Page 68 of Decidedly Off Limits

That made sense.

The energizing rush of relief, satisfaction, and exhilaration greeted me, like when I had a great day on the stock market and made a shitload of money for my portfolios. Not only had she been with just two other guys before me…she had shared with me this piece of herself.

Given what I knew about her ex, I had a feeling he didn’t know. Only I was privy to her fantasy.

I devoured her with a kiss, momentarily forgetting our ice cream. She tasted of sugar and cream and raspberries and Kelsey.

She tasted of heaven.

“Until now, I hadn’t realized just how delicious raspberry cheesecake ice cream is,” I said against her lips. “I think it’s become my new favorite.”

“If you’re not careful, you’ll be wearing your new favorite.” She pulled back slightly. “Our ice cream is gonna melt.”

“That’s my new sexual fantasy,” I said, voice low, rough, eager. “Licking ice cream off my favorite places. Like here.” I slowly traced my finger along her jaw.

“And here.” Down her throat.

“Here.” Down her sternum.

Her breath stilled in her chest.

“Here.” My voice had dropped to a murmur and I stroked my finger across her taut nipple. She inhaled softly.

I lowered my hand to her inner thighs, and traced the seam of her yoga pants to her pussy. “And here.” I cupped my hand there and she groaned.

Something cold and wet and sticky dripped onto the hand holding my waffle cone, and the distant giggles of a young child snapped me back to the here and now.

I removed my hand from between Kelsey’s legs, and we finished our ice cream in a comfortable silence—as I performed difficult calculations in my head, rectifying the situation in my pants.

Afterward, I drove her back to her car and kissed her goodnight…then headed back to the office to put in several more hours of work.

Only instead of focusing on the report I was supposed to work on, I was lost in the new sexual fantasy playing in my head.

The new sexual fantasy that was nothing like the real deal.

Shit. After Kelsey, everyone else would be nothing more than a pitiful replacement.

29

Kelsey

The last timeI had attended class was during the final year of my physical therapy program. Back then the students had known each other because we’d been in the same program for the past three years. It had been four years since I was a new student on her first day of class—but that was a lifetime ago.

Even the cooking and drawing classes hadn’t felt like this.

And just like back on my first day of the physical therapy program, excitement mixed with a good case of nerves coursed through my body.

I sat on an empty chair in the classroom and parked my purse and camera bag on the floor. At the front, a woman in her forties was hooking up her laptop to the overhead projector. With her chin-length black hair, dressy black pants, and cream-colored blouse, she looked more ready to model in a fashion shoot than to teach a photography class.

Once she was finished, she glanced around the classroom, mentally counting to see if everyone was here. “Welcome to Portrait Photography. For those of you who don’t know me…” She moved her mouse and launched into the slide presentation, giving us a taste of her experience: fashion photography (including Vogue), weddings, and child photography.

At the picture of a shirtless athletic male cradling a naked newborn against his chest, my ovaries sat up and took notice—imagining it was Trent in the photo with our child.

Down, girls!

“Will you be teaching us about nude photography?” a guy in the back asked.

“Yes, but if you’re expecting to learn to take the kinds of photos you find in Hustler, you’ll be disappointed.” She returned to her laptop and an image of a young almost naked couple about to kiss appeared on the screen.