Ten
Ringo stood in front of the fountain that rose majestically in front of the Bellagio. The water was a constant hum behind him, the pool lit with spotlights as he tried not to pace, his knee bouncing up and down nonetheless. Donatelli had told him to be there at four in the fucking morning and he was on time after a hard night’s travel from New York.
Kelsey was across the street at a bar, afraid to go back to her apartment in the Ava, sure that Carrick had changed the key card. Ringo had to admit it was possible, and he didn’t doubt that he’d been evicted from his own apartment months before, all his shit sold on eBay by his landlord. So he hadn’t protested when Kelsey had insisted on accompanying him, because the truth was he wasn’t sure what to do with her. The cash in Donatelli’s wallet had covered their hotel and airline expenses, and that was it. He hadn’t wanted to use the credit cards and risk pissing the Italian off before Ringo could cash in on the serious prize.
Twenty-five grand. Donatelli had told him the Russian, Chechikov, would be handing the money over to him, and he was supposed to turn over the name of the woman carrying Atelier’s baby. Easy.
So why did he feel like he was standing in a big-ass trap?
The December wind was chilly to mortals, and the few tourists hanging about were wearing jackets. It wouldn’t be hard to hide a knife. Ringo was doing it himself. But it would be difficult for another vampire to cut his head off in the courtyard of the Bellagio, even if it was dark and the crowd was thin.
That didn’t scare him. What scared him was the unknown. The idea that he didn’t understand how to play the game with these powerful bastards, who had been dicking other vampires over for hundreds of years. Donatelli was a sick mother-fucker who knew there were worse things than death, and Ringo didn’t want to fall in with any of that shit.
A woman caught Ringo’s attention as she wandered around the fountain, taking pictures with a digital camera. She wasn’t the usual tourist bundled in nylon and fleece. Wearing a long, black and green plaid coat tied tightly at her waist, fishnet stockings, and knee-high suede boots, she stood out in the handful of people hanging around, her walk, her manners, her dress screaming of wealth and sophistication. She was model thin, burgundy velvet gloves on her hands, and a white fuzzy purse on her shoulder, dark blond hair flowing over her shoulders under a fur hat.
She didn’t seem to be aware of him, or anyone else around, and Ringo watched her, intrigued. If she were a celebrity, she would have an entourage of bodyguards, assistants, paparazzi around her. If this were a modeling shoot, there would be cameras, a director, makeup artists. But she was clearly alone, and Ringo couldn’t take his eyes from her. She wasn’t hot, not in the way a stripper or a Hooters waitress or a Playboy bunny was, but she was exotic, exquisite, untouchable. And mortal.
The urge to seduce her, to draw her aside, and sink his teeth into her flawless flesh rushed through him. He wanted to taste her, to feel her give in to him, to see her eyes roll back with pleasure as he drew on her, taking her into him, her sweet rich blood running over his tongue and down his throat.
But he couldn’t. He had to wait for Donatelli or Chechikov’s errand boy. And he was married now, ring on his finger and everything. He didn’t possess the self-control to stop at a taste of her blood. He would want a full sexual joining while he fed, and that was probably wrong. Kelsey didn’t deserve that kind of disrespect, no matter how she got on his damn nerves. He knew that. But that didn’t stop him from wanting this woman.
Especially since she was strolling toward him, tucking her camera back into her purse and extracting a thin gold cigarette case. She lifted her head, a cigarette between her lips, and Ringo sucked in a breath. Jesus. She was so goddamn gorgeous, her thick plump lips a raspberry color, skin creamy, cheeks pink from the chill, nose long and straight. But it was her eyes that distracted him, that made him almost forget why touching her would be wrong. Narrow, an intriguing oval shape, her eyes were a pale blue, a green ring dividing blue from the darkness of her pupils.
