Cravings (6 page)

Chapter 11

A
s the massage therapist's hands slid down his back, Sanj felt each muscle loosen—except for one. Ever since he met Sasha he had been fighting an erection. And as the woman's hands traveled around his body, he was afraid to completely relax because he didn't want to embarrass himself.

Sasha sighed. Her voice reached the center of him and now he hardened more. Desire uncurled deep within him.

“Oh my God,” Sasha said. “Your hands are so strong.”

Sanj wished he could turn his head and see her, watch as the man rubbed her body with the scented oil. Almond? Vanilla? So distracted by the thought of hands on her skin, her body, he simply could not relax.

“Mmmmm,” she said again. “Oh, Sanj, I really needed this. Oh. Mmm.”

Did she make those noises during sex? Did she talk like that? Jennifer never talked, barely made a noise. A few of his other lovers had, but then again, he hadn't been really in love with any other woman but Jennifer. As he thought of her, hurt shot up through him. It was really over. It couldn't work. He hated to dwell on the pain, but it helped with his erection, which dissipated every moment he thought about her.

Yet, as the masseuse worked her way over his body, thoughts of Jennifer spun around in him. Hadn't he read about massage releasing toxins from your body? Not just physical, but emotional, as well? Maybe his body had never really let go of her—after all, it had not been that long ago. They were going to be married—or so he thought. He found himself sighing, letting her go, again. How many times would he say good-bye to her?

“Mmmm,” Sasha said out loud again.

He tensed again.

“Sanj, how . . . will I ever repay you for this?” she moaned.

He grinned.

Damn, she was just so fuckable. Easy to imagine her as a high-priced call girl. But what did she say?
She didn't fuck her clients. She humiliated them.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? He meant to find out—one way or the other.

“Your hour is over, sir,” the massage therapist said. “Dinner will be served in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks,” Sanj said, sitting up. Relaxed, rejuvenated, and hungry. His eyes swept over to Sasha, wrapped in a warm towel and lying on one elbow on her side. Her breasts barely covered. If she moved just a bit, he was certain he'd see a nipple. She bit her lip as their eyes met.

“Well,” he said. “I need to get dressed before dinner.”

She sat up, allowing the towel to fall, exposing two of the most beautiful breasts he'd ever seen. Round. Firm. Brown areola. Pink-tipped, small nipples. Exquisite.

He drew in a breath as she pulled the towel over her.

“I shouldn't bother getting dressed,” she said.

“Dinner . . . is in twenty . . .” he started to say when she came to her knees in front of him.

What was she doing on the floor between his legs? Was she? Really?

“No worries, Sanj. We'll be done by then.” She unwrapped the towel from him, allowing it to fall on the floor.

“I've been wanting to finish what we started,” she said. “I've been craving it.”

Was this woman mad? One minute she was a fragile frightened flower, the next on her knees wanting to give him a blow job.

 

Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do. But it she wanted it.

But he suddenly pulled her up off the floor. “C'mon, Sasha,” he whispered. “Ladies first.”

He slipped his arms inside her robe and pulled her on top of him. The massage table still smelled of the oil and gave off the heat from his body. His mouth found hers and pressed against it. She wrapped her legs around him, with just her robe on, her heat pressed against his. As they kissed her hips began to roll, skin on skin. Him, hot and hard and she, slick with desire.

His arms circled around her lower back. When she arched, he took a nipple into his mouth, sending spasms of pleasure through her. She sighed.

The length of him pressed into her. He pulled away and laid her back, running his hands along the sides of her body. His eyes glowed with want.

“So gorgeous, Sasha,” he moaned, sitting up and taking her naked body in with his eyes. So appreciative.

His knowing hands explored the curves of her body. He knelt between her legs. She glimpsed his dark head as he kissed her inner thighs, then licked them. Sasha's hips came unleashed.

“Sanj—” she said. “Please.”

“Please, what?” he stopped, grinning.

“You are driving me mad,” she said with a note of desperation.

He laughed and started to kiss her thighs again, his breath on her most intimate places.

