation with Andrew was the last thing she wanted this morning. He’d demand an explanation, and she wasn’t nearly ready to give him one. She needed more time to get her mind to function. No way could she tell him what she’d done. He’d never understand. And he’d tattle on her to her folks as if she were some errant teenager who’d broken the rules.

Okay, so he deserved an explanation. Some reason why she was basically going to tell him she’d thrown away the last few years of her life. His life. For a reason he’d never in this world understand. She just had to find the right words and at the moment, her brain couldn’t piece them together.

Well, maybe she had, in a manner of speaking. She’d gone along to get along for so many years that anything out of the ordinary was sure to shock everyone. But she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Again? Really? Go back to that club? Let the music take hold of her body?

Go to bed again with Marc?

In a hot New York minute.

Get your act together, Emma. Next time you see him, he probably won’t even remember who you are.

Next time?

Emma shook her head. Time to shower and change and get on with her day. Somewhere she had to find the courage to see Andrew and try to make him understand. It was time to step back into the real world.

***

Marc wandered up and down the aisles in the grocery store at a leisurely pace with his shopping cart, not really sure what he was looking for. Maybe he’d make a good marinara sauce. He loved blending the spices until he got the taste just right. Or he might try out the recipe he’d found for a chicken and vegetable casserole with wine. He stood at the meat counter for a long time, thinking barbecue could be the answer. Combining for the sauce to him was like putting together the notes of a song.

But nothing really appealed to him. All he could think about was his Music Lady—the blush of pleasure on her skin as she slowly came down from the grip of an orgasm, the sweet taste of her cream, the feel of her hard nipples on his tongue.

Jesus, Marc! Quit it. You’ll be walking around the store with the mother of all boners.

He meandered into the produce section. Maybe the fixings for a salad would inspire him. Yeah, that would do it. A big salad. He’d mix up his own dressing. Fix a steak. Maybe even a loaf of that sweet bread his mother always made.

He almost laughed out loud. What would all those people at Aftershock think if they could see him walking around the grocery store thinking about baking bread?

In the produce area he stopped short, his breath caught in his throat. He had to blink twice to make sure he knew what he was seeing. But yes, there she was. His Music Lady! Right here in his grocery store.

Wait. Did that mean she lived around here? In his neighborhood? Could he find out her address somehow, someway?

Yeah, right. Just paste “stalker” on my forehead.

She looked so different today, in dark jeans and a pretty blue top, her blonde hair gathered up high in a ponytail that bounced as she walked. Her feet encased in neat little tennis shoes. She was holding a melon in both hands,