She smiled, gesturing to her cigarette. Ringo stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his lighter. He lit her cigarette, smelling the thick floral perfume she wore when her head bent to inhale. Turning slightly, she blew the smoke over his shoulder. If he was expecting a thank-you, he didn’t get one. Nor did she move away.
“Are you alone?” he asked, thinking that a woman who looked like her couldn’t be, nor should she be. Vegas was always awake, people usually everywhere at all times, and it was well lit, but that didn’t mean it was smart to wander around alone at four in the morning.
Her nose wrinkled up and she said something in another language. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a thick envelope, pressing it into his hands.
He accepted it automatically, a realization dawning on him. “Chechikov?” he said. It made sense. She looked Russian, a hint of Mongolian around her eyes, and that could have been Russian she’d spoken. But why was a mortal hanging out with an eccentric vampire?
“Da.” She nodded, not smiling, not frowning. Just serious now, solemn. She took his other hand, wrapped it around the envelope, squeezing. Then she pulled her hands back and said something quickly, words that sounded urgent.
Before he could react, say something, anything, she was gone, each foot moving so far in front of the other that she swayed, her hips moving like the sprawling concrete was a catwalk. Her hand came up, and she took a drag on her cigarette as she walked away, the click of her boots loud in the quiet night.
Ringo waited until she had disappeared around the fountain and headed into the lobby of the hotel, doors swallowing her, while he wondered who the hell she was and why she hadn’t asked about Atelier’s girlfriend.
Then he crossed the street to his wife with a boner, an envelope, and a hefty dose of suspicion.
Brittany patted her last patient of the day, Louise Zanderman, on the shoulder as she peeled off her gloves. “That wasn’t so awful, was it? You can rinse and we’ll have you out of here. Nothing hard or crunchy to eat for the rest of the day. We’ll see you in five months for your next checkup and hopefully no cavities next time.”
Louise, a pleasant woman in her fifties, spat aggressively. “I don’t understand how I have any space left to even get cavities. My teeth are nothing but fillings. And the next time I’m here for my checkup, I imagine you’ll be out on maternity leave.”
Startled, Brittany touched her stomach. “You can tell I’m pregnant?”
Louise smiled at her. “Of course I can tell. You’ve always been thin. That little bubble popping out is not a big pasta dinner. It’s a baby, about five months along, at best guess.”
A happy flush filled her cheeks. “That’s about right. But I didn’t realize people could tell… it’s only been in the last two weeks or so that I’ve really popped.”
Louise ripped off her paper dental bib. “Congratulations. Pregnancy seems to agree with you—you’re glowing. Do you know what you’re having?”
“No.” At her last ultrasound, the technician had asked if she wanted to know, but it had seemed like a decision she shouldn’t make without Corbin. Of course, he had been MIA at the time, with only weekly floral arrangements to prove he still existed, but she still hadn’t been able to do it. She had wanted to believe they were in this pregnancy thing together. Still did. “I said I didn’t want to know. I’m happy with either a boy or a girl.”
“What does your husband think?” Louise sat up. “A lot of men want a boy that first time around.”
“Oh, I don’t think he cares about the sex.” Brittany figured Corbin just wanted their child to be born without fangs. They weren’t going to be picky about a penis.
Her dental hygienist, Sandra, came into the room and made notations in Louise’s chart as she said, “Yeah, but now we don’t know what to give you, Dr. B. You don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, and you haven’t even registered at the Baby Superstore.”
“The baby isn’t due for four months. There’s plenty of time.” To drag Corbin to the store and subject him to a baby registry. Brittany threw away her gloves and washed her hands as she pondered Corbin’s reaction to a breast pump. Maybe she shouldn’t take him after all.
Louise stood up and pulled her purse off the hook. “Yeah, but you need to have the shower, see what you’ve gotten for gifts, then still have time to fill in the gaps yourself. And what if the baby comes early? You should be having the shower in your sixth month.”
“See?” Sandra looked up at her in triumph. “Told you. You need to go register.”
