Satisfy Me Again

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Satisfy Me Again

APHRODISIA BOOKS

Chapter One

Though he was tempted to close his eyes so he could imagine he was buried deep in the silken wet heat of a woman, he kept his gaze fixed on the television instead, on the sweet sexiness of her, the reason he was throbbing. The reason he was alone in his hotel room working his body when it should've been her doing it for him.

Should've been her soft hand stroking his flesh, her lush mouth moving against him, her tight body he fit himself within. Damn, he ached for relief, pulsed for the woman on the screen to become real to him.

Available to him.

Again he worked down his length, blood pulsing hard against his palm, sweat dampening his brow, his shoulders tense, his body primed and eager for her.

Sucking in another whistling breath between his teeth, he kept his eyes fixed on the innocence of her smile, the shimmer in her green eyes, the curls surrounding her perfect face, curls that begged to be wrapped around his fingers and clinging to his skin.

Aw hell, what was he doing jerking off? Tearing his eyes from the TV set, he glanced at the closet, then the suitcase propped against the wall. He should throw on some shorts and a T-shirt, go down to the hotel bar, and find some fine-looking woman who'd be willing to come upstairs to take care of his needs.

Wouldn't be hard either. They all knew who he was, number 34, star running back for the New Orleans Saints. Sporting black and gold, he'd been the NFL's leading rusher for three years straight, last year's season culminating in a trip to the big-show and a Super Bowl ring.

Hell nah, finding a willing and easy chick to get in his bed for a couple hours to ease up the ache of lust wouldn't be a problem. Screw the bed-what he needed didn't require one, just a little mouth work so he could blow his wad and for a flash forget about what he really wanted.

Who he really needed.

"Shit," he growled, squeezing his lids tight for a second, his hand continuing the rhythmic glide of his fingers wrapped around his dick, slow and steady, the tempo he'd use when he made love to her for the first time.

He didn't want any female, any piece of ass who'd bend it over and offer it up.

He looked back at the television, the commercial break of the prerecorded show coming to an end and the camera flashing back on her.

He wanted her. The one woman who'd driven him back to wet dreams and masturbation.

Callie Moore, sex therapist and show hostess of Kiss & Tell, the late-night, tell-all television show he was watching now. Where he'd first seen her at least a year ago doing her thing for the camera, drawing in her audience with compassion in her eyes and a voice that caressed his skin in a way that should only be done between lovers.

A year of making a damn fool of himself, a year of fan letters to her show, of phone calls to the network. Hell, he was a somebody-didn't they recognize that? And yet he'd been unsuccessful in getting them to give up any personal info on her at all.

Short of becoming a real down-and-dirty stalker, he'd given up and retreated into hand jobs. Ones he gave himself.

Leaning back against the pillows, he kept his focus on the screen as he tried to ignore the feel of the air conditioner blowing against his sweat-dampened skin, tried to ignore the slight movement of the gusts that reminded him of a woman's breath.

Shifting his gaze, Malik shot a look at the digital clock on the bedside table. Damn, the hour was almost over. Curling his fingers tighter, he increased the speed of his strokes, knowing he had only a few minutes left to blow his wad before her show drew to a close, and the hotel lacked TiVo like he had at home.

God, he ached for her. Ached to be buried deep inside her heat. Swiping his thumb over his tip, he spread the ball of precum, smoothing it down his length to lubricate his fingers as they moved rhythmically over his tight skin.

Again, he caressed his thickness, feeling his pulse drum against his palm, tension building heavy in his body. He watched her lips as she spoke, imagined them moving against his, against his skin, his cock. He listened to her voice, absorbed it, allowing her tone to seep into his pores.

Ah, his balls drew up, relief washing through him. Finally he was getting close; finally he'd be able to get a little sleep.

Diddy's "Last Night" started humming from his cell phone, the ring of an unknown caller. "What the hell?" he murmured, glancing from his phone lying next to him on the king-size mattress, then back at the television. The only people who knew his cell number had ring tones of their own.

Not letting up his stroke, the pace picking up the beat of the song, he reached his free hand to the singing phone and read the number. One he didn't recognize. Damn. Could be important.

He flipped it open. "Yeah?"

There was a pause, then a soft voice. "Malik?"

Her soft voice.

Aw, shit! "Yeah," he growled through clenched teeth as cum pumped from the base of his dick, up his length, filling his hand with spurts of hot, thick seed. His body shook, and he nearly dropped the phone as the tremble of release spread through his system.

But he managed to keep the phone pressed to his ear as he lost control and came hard for a woman he'd never met, the woman on the other end of the phone.

