Page 56 of Cougar Chronicles

Hell, it wasn’t even a lie. She was ravishing. Even with her eyes sunken and sad, she lit up the whole damned room.

Her head landed softly on his shoulder, and a quiet “thank you” escaped her throat.

“You want to go someplace else? Get a drink?”

Her head popped up. “You mean leave the party?”

“Yeah. Or we can stay. It would be easier to talk without all the noise, though.”

“Can we finish this dance first?”

He chuckled. Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed her pink cheek. “The song just ended, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

More pink flooded her cheeks and neck. Damn, it would be worth it to embarrass her all night, just to see how red that beautiful body would get.

“What are you drinking?”

“Cosmopolitans.”

“I’ll get you another,” he said. “Go wait for me outside. By the table with the calendars where we met before.” He smiled and headed to the bar.

* * *

Stacy tapped her high heel on the smooth tile floor. Her hands were clammy, her skin prickled with goosebumps. What had she been thinking, saying she’d meet Michael Moretti out here for a drink?

She glanced at the calendars on the table. There he was, right on the cover. She liked the shot inside better. The photo on the cover displayed more skin, but the shot inside was a black-and-white, taken in the shower. It showed his amazing back and his broad shoulders, with his hair hanging in wet black waves down his neck. Rather than his whole face, the photo revealed his profile—his chiseled masculine jawline, his perfect aquiline nose—very sexy.

He truly was a god.

Her insides tumbled. Where the hell was he with her drink?

“There you are, beautiful.”

His husky voice washed over her like a smooth bourbon. He handed her a cosmopolitan, and to avoid talking, she immediately took a drink of the crisp pink liquid. She took another and another.

“Slow down.” Michael touched her forearm.

Her skin sizzled, and she jerked away.

“No hurry. There are plenty of drinks.” He arched one eyebrow. “Besides, I want you coherent.”

Warmth crept to Stacy’s cheeks. “I’m just fine, Mr. Moretti.”Mr. Moretti?Had she really said that?

“You can call me Michael, beautiful. What shall I call you? Ms. Summers?” His eyes gleamed. “Mistress Stacy?”

Stacy took another gulp of her drink. Mistress? She might write about light bondage occasionally, but she’d never practiced it. Had never wanted to. Her sex life with David had been…sterile. She couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. He brushed his teethand then kissed her, moving his tongue methodically in circles for exactly ten minutes. He fumbled with her clit for a minute or two and then shoved his cock inside her before she was wet enough to enjoy it. Afterward, he’d brush his teeth again, wash his cock, come to bed, and turn his back to her.

In twenty years of marriage, he’d never gone down on her. She’d gone down on him the few times he requested it, but he’d never come in her mouth. In twenty years of marriage, she’d never had an orgasm.

Just once, she longed to feelthe amazing momentary sense of floating, the suspension of time, the tingling spreading rapidly from her pussy through her core, to her arms and legs…

She’d described the female orgasm in so many different ways in her writing, and reviewers often praised her for portraying the woman’s sexual experience in such a realistic and sensual way.

What a crock. If the reviewers only knew… Stacy Summers, “the Queen of the female orgasm,” as one reviewer had called her, was all theory. She might as well be a virgin for all her practical experience.

She cleared her throat, erasing the sting from the last large gulp of alcohol. “Just Stacy is fine.”

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