“I’m not even having a shower.” Her only family was Alexis and her mother’s sister, who contacted them only once in a blue moon. Her friends had scattered around the country, and her coworkers were wonderful, and she considered them friends, but she didn’t want to put anyone out. Brittany smoothed her shirt down over her stomach. If anything, she needed to get maternity clothes. The two outfits she’d grabbed a few weeks earlier were not going to cut it. And her regular pants were now out of the question.
Sandra recoiled in horror. “No shower? That’s… that’s like blasphemy! You have to have one. We’re having one. The office staff. So go register. Now.”
The hygienist quivered with indignation as she poked her finger toward Brittany.
Louise told her, “I think you’d better go register.”
Brittany laughed, touched by Sandra’s vehemence. “Okay, yeesh. That’s sweet of you all to do this for me.”
She walked Louise out and came back to get her purse. Sandra was cleaning the room as she said, “Get your calendar out so we can pick a day. Maybe we’ll go to Don Juan’s across the street to have it after work one day. They have good food and a party room. And you have to bring the baby’s father.”
Oh, Lord. “I don’t know… he’s French. He doesn’t always know what’s going on when a lot of people are talking at the same time.” Okay, that was a lie. But the visual of Corbin surrounded by females cooing over packs of pastel onesies was discomfiting. That might be blurring gender and class lines too much for her traditional vampire.
“What is there to know? You open gifts and pass them around. Hey, he got you pregnant. The least he can do is show up and haul everything out to the car.”
There was something to that. He had gotten her pregnant. He shouldn’t be exempt from all the details parenting involved. Like baby registries.
Corbin had left a message with Alexis the night before that he wanted to speak with her. Brittany had been planning to call him around nine o’clock or so, but she was starting to think she might just pop over to his place for an impromptu visit instead. She was curious to see where he lived. And some things might be better said in person.
Like a request that he appear at both her baby shower and her next doctor’s appointment. That could take some convincing, no matter how many hours he’d spent in Baby Boot Camp.
Corbin lived in an opium den.
That was Brittany’s astonished assessment when she walked into Corbin’s apartment. On the outside, it was nothing special, just a concrete building on the fringe of downtown, built in the seventies. But inside, it looked like an East Asia silk retailer had exploded gold and ivory fabric everywhere, with a dash of scarlet tossed in occasionally for good measure. The furniture was all carved wood, a thick solid walnut color, low slung, and filled with pillows. The art was French, gilded, portraits of somber-faced women and men, a dog thrown in here and there. Books were stacked everywhere, which admittedly didn’t match the opium den theory, but added to the jumbled eccentric feeling of the crowded room. Brittany could swear she smelled vanilla, as if Corbin had just baked a cake, but when she walked past his dining area, she saw six thick pillar candles burning in a multi-armed mosaic votive holder.
The man burned candles.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. Not this homey, overstuffed intensity. Minimalism would have matched her image of him, but now that she saw his apartment, she realized how right it was for him, and how much it pleased her. Her own place was an abundance of florals and kitsch.
“Sorry it is so dark in here. I don’t open the draperies during the day and at night I have excellent vision.” Corbin cleared his throat and gestured to the sofa. “Would you like to have a seat?”
He had reverted to formality. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to pop in unannounced.
“Sure.” She sank onto a satin sofa, nearly slipping right off it onto the floor. “Slippery little sucker.” She gripped the armrest and laughed. “I like your apartment.”
“Thank you. It is convenient to have my lab right here. I connected this apartment with the one next door.” He gestured to an open door at the far end of the living room.
Brittany couldn’t see inside it, but she was curious if it would look like a hospital lab, sterile and computerized, or if it had a Dr. Frankenstein quality to it. “That does sound convenient.”
They both went silent.
Damn it, why were they doing this again? They took two steps forward, then six back. They had had sex. Twice. With lots of moaning involved. They were having a child together. And yet they sounded like two strangers forced to sit next to each other at a wedding reception.
