The Best Laid Plans (6 page)

He was over it all. Except when it came to Jayne.

He’d started out liking her in the eighth grade. She was smart and didn’t pretend not to be. Good at sports in gym class, she didn’t care if she embarrassed the popular boys by outplaying them at soccer. If she’d tried out for the school teams she might have been more accepted, but she seemed content to best everyone in gym for fun. Whether she didn’t know or didn’t care that it alienated her from the popular crowd, and those who desperately wanted into that crowd, she didn’t change for anyone. Malcolm had admired her for that.

She’d defended him one time. It was the first time anyone had ever really teased him about being small, but the two guys had been doing it all week. Jane had passed by and walked up to them, looked them up and down like they were nothing and said, “He may be small now, but someday he’ll be bigger than both of you and you’ll be sorry you teased him. Just remember that.”

The guys hadn’t looked worried, but they’d moved on to another target. And Malcolm’s admiration of the tiny blonde had morphed into a crush that he’d nurtured from afar for years. High school came and they no longer had the same homeroom. But he never really looked at anyone else. He wasn’t deluding himself – he knew she hadn’t defended him because she liked him. She’d defended him because it was the right thing to do. She was genuinely a good, caring person. At least she had been then.

He’d escaped mostly unscathed through the ninth grade, and part of the tenth. He had a few friends, definitely not popular, but he wasn’t unhappy. For the most part he was invisible. No one wanted to be the wallflower, but no one picked on him either, and that was fine by him. Sometimes being invisible had its perks. He wasn’t noticed. Not until she drew the bullies’ attention to him.

Anger brought his focus back to the present. He kept his apartment spotless, but not obsessively so. It had a casual air from the furniture layout, from the book laying on the black glass coffee table, to the soft chenille blanket thrown over the back of the leather chair. Needing to burn off some nervous energy, he decided to re-clean the bathroom.

Calmer after, he ate a late lunch and grabbed a nap, making sure he’d have energy for later. With her, if she came by. She
had to
show up. He woke at six-fifteen and brushed his teeth. Then all he had to do was wait.

He’d dressed in faded jeans and an open black dress shirt, nothing underneath, and sat on the couch playing his guitar. It gave him something to do, and helped warm up his hands. She’d probably been hit on by guys with guitars before, but he could actually play. The band was for fun; the studio work paid his bills. Producers hired him because of his speed and skill. In an industry where time was money, he never required more than two takes to nail the song.

He let the music carry him away, calm his nerves. Eyes closed, fingers flying, he gave in to the sound he created.

He smelled her before he heard her. She’d come. And walked right into his apartment like she owned the place. He liked that, but denied the smile he felt. He kept playing, wondering if she’d put two and two together, and place him.

It had all begun with a song played on the guitar. All those years ago.

But he didn’t have the courage to play it now. That wound he couldn’t reopen. Not now, maybe not ever. He played a few notes from the song, then switched to another. He wanted her, needed to make sure he had her before he revealed his identity, and then left her. Maybe he would just leave her without letting her know that they were pre-acquainted.

But before he left her, he had to get her, get inside her, body, mind, heart. He smiled.

“Hello, Jayne.”

“Malcolm.”

He finished the song with a flourish that showcased his finger speed and opened his eyes. Good thing he’d waited to open them; the sight of her would have made his fingers clumsy.

She wore a silvery green dress and flat shoes, looking fresh, and new, and innocent. Except for her eyes. Hungry, knowing, and sexy. She was pretty, and feminine, and eye-fucking him so intensely his dick went insta-hard. He was glad the guitar hid his erection. He had to be the one in control of this, or she’d lose interest.

But she’d definitely brought her A game.

***

The door had been unlocked. Jayne heard the guitar, got curious, and tried the door without knocking. If she could creep up on him, catch him unawares, she could shift the power back to her court a bit. Glad about her decision to wear the flats, she tiptoed inside the apartment silently and closed the door behind her.