Her hands went to his hair and grabbed it—playing with it, gently moving him to where she wanted to be. Thighs twitching. Was she even breathing? Was this hunk of a man really here and kissing her thighs as hands caressed the rest of her? He licked the space between her lip and her thigh—not getting down to it—teasing her.

Suddenly she yanked his head into her and thrust herself into his mouth. One lick from him and she lost control, bucking into him, as she exploded.

When she opened her eyes, Sanj appeared aghast over her.

“What's wrong?” she breathed.

“What was that?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You were kind of, um, forceful . . .” he said.

“You were teasing me,” she said, leading him to lie down next to her. “Didn't you like it?”

He quieted. “I was surprised by it. That's all. Actually, I think I liked it, quite a lot.”

She reached over and kissed him long, deep, and hard. “We are going to get along just fine.”

He looked like a tamed lion lying on the massage table. She'd seen that air before—here was a man who'd never had a woman take control in bed. He was lit.

Sasha's pulse raced. The center of her seething, moist, wanting more. She wanted to climb on Sanj right now and ride him, take him deep inside her. But she was sure he needed a moment or two. He pulled her to him and nuzzled her neck. His breath traveled along her nape, sending shivers through her body. Oh, she wanted this man. But she had to pull back. Was he used to a woman with such a voracious appetite? So in control?

A knock announced their meal had arrived.

“Go away!” Sanj said. “Come back in an hour.”

He turned back to Sasha, lounging on the table in after-orgasm glow. His erection ached. So taut. He tried to remember the precepts of his tantra training. To breathe. To think of something else. No use. The more he tried, the less control he wielded. An overwhelming sensation—animalistic urging—took over. He was frightened, a bit, but desire took over in a rush. He would have his pleasure.

He stood. His robe dropped to the floor. Sasha looked at him with smoky eyes,.

“Mmm,” she said. “I like.” Her eye paused at his rigid center, hungry. A wild look played across her face as she watched him slide a condom over himself. So glad he remembered to tuck it into the pocket of his robe.

He grabbed her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the massage table, grunting. Her breasts jiggled as he dragged her. Her legs on his shoulders now, he leaned over and brought a nipple to his mouth, prompting sighs and shivers from Sasha as her hands spread through his hair, then wandered down his back.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “I want you.”

His flesh reacted with a burst of goose pimples. She lifted herself more and guided him in to her. She felt like warmed, slippery velvet as she opened, allowing him to move farther into her. Deep.

“Sanj,” she whispered, with a hoarse note in her throat. “You can let go . . . give it to me . . . hard.”

His spine reacted, uncurled, let loose, he thundered into her and she took each thrust, meeting his hips with strength. Writhing, moaning in her own rhythm. Sanj pushed one more time and he erupted.

Erupted in a rush he'd never known before.

Chapter 12

B
oth wrapped themselves in their robes as the servers brought their food. Sasha excused herself to freshen up in the bathroom. When she came back to the table, she gasped at the plates, piled high with food.

Music boxes were filled with pewter plates holding colorful, delicate appetizers.

“How delightful,” Sasha said, sitting down, watching as Sanj preened over the salad.

“It's an Ecuadorean specialty, serving appetizers in music boxes. I don't think it's done anywhere else. Check this out,” he said. “I don't know what half these vegetables are. But they are good. Taste.”

He held out a small bite with his finger; she opened her mouth and bit it. A delicious tart flavor burst erupted in her mouth.

“And smell this.” He lifted the lid of the soup dish.

“Cream of carrot,” Sasha said, finding a spoon, dipping it in the serving bowl, and lifting to her mouth. “Oh, sorry. Probably not polite.”

Sanj laughed. “I prefer eating this way, sharing our food like this. Remember I come from a culture where we eat with our hands.”

“Yes, but—”

“Oh, I do know which fork and spoon to use with which course,” he grinned. “My mother made sure of it. But it's not what I prefer. Especially not tonight.”

Especially not tonight? Oh. Those words reached into the center of her. She was already trying to contain herself. She liked this man. It was rare for her. Even more rare was the genuine lustiness she felt. She felt like a real woman—not a cardboard cutout of one.