“Alexis said you stopped by last night,” she prompted.
“I wanted to make sure you were feeling all right.”
“Yeah. I was just tired, I think. And that class was too much after a long day at work.” She didn’t mention the needle.
“I’m sorry.”
This was painful. Brittany drummed her fingers on her knee. The night before, it had felt like they were close, like they had an understanding. Now? Nothing. He was blinking at her like an owl, his eyes darting to his lab several times. Clearly she had interrupted his work.
“Well, I’m on my way to go shopping. I need to get some maternity clothes for work and I just thought I’d stop by since you said you wanted to talk to me.” Hint, hint. God, she wanted him to say something meaningful. Something real. Something that wasn’t polite bullshit.
“Oh, I won’t keep you then.” Corbin stood up and pulled out his wallet. “Here, use this for your expenses.” He tried to hand her a platinum Visa card.
For some reason, that both appalled and offended her. She shook her head and didn’t take it. “I don’t need your credit card. I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own clothes.” She and Alex were independent professional women. They didn’t need men taking care of them. And he couldn’t fob off his responsibilities by buying her maternity stretchy tops.
Even as her brain told her that wasn’t rational, he was just trying to help, her emotions were careening out of control. “If you really wanted to help, you could go with me. I need to register for baby gifts and it might be nice if you helped me pick out some of the choices. And we’ll probably need to get doubles of some things so you can keep them here at your apartment.” She glanced around, suddenly seeing the room with new, irritated eyes. It was hard to imagine a baby crawling alongside a hard-back of Dante’s Inferno , playing with Chinese porcelain. “And this place isn’t exactly childproofed.”
“Have I done something wrong?” Corbin asked in bewilderment, still holding his credit card. “Why are you angry with me?”
Because he wasn’t in love with her. Because they weren’t married. Because she couldn’t give her child the nuclear family she had craved so desperately when she was growing up.
“I’m not angry with you,” she snapped. “I just drove all the way over here from Summerlin in crappy traffic because I thought you wanted to talk to me, and you’re just staring at me. I hate this awkwardness. Either we are or we aren’t dating. It’s one or the other. Pick one now and forever hold your peace because I can’t do this, not when I need to have my head wrapped around parenting.”
Way to be rational. Brittany sucked in a breath and tried to stay still, confident, on the sofa. It was difficult to achieve when her ass kept sliding around on the satin, but she gripped the cushion and held on valiantly. She wanted to retain her dignity when he told her he had no intention of dating a lunatic like herself.
Corbin narrowed his eyes. Frowned. Then shocked the hell out of her by saying in a firm voice, “We are. That is what I wanted to talk to you about. We are together. Zat is zat.”
He squatted down before she could say anything and grabbed the back of her head. Dragging her forward, Corbin gave her a hard, possessive kiss. She let go of the couch and oozed into his arms. Damn, it felt good there, flush up against his hard chest. He made her feel so sexy, so feminine. But Brittany yanked her mouth back and sucked in a breath. “What if I say we’re not dating?” Not that she would. But he needed to know she wasn’t some nineteenth-century sheltered miss. They were both going to wear pants in their relationship.
Given that his hand had started to wander over her nipple, Brittany didn’t think he was taking her threat seriously. He kissed her earlobe and ran his lips over her jaw. “Then I will do whatever it takes to convince you that we should be together. I will be devoted to you and our child. I will go to any store you want, read any baby book you want, and prove my sincerity to you. I will come to you every night and pleasure you for hours and hours until you no longer know your name, until you can’t imagine your bed without me in it. We will be together.”
His lips brushed hers. “Forever.”
Okay, she was gone. Melted like wax. He did it every time with that sensual arrogance, until she was ready to rip off her clothes and do the naked mambo with him. Like now. She kissed him back. He kissed her harder, taking her mouth with his tongue, sliding and dipping inside with intrusive demanding thrusts, his taste sweet.