She was quiet, but he could hear her delicate breathing between his harsher tugs of air, he could hear her there even as his own groan vibrated in his ear.

Callie clutched her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from laughing. She knew what he was doing-the shuddering growl followed by his low groan was unmistakable.

He'd cum just as she called, and from the sound of his side of the call, he was alone. Or at least whoever he was with hadn't gotten off the way he had. The sound of him, the sound of his jagged breath and raspy voice caused her nipples to bead up tight. Hearing a man like Malik Drew get off was incredibly arousing, and her body was responding quickly.

When his breathing slowed slightly, she swallowed the dryness in her throat and whispered, "Is this a bad time?"

"Nah, your timing's perfect." He chuckled.

The rich huskiness of his laughter sent warm heat straight to her core, her body melting at the vision of him her mind created. Smooth brown skin over the corded muscles of an athlete's body. She knew what he looked like, how he was built. She'd studied every inch of him for months, ever since his letters had been coming in.

Almost every inch. Moisture dampened her pussy.

"You're sure?" She closed her eyes and took a shallow breath as desire shimmied across her skin. "You're not um ... um ... in the middle of something?"

He laughed again, his voice low and sated. "I was, but I finished up."

She took a breath. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course. Callie Moore."

"How'd you know?"

"Dayum, girl, how could I not? I've been fantasizing about hearing your voice whispering to me for a long-ass time." He paused, cleared his throat. "I'm glad you called."

Callie leaned back on her sofa, the plush pillows easing her tired body. Kicking off her heels, she tucked her feet beneath her and glanced at the stack of letters folded beside her. Even in the dim light of her condo, she could see his handwriting scrawled across each page.

The short silence was interrupted by his voice. "I scare you off?"

"Whatcha mean?" she asked, lifting the letter she'd placed at the top of the stack. The letter contained detailed descriptions of one of his many fantasies of being with her. The letter where he'd left his phone number. Dated months ago.

He cleared his throat. "By telling you I fantasize about you?"

Smiling, Callie scooted back on the couch to recline a little farther. "Too late, I already know."

"Yeah? How's that?"

There was some fumbling and muffled sounds coming across the line, and she could only imagine that he was maybe cleaning up the mess he'd just made. "Mmm ..." She bit down on her lip again. Lawdy, she hadn't meant her slight moan to escape.

"How'd ya know?" he repeated.

"Your letters."

He barked out a laugh, the fumbling noise picking up for a second. "Right, my letters."

His voice felt like velvet across her skin, like sleep after climax. Her nipples tingled as they beaded up tight beneath the lace of her bra. "I'm not scared off."

"Got dayum, girl, you're going to find yourself in trouble."

"Mmm, really? What sorta trouble, Malik?"

He growled. "The kinda trouble where you'll be saying my name a whole lot more."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Pressing her hand to her breast, she flicked a thumb across the extended nipple through the material, the touch causing her inner thighs to tremble and her clit to swell. "Yeah, okay. Make me say your name."

He went silent for a moment. Callie flicked her nipple again, then allowed her palm to slide lower, down her ribs, across the slight swell of her tummy, across the silk of her skirt suit. Her hand settled over her tingling and swollen clit. There was something empty inside her, something that ached to be filled by the man who wrote eloquent letters and who had been setting her body on fire with his words.

His voice only added to the desire swirling through her body, pouring liquid heat that now seeped from her pussy.

"When can I see you?"

Now! She clamped her eyes closed and pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the tingling of her clit. "When will you be in Los Angeles?"

She heard some movement from his end of the line, and it was easy to imagine him moving on the bed, repositioning himself against the pillows, getting more comfortable.

"Sorry, baby, but it's on season. Games." He groaned, a rough sound that came from the back of his throat. "Callie, the closest I'll be anytime soon is San Francisco."

"Oh." She tugged in a breath, biting her lip as disappointment clawed to the surface. Sharp and stinging, she hadn't realized she'd pinned so much on their meeting. Her body burned, the thought of waiting longer, when she'd already waited so long already, twisted painfully at her gut. "Oh," she repeated, trying to sound like it didn't matter.

"Will you come to me?"

The breath rushed from her lungs. "Yes." Right now. There was no hesitation. She'd spent plenty of lonely nights, months of them, trying to make the decision to call him. To be with him. To follow the plays of lovemaking he'd laid out in his letters. With her body and mind in agreement at last, there was no turning back.

"You will?"

"Yes." She giggled. He played pro ball, and this was the on season. That meant that if she wanted those nights of amazing sex he promised, it'd have to be on his turf. But she'd set the rules. She'd determine the when.

