Body Politics Read online

  “What kind of bar is this?” She frowned.

  “It’s a cocktail lounge that caters to a spankophile clientele.” His gaze bore no apology.

  For a moment she could only gape. Then she jumped to her feet. “And you suggested this place? Do you seriously think this is appropriate for a date?”

  “You seemed to be enjoying yourself until a moment ago.” He stood up and towered over her in a macho way that heaped fuel onto her anger.

  Stephanie snatched her handbag and yanked out her wallet.

  He closed his fingers around her wrist before she could pull out the bills to pay for her drink. With his thumb he drew a circle on the inside of her arm. A shock of warmth rippled outward. His woodsy, masculine scent invaded her nostrils, and it beckoned her to move closer, to relax into his touch.

  “I’ve got the drinks.” His voice rumbled, far too close for comfort. He made no move to tighten his grip, but his brown eyes darkened, transmitting his message loud and clear: he would brook no disagreement.

  Stephanie was trained in self-defense. In the early days of WAN, she’d taught it. He might appear formidable, but she could take him out with a blow to the eyes, the nose, the throat, the groin. But she suspected the police would fail to understand why she’d blinded a man for buying her a drink, and not any man—the deputy chief. That was why she’d tolerated his touch this long. The warm tingles shooting up her arm had nothing to do with it.

  “Fine!” She wrenched her wrist out of his grasp. Conscious of the scrutiny of the other bar patrons, she pivoted and marched out.

  * * * *

  Stephanie slumped against her car’s fender and dragged in deep breaths of calming air. She rubbed her wrist where Mark had held her, his touch still as palpable as the humiliating way she’d fled the lounge. Her lack of self-control would appear to prove the opposite of what she tried to demonstrate every day: women weren’t flighty or fearful. They were as decisive, courageous, and as strong as men. Yet a little thing like a hangout for spankos had unraveled her.

  No, Mark had. She’d been cautiously optimistic they could meet on common ground, respect each other as equals. But the instant she’d met him, she’d known it wasn’t going to happen. He was too overbearingly masculine, too tall, too muscular, his jaw chiseled, his voice gravelly. The man suffered from an overdose of testosterone. She preferred someone more androgynous.

  She couldn’t deny that physically she had reacted to him, her nipples hardening, her pussy dampening, her stomach fluttering. But biology wasn’t destiny; it merely hadn’t caught up with modern reality. Just because her primitive genetic programming had zeroed in on the most virile male of the species as a potential mate didn’t mean she would permit the Neanderthal to club her over the head and drag her off to his cave. She controlled her choices, not her libido. After all, that was what feminism was all about: giving women choices.

  In times of indecision, she sometimes asked herself what her idol, famous feminist Gloria Steinem, would do. In this case, she didn’t doubt Gloria would send the man packing with his tail tucked between his sturdy, muscular legs.

  Stephanie glanced over her shoulder at the bar’s entrance. She’d half expected Mark to pursue her. It was the kind of thing a man like him would do. But he’d remained inside, probably trying to pick up another chick. Any port in a storm. Her heart lurched in relief at her escape. She should leave before he did come out.

  She dug her cell from its pocket in her purse.

  Elizabeth answered on the first ring. “How’d it go?”

  “Do you know where he had me meet him? A bar for spankos! I thought you knew this guy!” She wanted to give Elizabeth the benefit of the doubt, but she was pissed.

  “Bottom’s Up?”

  “You’ve heard of it?” Stephanie gasped.

  “What happened? What did he do?”

  “He tried to…” Manhandle me. Okay, that was a little strong. He’d grabbed her arm, but she had freed herself easily, and he’d employed no further effort to detain her. But he’d insisted on paying for her drink, disrespecting her financial independence. Grudgingly she admitted he probably viewed his behavior as chivalrous. “It wasn’t what he did. It’s what he is.” She glanced over her shoulder at the bar’s entrance. No sign of Mark. She swallowed over the lump in her throat. Good. She’d be a fool to consider dating a man like him.