His apartment was … sort of chic, but homey and welcoming, not sterile like a lot of expensive lofts she’d been to. Oh, it looked expensive, had the requisite bachelor black leather and glass. But there was a giant bookshelf, and when she’d crept past it, the kitchen had looked like it wasn’t just the place to order takeout from.

She followed her ears to the living room and watched him for a moment. He sat perfectly still except for those hands. Oh, she wanted them to play her like they played that guitar. She couldn’t even hear him over the pounding of her heart, drinking in the sight of him with his head thrown back. He had a strong neck, something about it begged to be licked. He wore jeans and an unbuttoned black dress shirt. What she could see of his body was fantastic, built, but it didn’t look like he spent too much time in the gym. There was nothing worse than a man who spent more time looking in the mirror than looking at her.

Not that it mattered what he did in his down time. She’d only come here for sex.

As she stood there, she began to pay attention to his playing. He was actually incredible. His talents were wasted in bars. He could play in stadiums with an orchestra backing him. She didn’t know much about music, but she could appreciate skill. He had it.

Which only made him sexier. Passion was hot, but talent was hotter. He could back up the talk, possessing the goods to validate all the rumors she’d heard at the club the other night.

At least about his playing. She had yet to find out about his prowess in bed.

“Hello, Jayne.”

“Malcolm.”

She didn’t know what else to say. She’d arrived ready to play. If he thought he sat in the driver’s seat, he had a shock coming his way.

The notes he played went straight up her spine. He opened his eyes and looked her up and down.

“You came.”

If he had any idea how many times she’d come last night, writhing in bed thinking about his hands, and mouth … “I did.”

He began playing another song that teased the back of her mind, almost, but not quite familiar.

“Care for something to drink?”

“I’m not here to drink.” Best to be bold about it.

“What are you here for?”

She smiled. “You didn’t invite me here to listen to you play.”

“Didn’t I?”

“Did you?” He hadn’t actually said. She couldn’t believe his restraint. He just sat there so casually, playing his music, when she barely refrained from throwing herself at him. Her body was wound tighter than the strings beneath his fingers. How could she have been so wrong about the situation? He didn’t want her. Her cheeks flamed. Of course he didn’t. He was perfect, not an imposter like she was. He’d rejected her and brought back her insecurities –he could probably smell them all over her like a cloying perfume.
Get out! Leave before he spells it out for you.

“I shouldn’t have come. Have a great night and a nice life, Malcolm.” She turned and walked away.

“Jayne.”

The way he said her name, forceful, a command, solidified her legs and rooted her feet in place. She heard the strings of his guitar thrum, and then a second later felt him stand close behind her. She shivered against his heat.

“That’s a nice dress. Take it off.”

Relief and lust mingled and slammed through her with the force of a hurricane. She reached behind her, grasping for the zipper. He captured her hand and turned her around holding her hand behind her back, and pulled her to him. Slowly, he dragged her hand down, undoing her dress.

She felt his erection, long and hard, and closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see them rolling back in her head. She was supposed to be in control, but here she was, no better than his puppet. Something about his voice compelled her to do what he said.

But she had a free hand and a shred of self-control left. She smiled.

***

Her minxy little grin almost did him in. Locked in his arms again, hand trapped behind her back, pressed against him and she fucking
grinned
. Oh, she was a wicked one. The all-consuming need to fuck her lost to his curiosity. What would she do if he let her have control for a moment?

She leaned forward, kissed his neck, and licked it. Her tongue felt hot enough to burn him. Leaning his head back so she had better access, he decided he liked when she had a little slack. Her trapped hand eased down so the back of his hand grazed the curve of her ass, touching it but not grasping it like he wanted.

Her other hand trailed over his chest, and down his abs, slow enough to drive him crazy. When she finally touched his dick through his jeans, he released her fingers and seized her ass in both of his hands, kneading and squeezing it, reveling in its size and shape.

It was curvy and luscious, but it wasn’t enough. He bent to her height, and stopped a fraction of an inch away from her mouth. She paused, and he felt her breath hitch. He was winning.