Blame it on increased blood flow from pregnancy, but Brittany’s inner thighs fired up. She was already reaching for his belt buckle when he pulled back.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?” she asked stupidly, breathing hard. Corbin looked utterly unaffected by the lust she was feeling. Yet he could just glance at her and she wanted it. It was so bizarre.
“To the store. We are buying maternity clothes and doing the baby registry, yes?”
“You’re going with me?” She gawked at him. The baby registry, maybe, she had been hopeful, but maternity clothes shopping? Even her sister had refused to do that with her. It was like trying to find a bathing suit—a painful fluorescent lesson in reality.
“Yes.” He reached for her hand to help her up. “Zat is what you do when you are together, a man and a woman, and you are having a baby. You shop. And we are together. So we will shop.”
The logic was there.
But Brittany wasn’t sure their unusual circumstances qualified them as a standard couple. On the other hand, normal was relative, and she was damn frightened to attempt purchasing a nursing bra all on her own.
“Baby Superstore, here we come,” she said.
Corbin sat on the bench outside the fitting room at the maternity shop and wondered how honest he should be.
Brittany had such a pleasing figure, long and shapely, that he would have thought her capable of wearing just about anything, but clearly he had been wrong. The black stretchy pants she had on seemed to shrink her by six inches, clung to her backside, and brought much more attention to the apex of her thighs than he could tolerate in a public setting.
“What do you think? They’re very comfortable, but I think my butt looks big in these.”
This was a test. Corbin felt sweat creeping down his back. “I don’t care for the color.”
“They’re black.” She frowned at him. “How can you not like black?” She twisted in front of the mirror again, trying to get a better view of her behind.
“Your feet are going to be cold.” He shifted on the bench, waving away the saleswoman who had brought three more pairs of the stretchy pants in various colors. The black was bad enough. They sure in hell did not need them in pink.
“That’s true. Though it seems like I’m hot all the time lately.” Brittany twisted yet again, in the opposite direction.
He fought the urge to sigh. So he was bored and uncomfortable, feeling as though one wrong word might set her screaming at him. He didn’t imagine she was having fun either, and she seemed to need a second opinion. This was his duty. A painful, onerous duty.
The store was stuffy and close. Brittany’s pile of “maybes” was in his lap. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair askew, and he knew now why she had been avoiding the chore. For every seventeen things she tried on, she found one item that both fit and she liked. It was hell on earth, filled with mirrors and hangers and sensor tags.
It was endless. Interminable. The questions were all incendiary:
“Why do my boobs look so huge?”
“Do you think these pants are mislabeled? They’re really tight.”
“What’s my best color?”
“Why is my nose so shiny?”
And worst of all, an hour and thirty minutes into the torture, a plaintive plea, made with big eyes and a trembling lip, “You don’t like my hair short, do you? I made a huge mistake cutting it, didn’t I?”
Corbin stood up and set the piles of clothes onto the bench and moved toward her. He cupped her cheeks with his hands and brushed a kiss on her soft lips. “I love your hair,” he told her truthfully. If he had loved it more longer, no matter. “I love your body, I love your heart, the way you embrace life, your optimism, your passion, your tenderness, and selflessness.” He rested his hand on her belly, swelling slightly beneath the cotton shirt she had put on. “I love that you are the mother of my child.”
I love you , he almost added, but the words stuck in his throat. It would sound like a balm, like a token gesture if he said it now, and he wasn’t sure if he even meant it exactly. He thought he did, but how was one really sure about these things?
Everything he spoke, he meant, and best to leave it at that.
She sniffled. “What the hell has happened to me? I’m never like this. But now I walk around feeling like I just got my eyebrows waxed. Stunned and watery-eyed. It’s so annoying.”
“I think it is called hormones.” He tucked her short hair behind her ear.