"I'll book you a room in San-"

"No." Her heart bumped hard against her chest. She had a career on television and celebrity clientele. He was one of the NFL's biggest names. This affair was about meeting needs. Only that. And it must be kept on the down-low. "Tell me where you'll be staying and I'll get something close."

"You sure?" His voice was husky, relaxed, the tone sweeping across her skin like a caress of his hand.

Moaning slightly, she clamped her lip between her teeth again, her inner thighs trembling. "Yes, Malik. We have to be discreet."

He chuckled. "I love the way my name sounds on your lips."

She swallowed, dampening the dryness in her throat. She was too close to asking him where he was tonight and jumping on a flight. "Tell me where, Malik, and I'll tell you when."

Chapter Two

Using her media credentials, she'd been able to get back into this area, where fans were kept at bay, but reporters mingled at will, gathering postgame information and getting interviews.

She was there to sneak a peek at the man she'd be meeting back at her hotel room later. Just a little peek, she'd told herself after the game had ended.

A game she'd spent watching number 34's every move, the action on the field not nearly as thrilling as how Malik Drew's body moved.

Or how his ass looked in those delicious tight-fitting football pants, which detailed his every muscle. Showed off his strength. And had made sitting still in her seat damn near impossible as the game progressed, her clit swollen with desire, her inner thighs begging for his to press them apart.

"Lawdy," she whispered, sucking in a breath and wetting her lips. Inhaling another sharp breath, she attempted to calm her nerves. She was going to see, not be seen, so she had nothing to be nervous about. Better to save that energy for 10:00 P.M. when they'd planned to meet.

In her room.

Her nipples beaded up all tight, her breasts feeling heavy with need. Moaning, her step faltered and she paused. Her sudden stop caused someone to smack into her from behind.

"Sorry," she said, stepping aside to get out of the flow of pedestrian traffic.

"You lost?" some guy asked, smiling at her, a pass clipped to his Saint's T-shirt. He held a notebook in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

Callie smiled back. "No, I'm just ..." Just what? Trying to get a look at the man she'd be sexing later? "Um ... I'm looking for someone."

He grinned, flipping open his phone. "A player? Staff?"

Narrowing her eyes, she stared at the cell phone he'd just flipped open. What sort of contact list did this dude have if he actually thought she'd give a name and he'd be able to call the person up? Lifting her gaze, she looked back to his face, taking in the twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

"Well?" he persisted, his shaggy blond hair bouncing as he nodded his head to add emphasis to the question. His eyes were laughing at her, she realized, like he was used to stray women trying to make their way to the players' locker room. This was the pros after all, and no doubt that meant groupies, just the same as if they were musicians.

Maybe he intended to call security rather than the name she offered. It felt like there was something lodged in her throat. She swallowed hard. Woulda been so much easier to just quietly slip into the locker room, find Malik-from a distance-and look her fill.

Then head back to her room and wait for him to arrive.

Since it was likely a test to see if she actually belonged back there, she figured giving a name was better than being hauled off by security. "Malik Drew," she whispered, her voice cracking as she said his name.

The man nodded, then started thumbing through his phone.

"Wait"-she put her hand over his-"he doesn't know I'm coming. I wanted it to be a surprise." Hell, that's probably what all the wanna-have-a-pro-ball-player hoes said when caught getting into the team's official area.

He laughed.

Yep, as she suspected, she wasn't the first....

As he continued chuckling, he looked her up and down, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. A slow appraisal that she forced herself to stand still for, though it was difficult not to plop a hand on her hip and let him know how insulting his inspection was.

"He know you?"

"Yes." No lie. Sorta. He knew who she was.

He nodded, then tilted his head as he started walking, meaning for her to follow. "Right this way."

Resolved to see this through, Callie fell into step behind him, quickly finding herself at the entry where the crowd of reporters thickened. The man put his hand on her back and urged her forward, moving around the people and farther into the room.

Her pulse was drumming loudly in her ears, the thought of this forced introduction making her heart rate go wild. The lights were bright, the room was filled with voices and the scent of sweat, crushed grass, and soap.

Her knees shook slightly, and she was actually a little relieved to have this stranger's hand at her back, to keep her shaking from being so obvious. But her relief was short-lived, because his cell phone rang, and his hand dropped as he stepped away.

Backing up, she eased against the far wall, her gaze roaming slowly through the mix of reporters, staff, and players ... half-dressed players. Naked players.

She bit her lip, her cheeks feeling warm as her gaze drifted from one man to the next, her hands once again tight in the material of her skirt as she pressed her hands to her thighs.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Satisfy Me Again by Renee Luke Sydney Molare Fiona Zedde Copyright © 2008 by Renee Luke. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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