Just for a little while, please, let me have him just a little while. Even if it's only physical.
He'd already said he was treating her well because she was a friend of Maeve's. She knew not to get her hopes up for anything more—nor did she want to. She was on a mission to change her life. Sanj did not fit into it. Maeve did. At the thought of Maeve, she grimaced.

“You okay?” Sanj asked.

“Just thinking about Maeve, wondering where she could be. I mean, I know better than anybody else, perhaps, that she can take care of herself. But still,” Sasha said, thinking of the way Maeve had attacked her and scarred her face. Best thing that ever happened to her.

“Not much we can do about Maeve tonight, but tomorrow . . . I am on it,” Sanj said. “In the meantime, let's eat.”

Sasha wanted to help find Maeve. If she could just be certain it wasn't Snake she saw in the market . . .

 

“Mmm,” Sasha said, after taking a bite of the yucca patties. “They've done something different, creative with these. I've had them before and they can be quite plain.”

Sanj loved a woman who enjoyed food. And this one looked so good as she ate it. This one who had just allowed him to pleasure her—and in fact, insisted on it. His head reeled from it. She sat across the table from him as if nothing had happened.

“The honey sauce adds . . .” Sanj said, finally noting a bit of the sticky shiny honey on the corner of her mouth before she wiped it. “Try the squid. It's stuffed with Spanish sausage. The spices are nice.”

“Not a big sausage person,” she said, grinning. “But that's not bad.”

He lifted the lid on another silver platter. “Ah,” he said. “The rock bass ceviche.”

“Mmmm, Sanj,” she said. “How did you know I love rock bass?”

“I can read your mind,” he said. He took a bite of the bass and nearly swooned.

She chuckled. “Wouldn't it be nice if you could? Now, which plate is dessert?”

“Now, wait. It's not time for dessert. You need to eat the good food first.”

“Dessert first,” she said, grinning. “That's what I believe. I've already eaten too much of this other food.”

He lifted the silver lid to reveal a tiny chocolate cake for two. Her fork hit the cake before Sanj knew it.

“Oh my God. It's orgasmic! Here.” She fed him a piece. Sanj felt transported. His mouth held some of the world's finest chocolate. It was bitter. It was sweet. The perfect blending of all things chocolate.

She ate more, giggling, bursting with happiness it seemed. Maybe chocolate would save her, Sanj thought, then caught himself. Chocolate? Saving a person? How ridiculously romantic!

Still. Here they were. In the candlelight. Sharing a fabulous meal. After a relaxing massage and so on. Maybe he could allow some thoughts of romance. After all, who would have thought any of this possible after having his heart smashed a few months back? He could hardly function, let alone have a conversation with a gorgeous woman in such intimate quarters.

And he had tried. Shortly after Jennifer left him, a sexual opportunity presented itself. A beautiful, sexy French woman he met during a pastry class. She came to him one night—and he just couldn't rally.

“So, Sasha,” he said. “Can I ask you about something you said earlier?”

She shoved another bite of the chocolate cake in her mouth and nodded.

“You said when you were a sex worker you didn't really have sex with them,” Sanj said.

She sipped from her wineglass, nodding. “Yes, that's right. They got off, all right, so it was sexual for them.”

“What did you do? I mean, I hope that doesn't sound too naïve,” he said, looking pensive.

“No, not at all,” she replied. “Of course, you're curious. I get that.”

“So?”

“The men who came to me wanted humiliation,” she explained. “They wanted pain. Some more than others.”

He sat back in his chair. “Is that what you like—to inflict pain?”

“Not necessarily,” she said. “It was part of the job. I had no sexual feelings or satisfaction in it. I know it's sort of hard to believe. But by the time I was a dominatrix, I was already addicted and didn't care for anything but the coke. And these men paid very well.”

“How well?”

“Thousands. Sometimes . . . millions,” she said and drank more wine.

“Wow. I didn't know there were so many wealthy kinky people in the world,” Sanj said.

“I've thought about this a long time, of course, but my clients were all powerful and wealthy men. Very stressed out. Sometimes, I don't know, I guess they just wanted someone else to take control. I really felt more like a social worker or a doctor or something. Sometimes it actually was quite sad, the way they wanted me to beat them, punish them,” she said, her eyes glazing over and looking into the distance.

