Ann Bruce | Ella, Part 1

Ella, Part 1

Ella tapped her foot impatiently and quickly glanced at her watch once again. Peter was already forty-five minutes late. Again.

Ella blew out a frustrated breath. This was the fourth time in a row. She was very definitely not impressed. And not just a little suspicious.

Maybe her gut instinct was right. Maybe all those annoying details should not have been brushed aside. Maybe--just maybe.

Her brows drew together. The idea refused to be dismissed easily this time.

A funny thought occurred to her. Well, at least to her it was humorous. Maybe it was all the alcohol she had consumed. This was...what?...her ninth or tenth drink on an empty stomach.

Peter had called her earlier to tell her that he would not be able to make it for dinner, and for her to eat without him. She was to meet him at the bar. Ella, running a bit late herself, had gone straight to the bar. She had had her excuses all planned out and revised. But it turned out that she had not needed them for Peter was far more late than she.

The sleek, black dress sheathed her slim body till mid-thigh. That and the black stiletto sandals were being wasted, she thought petulantly. Ella finished the last of her drink, frustration and annoyance making her forget that she had not eaten since noon. She lowered the tumbler, her gaze falling to the bar.

It was the alcohol she had consumed on an empty stomach. That would be the excuse she would use later to pacify and justify herself. She hadn't been thinking straight.

How else could she explain outrageously flirting and openly seducing a total stranger with her eyes in a bar?

He wasn't her usual type. She had never went for the dark and dangerous type. Ella fought back a giggle as the absurd and cliched words ran through her mind. She had laughed at and hated Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights. However, it was the alcohol coursing through her veins that made him seem so utterly seductive, so irresistible, so downright masculine to her. That dark hair that brushed the collar of his shirt; the heavy five o'clock shadow; and those harsh features that hinted at...Oh, God. She was being fanciful! But just the thought of how his stubble would abrade her skin caused a searing, tightening sensation in her tummy. These those shadowed eyes. She shivered. Yes, it was definitely the alcohol. One tequila paralyzer too many. Well, perhaps more than one. However, there was no other sane and logical explanation.

If Peter were here, she wouldn't even be looking at the cowboy in the first place.

Bits of anger and resentment swirled through her. Ella raked a hand through her dark mane. Then she settled down to gazing intently at the well muscled mass at the bar.

Perhaps he felt he silent demand that he turn his head just a ways to meet her eyes. Perhaps he had been abiding his time until he had her full and complete attention. Or perhaps it was simply that he caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, despite the darkness.

Well, whatever it had been, she had gotten what she wanted. He was now methodically making his way towards her table in the corner. His slow, sure approach told her that she still had a choice. She could still change her mind and call it off with a small shake of her head; the flicker of an eyelash; a small motion of her wrist.

She didn't do any of those things, though. Her eyes simply traveled appreciatively up and down his tall frame. She took in the way his shirt stretched over nice, broad shoulders; the snug fit of his blue jeans. She'd bet that he would look even better from behind. Oh, yes. There was no way in hell she was going to change her mind. Not when she could already feel her panties getting soaked.

He didn't say anything. He didn't sit down. He simply put out his hand, palm facing upwards. The ball was still in her court. The call was still hers.

Ella placed her hand in his. It completely enveloped hers. A gentle tug and she was up and trailing him to the dimly lit, postage stamp-sized dance floor. She walked into his arms without reservation. She should've felt ridiculous plastered against him as she was. He was tall; probably around six-three. Even in her heels, she didn't reach his shoulders. However, she couldn't feel ridiculous; not when it took all her energy not to melt into a puddle at his feet.

Ella's lids came down slowly as she swallowed hard, finding that her mouth was very dry. She instinctively inhaled deeply. A warm, clean scent of male filled her nostrils. Maybe it was that that had her knees buckling. Maybe it was that or the hot mouth that had opened on her neck. It didn't matter which. All she knew was that a hot, molten melting sensation had started at the sensitive skin beneath where her jaw met her ear and was quickly spreading throughout her body. A shudder ran down her body, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Ella slid one hand into his hair, enjoying the feel of the coarse, cool strands between her fingers. She slipped her other hand into the back pocket of his jeans. Damn! Nice and hard. The small smile spread across her lips was quickly replaced by a soft, feline sound of pleasure when she felt the pointed tip of his tongue trace teasing patterns on the small area covered by his open mouth. Ella shamelessly pressed her hips up and closer to his, wanting to feel his erection between her legs, instinctively seeking release for the tight coil of desire that kept winding, creating a delicious kind of urgency.

Ella rubbed her body sensuously against his harder form as he ran his rough hands over her shoulders; down her ribs, his fingers teasingly skimming the sides of her breasts; across her tummy, causing flutters; over the apex of her legs, pressing hard enough there to feel the dampness through her dress. Fire washed over her. Ella moaned softly into the mouth now covering hers. Her lips parted, wanting the feel of his tongue sliding against hers. But he wanted to arouse her a bit more. He skimmed his palms over her buttocks before cupping her hips, lifting and tilting it so he could grind into her, moving her against him. Ella's eyes nearly crossed with the heady, almost painful mixture of pleasure and frustration. Her sharp teeth suddenly came down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

Her cowboy, as she thought of him, drew back in momentary surprise. Ella stared back, shocked to the core by her action...and not just a little turned on. A lot turned on.

He must've of reacted similarly when he read the surprise and lust in her eyes, for he lowered his head, caught her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. Ella made a strangled sound in her throat before crushing her mouth to his. Their teeth scraped. Tongues twirled around each other oh-so erotically. The metallic taste of his blood flavoured their kiss.

Ella dug her fingertips in the heavy muscle of his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer, wanting to lie down on any surface and pull his body over hers. She wanted to feel his heavy weight pushing her down, his callused palms on her naked flesh, his teeth scraping her hard, ultra-sensitive nipples, his searing hardness stretching her, deep inside her. But she would've settled for something-anything-to release this vicious ache that only intensified the more she touched him. Oh, Jesus Christ!

She felt him smile with grim satisfaction. Her body only tightened even more with anticipation, if that was possible. Then, all of a sudden, he slipped his thigh between her legs just before he rammed her onto it. Her breath locked in her throat. She felt every fibre of his rough jeans through the silk of her underwear. The tension consuming Ella twisted once more just to shatter brilliantly. Her breath unlocked. He swallowed her cry of release.

Ella dropped her entire weight on him, letting him support her. He was still rubbing her soaking sex against his thigh, spreading her musky juices over his jeans. She was still clutching his shoulder tightly, not wanting to let go, afraid to let go. Ella took a few shuddering breaths. She buried her face in his chest, listening to the rapid, uneven beat of his heart. Oh, my God.