  “What is he?”

  “A sexist,” she hissed. The most dangerous kind. The type who could entice a woman to abandon her principles for a screaming oh-baby orgasm. But not her.

  Elizabeth laughed.

  “It’s not funny. I thought you and I were on the same wavelength.” Either Elizabeth had suffered from a lack of judgment, or she’d betrayed Stephanie for some nefarious purpose. The former wasn’t the friend she respected, and the latter hurt too much to even contemplate.

  “He’s not a sexist. But he is dominant, a man of conviction.” Amusement had vanished from Elizabeth’s voice.

  “I need a man who treats me as his equal.” How could Elizabeth, of all people, not get it?

  “How would you describe yourself?”

  Stephanie straightened and threw back her shoulders. “I’m independent, assertive, strong.”

  “So what kind of man would you envision as your equal? Dependent, wishy-washy, and weak?”

  Put like that, it kind of made sense. Hell, the wishy-washy weak part described her ex-husband to a T. Maybe that explained why she’d had such bad luck with the men she’d chosen. It wasn’t that she wasn’t their equal—they weren’t hers. But she’d downed half a Bottom Burner. Maybe it had muddled her reasoning. Shouldn’t she stick to her guns? She knew better than anyone what she desired.

  “Stephanie.”

  She jumped and squealed at the rough sound of her name. She clutched the cell to her ear and stared at Mark. How had such a big man moved so silently over the graveled parking lot? Her mouth dried, impeding speech. “I-I’ll…uh…call you back,” she said into the phone.

  “Give him a chance,” Elizabeth said and disconnected.

  “YOU FORGOT YOUR signature keepsake.” Mark held out the glass, relieved and pleased to find her in the parking lot. A primal instinct to chase and capture had ignited when she’d flounced out of the bar. He’d let her run to give her space, intending to track her down tomorrow. He’d had the cocktail waitress empty out her glass so he could give it to her, an excuse to see her again. But Stephanie had waited for him. A stupid, happy grin threatened to break out on his face.

  Stephanie crossed her arms under her breasts and scowled, looking so much like a hissing cat, its back arched for battle, he didn’t know whether to laugh or spank her. Yes, she’d stuck around, but she had no intention of surrendering easily. Good. He relished a challenge.

  “I don’t want it!”

  I don’t want you was what she meant. But that wasn’t the truth. She’d stayed. She desired him but resented it. He read arousal in her dilated pupils, her heightened color, in the points of her nipples poking through the fabric of the man’s shirt. Didn’t she realize men’s clothes enhanced her feminine sexuality?

  “You aren’t comfortable here, so why don’t we go someplace else and talk?” he suggested, and because he wasn’t ready to end the date. He wanted to spend every second he could getting to know her. In the bar he’d grabbed her wrist not so much to forestall her from paying for her drink but because he had to touch her once more before she left. That she hadn’t yanked away immediately gave him hope. But that she had pulled away proved he wasn’t home free.

  Indecision danced on her expressive face. He could see the wheels turning. Should she do what she wanted or take a dogmatic stand? Stephanie was a fighter, but her biggest opponent was herself. She wet her lips, and heat curled in his belly. “Like where?” she asked.

  “There’s an espresso place down the street.”

  She shook her head. “No.” She dropped her phone into her purse.

  “Are you
afraid of me?” He faked nonchalance and leaned a hip against her car as if he had all evening. For her, he did.

  Her eyes flashed. “Of course not!”

  “Then talk to me.”

  “Listen, Mark.” She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder and directed her comment to his throat. “You’re a nice guy and all, but I don’t think we’re suited for one another.” She flicked her gaze to his eyes, and the naked yearning he saw nearly unmanned him. Oh, kitten. Sweetheart.

  He held his tongue, letting silence do the work for him.

  “All right,” she said, “but we’ll talk here.”

  “In the parking lot?”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “Why don’t we sit in one of our cars? Your pick. Mine is right there.” He pointed across the lot to a black sedan camouflaged by darkness. The overhead streetlamp had burned out.