She promptly popped it back out. “Don’t do that. I hate the way it feels.” Then she immediately made a face. “Ugh. Listen to me. I sound so bitchy and whiny.”
Her words, not his. Corbin decided he needed to take control of the situation. “This is exhausting, that’s all. We’ve done enough for today.” He plucked at the pants she was wearing. “I don’t like these as much as the others. Leave this pair and get the jeans.” Turning, he gathered up what she’d piled on his lap. “You have four outfits here, plus you can wear some of the items together. It is enough for tonight.”
She looked relieved to have him making decisions. Nodding, she headed back for the fitting room. “I’ll just try on the bras then, because I have to get a couple of new ones. I’m going to suffocate in my old ones.”
Corbin flagged down the saleswoman and handed her the pile. “Can you start ringing these up, please?” So they could get the hell out of there.
“Corbin?” Brittany called from behind the closed door. “I need some help.”
“Do you need a different size? Pass it over and I’ll get the clerk.”
“No, I need you to adjust these straps.” The door opened a crack and her face peeked out. “Can you just slip in here with me?”
That did not seem appropriate in the least for him to join her inside the fitting room in full view of anyone in the store, but this was not Regency England, but Vegas in the twenty-first century. At times he had to remind himself the same rules of etiquette did not apply.
He went into the fitting room, squeezing himself in sideways so he wouldn’t expose her to the room at large. Brittany was standing there in her panties and a bra with the tags dangling from it, her hands holding straps that were clearly too loose. It was nice to see she hadn’t gone to what Justin had called granny panties yet. She was wearing a black thong. That was good. But it was bad that he suddenly had an erection wholly inappropriate for the setting.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked, trying not to stare at her burgeoning breasts. Her smooth thighs. Her bare, tight backside, reflected clearly in the mirror. The triangle of her black panties hugging her femininity in front. Corbin’s mouth went dry and his fangs let down.
“Just adjust the little white clip thing and make the straps shorter. It’s all the way in the back and I can’t reach it.”
She turned around, holding the straps where she wanted them, so he could see the excess length gaping. Swallowing hard, he studied the little prongs and tried to determine how they worked. The sound of her breathing, the beating of her heart, were distracting him. And he would swear on his mother’s grave that he was catching the scent of arousal from her. She was enjoying standing nearly naked in front of him.
The thought increased his own ardor. Nine weeks was not a long time for a vampire, but it felt like forever, plus one day, for Corbin. He could not wait another minute to touch Brittany, to feel her skin, to taste her rushing, vibrant blood.
Moving the prong upward, he shortened the length of the strap, brushing his fingers over her flesh as he went to the other. He adjusted it as well, then looked at her in the mirror. “How does that feel?”
“It’s better,” she said, voice a little husky.
With his index finger he reached around and traced the outline of the bra, above the cotton, where her flesh was spilling forward. “You are sure it es not too small?”
“I don’t think so. It feels comfortable.”
Corbin flipped the straps down her shoulders. “Maybe you should try another to be certain.” Undoing the back hook, he stripped it off her efficiently.
Her breath caught and she met his gaze in the mirror. “I did pick out a black one, too.”
Tossing the bra over the door to dangle there, Corbin stared at Brittany reflected in front of him. “You’re gorgeous,” he told her, moving his hands to cup her firm breasts. He kissed her shoulder, and ran his touch down to her belly, swollen in an intriguing bubble. “I thought you were sexy before, but now, with my child inside you, I am speechless at how beautiful you are.”
Her eyes drifted close as he caressed over her flesh. “Thank you. I feel really good right now… I’ve heard the middle trimester is the easiest. We should probably take advantage of that.”
That sounded like an invitation to him. Corbin teased her panties forward and slipped a finger down, down, right into her welcoming moist body. He had been right about her arousal. She was ready for him. Brittany gave a soft gasp.
“Let’s take advantage of that right now,” he said.