It took no effort at all to tip her head back, her body pliant and willing, as he kissed her throat and trailed his fingertips down her collarbone to her breast. He deliberately avoided the nipple and worked his way back up, lightly slipping the straps of her dress off her shoulders. She smelled amazing, sweet and delicate.

Her dress fell down, and he gathered her in his arms, one hand below her ass, the other around her back, and pulled her up to him, her head level with his, and kissed her while her feet were suspended in the air.

He moved softly at first, exploring her lips with his own, leading the action and feeling her mirror him. He increased the speed and depth, darting his tongue inside her mouth. She gasped and grabbed at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, using her tongue to draw his further inside.

He ran his hands over her ass, now only covered by a tiny pair of silky panties, and bit her bottom lip. She moaned in his mouth and pressed tighter to him, driving her tongue inside his mouth, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing against his crotch, unleashing a sharp pleasure through him.

Two could play at that game. He gently sucked her tongue and shudders ran through her body. Time to really play.

Still kissing her, he walked to his bedroom.

Pausing just in front of the bed, he ran a hand up her thigh and undid her bra with the other. She flung it away from her body without breaking their kiss. He knelt down at the side of the bed, which put her ass on the edge, and unwrapped her legs from his waist. He pulled back and looked at her.

“What do you want me to do to you?”

“Fuck me.”

He chuckled. “We’ll get to that.” He moved in close and licked her neck. “But what do you want me to do? What do you need, Jayne?” he whispered.

“Suck my nipples. Hard.” Her voice came out two octaves lower than it had been when she entered his apartment. He kissed down her neck, gently blowing on it, and licking, creating shivery kisses down her body until he reached her breast, and finally took a nipple in his mouth. She gasped and slammed a fist into the bed beside her as he sucked. Her body surged forward, pressing closer to him as he razed his tongue back and forth across the tip.

Switching to the other breast, he pressed her knees farther apart, and stroked the front of her panties. She’d soaked through the fabric. He almost lost it right then, but increased his suction, and rubbed faster, lighter.

She ground her hips against his hand. He pulled away and stripped out of his jeans. He slid her panties down her hips, and knelt on the bed straddling her. She moved to take him in her hand, spreading her legs.

Not yet.

“Move up,” he urged her, staying right above her, matching her movements like a predatory cat as she scrambled back on the bed until her head reached the pillow. He kissed her again and reached down between them to stroke her hot, wet slit. She was so ready for him. But this had to be memorable.

Sliding two fingers inside, he gently massaged her, adjusting slightly until she cried out, letting him know when he’d found her G-spot. Maintaining the same pressure and speed, he moved lower and tongued her clit.

She moaned. “Please, Malcolm, just fuck me!”

He stopped his mouth, but increased finger speed. She arched her back and cried out. He smiled.

“Not until you come for me, Jayne.”
And maybe not even then.

***

She’d thought his fingers were amazing, but they had nothing on his mouth. She almost blacked out from the things he did with his tongue. She never wanted him to stop, but she wanted him inside her
now.
Her legs were spread so wide, her body begging him to get inside her, to fill her, pound her, satiate the blinding need that made her want to scream, but he held back.

This was not going at all according to her plan. She was the one in charge. She was supposed to be dominating him, be the ruin of his self-control! She’d only come here to make him beg, but he kept right on wrecking her power, her mind, with his tongue and hands.

The best part was that she didn’t even care.

Plans be damned.
This
was the lover she’d been waiting for. She wanted him so badly, she forgot to be self-conscious. Looking down her body, she saw his gaze had been on her face the whole time. There was something in his eyes, something dangerous and intense, and it made her want to both run away and chain herself to his bed. It was scary and sexy, and she wanted to shiver inside his expression forever. What was—

Holy fuck!

He’d begun gently suckling her while licking, and she suddenly needed something to grab onto to brace against the deepness of the pleasure building inside her. Reaching up expecting a regular headboard, she loved that it was some kind of brushed metal with horizontal bars. She gripped it and held on with all she was worth - it was that, or she would grab him by the ears and fuck his face.