  She squinted, glancing from his shadowed vehicle to her well-lit one, weighing the options. “Yours.”

  “So you can leave according to your time frame?”

  She squared her shoulders.

  He gestured for her to proceed. If she’d been afraid, her illuminated vehicle would have been a better choice. With a click of his key fob he unlocked the car and then opened the door for her.

  “Thank you,” she muttered.

  Mark stifled a grin and strode to his side. He tossed the glass into the back and slid into his seat, then twisted his body to face her. She’d placed her purse at her feet. A good sign. She wasn’t hugging it for a quick getaway. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, brushing against her hoop earring.

  Even in the darkness her eyes appeared luminous, her skin smooth, her lips plump. Would she taste as wonderful as she looked? Of course she would. Hunger tightened his belly.

  Her breasts rose, then fell on a sigh. “I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t need to apologize.” On some level she’d sensed his desire, his intention to have her under him, and it had made her skittish. He exhaled. He should proceed slowly, should give her time to get used to him. Should.

  “Why not?”

  “This is why.” He leaned over the center console, cupped her cheeks between his palms, and slanted his mouth over hers. Her scent—vanilla and sweet femininity—filled his nostrils, and her mouth was as soft as flower petals, an irresistible temptation. He felt her hesitation, but when she lifted her hands, it was only to hold him, not push him away. Her gentle response excited him, and it was all he could do to not crush her in his arms. He should have insisted they go someplace else. If he’d been a real gentleman, he should have proceeded with his original plan to contact her tomorrow.

  All the shoulds crumbled when she parted her lips, and with a groan, he deepened the intimacy. Her moist heat and honey bewitched him, and he kissed her slowly, caressingly, exploring her with gentle flicks of his tongue. She emitted a little hitching sound, a luscious melody of submission, and planted her lips firmly against his. Their breaths mingled.

  Lip to lip wasn’t enough. He pulled her over the console and snug against his chest. He combed his fingers through the short strands of her silky hair. She fit in his arms perfectly. Just as he’d known she would. She’d fit his cock even better, but it was too soon for that. He could hold back that much. For now. Next time, all bets were off.

  She sucked his tongue, stroked the side of his face with a fingertip. Her lips grazed his. “You don’t play fair,” she whispered.

  He played to win, because there was nothing fair about the way she’d captivated him, the softness and vulnerability she tried to hide wrapping around his chest like a band of steel. He settled her hand against his thundering heart. “I’m only a man. I need every advantage I can get.”

  MEN WERE BORN with every advantage, but that ceased to matter when this man inflamed her body with his touch, his sexy voice, his smell—oh Gloria, his taste. One kiss wasn’t enough.

  She inched closer, resting her hip on the console hump, and he tightened his embrace. The strength inherent in the bulge of his biceps, the muscled contours of his chest, revealed he didn’t spend all his time behind a desk.

  She’d never been with a man as over-the-top masculine as he was. It was kind of hot.

  Kind of?

  He held the side of her head, and her scalp tingled. Her breasts ached, and she had the sneaking suspicion the crotch of her jeans was damp. He roamed a hand over her back, stirring awareness with every stroke, then warmed her rib cage before covering her breast. It swelled.

  Her erect nipple hardened further when he rubbed his palm in maddeningly slow circles over the taut tip. She needed—she ached—she whimpered as he unexpectedly pinched it hard, and pain and pleasure winged like an arrow.

  He scraped his jaw over her cheek, his whiskers rasping her face in a delicious way, then nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck. She lolled her head back in sensual delight while he kissed her throat, her ear, nibbling and licking, all the while continuing to palm and pinch her breast.

  She didn’t sleep around. Quite the opposite. She’d had very few lovers. Mark was wrong for her, but oh Gloria, he turned her on. And on and on. If she called a halt, she’d return home frustrated and achy.