“But you did it,” Sanj said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Did you ever find yourself liking it?”

“Not really—it's hard to say—but I do like control,” she said, her mouth curling into a smile.

Sanj felt a twinge of passion travel along his spine and land between his legs. This woman was a strange brew of inconsistency. One the one hand, frightened and insecure, on the other hand, she could sit confidently talking about sex as if talking about the Taj Mahal or chocolate.

He gazed out over the light night sky. The night was clear, lights from the city reflected in the water.

“But you should know something,” she said to him, snapping his attention back. “I've never really talked about my clients the way I've heard some sex workers do. It's not that I loved any of them, or even respected them. But I just feel a sense of compassion, I suppose.”

“You mean you won't tell me what kind of things you did to them?” Sanj said, grinning.

She laughed.
Did he really want to know?
“Of course I will, if you want. But we have plenty of time.”

“But what about you? No relationships? Just work?” Sanj asked, setting down his glass.

“I met Snake when I was seventeen,” she said. “He was successful and wanted to take care of me. I didn't know what it would cost me. In fact, I was so oblivious that I didn't realize it, until I met and fell in love with Paul.” She choked back a sob.

God, don't cry sitting here across the table from the first man in years that's made you
feel
anything. Get it together, Sasha.

To fight the tears, she thought about something unpleasant—one of her ex-clients. An Arab oil man who wanted to be tied to a post while she entered him with a dildo strapped on. Oh, she hated that.

But he was so grateful.

“Sasha, you okay?” Sanj asked.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I'm fine,” she said. “Good cake.”

“You want?” Sanj held his fork up to her. She opened her mouth in an awkward attempt to eat a bite too big, and a bit of the cake and a dollop of the icing fell to her cleavage. She giggled.

Sanj drew in a breath. “Don't—” he said as she started to wipe it off. “Let me,” he said as he slid his chair next to hers.

“Chocolate on your breast,” he muttered, with his eyes meeting hers with intensity.

The next thing she knew, he placed himself between her breasts, licking and eating chocolate off her so tenderly it made her squirm. When he finished, he stood. Held his hand out to her.

“To bed with you,” he said. “With us. At last, Sasha.”

She fell into his arms. His lithe, muscular, firm body pressed against her. She felt his erection poking at her.
Again? My, my.
“Sanj,” she whispered, breathing in his scent, and then kissed him, feeling herself opening blissfully to the possibilities of the night. Yes, this night only. Only one night at a time.

What was that bloody knocking at the door?

Sanj pulled away from her. “It must be room service. I told them not to bother us.”

He wrapped his belt around his terry robe and strode to the door.

Sasha stood and watched him walk. She was afraid to move. If she moved, maybe everything would change. Maybe she'd wake up from whatever kind of dream this was. Where a man had just heard her story—or part of it—and was still interested. A man like Sanj.

“Well, it's about fucking time you opened the door!” a woman yelled into the room. “What have you been doing? Sleeping? When Maeve and Jackson are—”

The woman turned from Sanj and looked at Sasha.

“Oh great, our friends are in danger and you are getting laid. Sweet, Sanj, real sweet,” the woman said.

“Jennifer, calm down,” Sanj said. “Please. Come in and have a seat. I'll get you a drink.”

Jennifer? Wasn't she the woman from the phone? Sasha noted her red face. But she was definitely trying to hold it together.

“I don't want to calm down, Sanj. I want to know what's going on. I want to know where Maeve is and why you've not found her,” she said. “And who the fuck is she? Didn't take you long, did it?”

Sasha's heart lurched into her mouth. Who was this woman? What claim did she have to Sanj? To Maeve?

“Listen,” Sanj said. “We've not seen each other in months. You come marching in here . . . how did you get in here, anyway?”

She held up her left hand. “I showed them my engagement ring and told them I want to surprise my fiancé.”

She held up her hand.

Sasha took off up the stairs. Men! She should have known better. He was no better than the rest. No better at all.

“Sasha!” he called after her, but she kept moving.