“Here?” She sounded shocked, but her hips began to move, ever so slowly, rocking herself onto his finger. “I don’t know… ”
It wasn’t a convincing protest, so Corbin peeled her panties down, kissing the back of her neck. “You feel so good. I have missed you.”
The panties hit the floor with a soft thump and Corbin yanked off his shirt, unzipped his pants so he could feel his body against hers. When his skin touched hers, his chest to her back, he closed his eyes, reveled in the way she felt, his senses on high alert.
He moved his finger inside her, nudging her thighs apart. Brittany’s breathing was tight, stifled, quicker and quicker as he stroked faster and deeper. Her backside pressed against his erection, and he wanted her fiercely, wanted her with a primal irrational intensity. It had been like this the first night with her, and the second, and now again… it was different than with other women, unsophisticated, raw, reckless. He was different.
“Corbin,” she whispered. “I can’t help it, I’m going to… ”
Opening his eyes to catch the view, he watched her climax in the mirror, saw how her fingers fluttered toward the wall, enjoyed the way she bit her lip to hold back her cry, watched the graceful curve of her neck as her head tilted back. Her jugular pulsed violently, her heartbeat fast and erratic to his vampire ears. A beautiful, amazing sight, and a satisfying thing to know he could make her feel that way, that he could coax her naked in a fitting room, that he, and he alone, had planted a seed in her womb and brought a child to life.
She was his.
And as he entered her from behind, sliding his aching cock into her softness, he bit her shoulder, holding her in place, keeping her locked to him, with him, together. A soft moan escaped her, and Corbin would have responded in kind except he was tasting her blood, drowning in the ecstasy of blending her with him everywhere, burying himself in her thighs while his teeth sank into her vein. He wouldn’t take too much, because of the baby, but just enough to slide her taste past his lips and tongue, enough to feel their thoughts intermingle.
There weren’t coherent sentences emerging from Brittany, but thoughts and feelings. He could hear, feel, sense pleasure, wonder, hope emanating from her in wave after wave.
Brittany, he murmured in his head, wanting to see if that bond between them, strangely absent in recent months, was there, intact. Do you like the way I feel inside you?
Yes, she answered, clearly and immediately. I really like it. You have the most amazing cock.
Corbin broke his bite and groaned out loud, feeling his body tighten as he thrust harder. What man wouldn’t want to hear that ? She could be lying, ego stroking, reciting a line from a pornographic film, he didn’t care. Her words sent him crashing into an orgasm, his fingers digging into her thighs.
“Brittany,” he groaned as he pushed forward, knocking her into the mirror, her hands and forehead slapping the glass. “Beautiful Brittany.”
Her lips moved, no sound emanating, as she had another small orgasm, her body clenching his, coaxing his climax to linger. He was slowing down, but unwilling to retreat from the warmth of her entirely when a knock on the door made them both jump.
“Is everything okay?” the salesclerk asked.
“Fine,” he said, his voice coming out in a growl.
“Then could you leave the fitting room, sir? It’s not really good for business.”
Brittany gave a soft laugh. “Whoops. We got carried away, didn’t we?”
“I am helping her try on ze clothes,” Corbin said with as much dignity as he could muster with his manhood still out of his pants.
“Um-hm,” was the clerk’s response.
Corbin licked Brittany’s shoulder to heal the puncture wounds he had made and pulled back with both satisfaction and regret. They would have to continue this at home.
She bent over and scooped up her panties. “I feel ready to take on the Baby Superstore now. That was very relaxing.”
Relaxing? Corbin felt tight everywhere, like his pants had shrunk. He did not want to shop for baby bottles. He wanted to take Brittany home and make love to her slowly and skillfully all night long.
“Ze Baby Superstore?” He wiped his mouth and zipped, handing her the jeans she’d been wearing from the hook on the door.
“Yes. It’s so much easier to register now. All we have to do is scan and go. Piece of cake.”