  Maybe a simple, uncommitted sexual interlude—a zipless fuck, as her other idol, feminist author Erica Jong, had coined it—would remedy not only her current lust but also her ongoing tension and stress. Men had sex for sex’s sake. Why shouldn’t she do the same? Practice what she preached. She’d advised women to take control of their sexuality, watch out for themselves, because if they didn’t, no one else would. Why shouldn’t she use this man for her sexual pleasure?

  She was powerful. A female warrior who required a man only for mating. Like an Amazon. She stiffened.

  “What’s wrong?” Mark sought her gaze, stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  “Nothing.” She licked the corner of his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

  She pushed her palm against his chest, curled her fingers into hard muscles, so different from her own softer form.

  Take control. She ventured lower and palmed his fly. Hard as stone, he strained his jeans. Trailing his length, she faltered at his size, but her wanton pussy insisted she proceed.

  He stilled her hand but didn’t push her away. “Do that, and you’ll get more than you bargained for.”

  She gulped but caught his earlobe between her teeth. “I hope so.”

  He crushed her mouth in a searing kiss that curled her toes. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Go someplace comfortable.”

  She shook her head and tugged on his belt buckle. “No. Here. Now. Like this,” she said in a throaty voice. Thank goodness it was dark so he couldn’t see her blush. She couldn’t believe the tone coming out of her mouth.

  “Stephanie…I don’t have a condom with me.”

  “I do.” All WAN staff and volunteers carried them, distributed them like colorful party favors to encourage women to protect themselves.

  “Well, then, I never argue with a lady.”

  Once she got his belt undone, the snap of his jeans popped open, and she slid down the zipper to reveal the head of his cock poking out of the waistband of his briefs. She slipped her hand inside his shorts. Stone shouldn’t be so warm. She marveled at the capability of man’s body to create something so substantial through simple hydraulics.

  “Now doesn’t that feel better?” She kissed his neck. Seducing him like this excited her. She’d never acted so impulsively, had sex in a car outside a bar catering to a kinky clientele, but it might prove to be what she needed to quiet the wayward urges so she could get on track with her regularly scheduled life.

  She squeezed his erection.

  He sucked in a hiss of air through his teeth, then made short work of her buttons and pushed her shirt off her shoulder. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. Cream and lace.” He sucked a nipple into his mouth through the fabric of her bra while he deftly unhooked the catch. Molten swee
tness bubbled through her when he shoved the bra aside, leaving nothing between her and his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Her gold necklace dangled between her breasts, the chill of metal calling attention to her toplessness. He pressed the heel of his hand against her mons, then rubbed her sex through the denim, setting her clit on fire with delicious friction. She moaned, moved her hips, and stroked him. Under her fingers, his cock blazed with heat.

  She braced an elbow on the door. The console dug into her hip, and the steering wheel poked her spine. He was right; the car wasn’t comfortable, but that only enhanced the thrill. She released his erection to pull at the fastening of her jeans. Damn her button fly.

  He chuckled but rendered assistance in undoing her pants. Twisting like a pretzel, she got her boots off, and together they shoved her denim down her legs. Note to self: the next time you intend to have sex in a car, wear a skirt. Second note to self: buy a skirt.

  He slipped his fingers under her lace panties to home in on her wet center, and she stopped taking notes. He stroked her clit with the skill of a master, then slid along slickened folds to her pussy. He didn’t plunge inside but teased gently, slowly, as if he enjoyed the journey as much as he anticipated arriving at his ultimate destination. At last he buried a finger deep inside. She contracted her muscles with satisfaction and sought his cock again, enthralled by his thickness, his hardness. Her judgmental side tsked. They’d only just met, and they were groping each other’s genitals in a bar parking lot. Her libido yelled at her judgmental side to mind its own fucking business.

  He eased his finger out of her to tug at her panties.

  She hadn’t finished kicking them off when he returned to her sex, this time inserting two fingers, a delicious pressure that had her rocking. “You’re so tight,” he murmured.

  Tighter than he knew. It had been ages since she’d slept with a man. But he was a one-night stand and didn’t need to know. It wasn’t like she would ever see him again.