Hungry Like The Wolf Ch. 01

"I thought you didn't like beer," he said.

The Hefeweizen was good. Cara leaned forward to grab his glass and took a drink of the murky liquid. He sat lazily in the booth and smirked at her, arms crossed over his chest. It was noisy with the din of conversation throughout the South Water Kitchen. But the lounge was classy and comfortable and it was connected to his hotel lobby...plus there was a pool table. Which for this night, was exactly what he wanted.

Cara set the glass down and smiled back. "I just like your beer," she countered.

"But you're a beer snob," he challenged again, shifting, but keeping his arms crossed.

"Oh, that's not fair." She raised her eyebrows in defense. "Just cause I'm from Portland doesn't mean I know micro-brew."

He frowned teasingly. "Like hell it doesn't."

God, she was easy to rile up, and he liked watching her skin flush as she took the challenge. She leaned forward in the seat across from him, and he knew she wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Beer snob my ass... you're the one with the artisan beer obsession!"

Cara's eyes narrowed again. She knew he wasn't really high maintenance, but he also had a preference for a privately bottled, hard to find lager and hell if she'd let him get off without playing that card.

Tom laughed thru his nose, and put his hands up in the air. "All right, all right, ease down turbo."

Cara smiled in victory and looked away. A sweep of auburn hair fell across one temple covering the corner of her eye. She sat relaxed, but her body was tight with excitement.... warm, even in the air conditioning.

Tom watched her fiddle with her watch, twisting it back and forth. He knew from experience it meant she was nervous. It had been a long time since college -- almost 14 years since he'd seen her. They'd met junior year, working together, and quickly became friends. He had flashes of memories -- moments in time with her. Boating on a lake...trail biking in the woods...lying on the floor of his apartment studying...crying gently to her about a breakup...getting coffee for her (cream, no sugar) in the student union....seeing her sleep in his lounge chair, wrapped in a sheepskin blanket. He'd watch her when she didn't know he was looking. Watch her calves flex going up the stairs, or see her T-shirt pull against her breasts when she twisted sideways.

They even teetered on more. Hugs that lasted too long, her body touching the full length of him. Massages that drifted off his back, caressing his hips, down his hamstrings...feeling her hands on the inside of his thighs, but not any higher. She'd dated someone else and he'd never butt in, never asked her to question that relationship or tell him what she truly thought of theirs. And then they graduated and moved on.

They had barely connected with Christmas cards, and then more so with Facebook. He knew she had her own company doing event planning and corporate meetings. But unlike his frequent traveling, he knew she was rarely away from Portland. Then, she texted last week rambling on about speaking at an industry conference.

Now she'd flown to Chicago for the conference and he had driven in for a partner meeting. And for the first time in almost 2 decades they were in the same place at the same time - and he wanted every possible minute with her.

"Oh geeze...now what are you thinking?" she asked with wry alarm.

Cara watched his thoughts spinning behind light blue eyes. He was just as she remembered -- wry, playful, confident, smart. Taller than she thought and still in shape with strong molded shoulders and trim waist. Tousled brown hair, short at the temples and mussed along his forehead. She hadn't thought of him in so long, but felt the contentment of being with him now. She found herself intensely curious of his life...his achievements, what made him laugh, what he did on Saturday mornings. There were so many things she wanted to ask. She watched patiently for small flares of his masculinity...his Adam's apple when he talked...the sinews of his forearm when he rotated his hand...the deep rumble in his throat as he hummed instead of saying "yes."

Tom leaned forward and looked right at her. "Pool. I wanna shoot pool. With you."

Cara raised her eyebrows and smiled slightly before answering.

"All right."

She got up, smoothing the sides of her skirt over her thighs and straightening the tank top. Tom unfolded himself from the bench seat and followed her to a rack of cues. He pushed up his sleeves and grabbed a wallet from the back pocket of tan cargo pants. Peeling out a $5 bill, he paid the bartender and brought over a rack with 15 balls. Cara held a wooden triangle out for him.

"Any rules?" she quizzed him.

"You know what they are."

She smiled lazily. "You think you can distract me?"

He hoped to God so. "We're about to find out."

As Tom finished with the setup and started to break, Cara went to the opposite end of the table, directly above his shot, and cocked her head gently to one side. Tom smirked as the cue ball slammed into the tight stack, scattering it across the table.

Nothing went down so Cara wandered the edge looking for the best shot.

"Six ball. Side pocket."

Tom was a good three feet away but as she leaned over the table, Cara felt the end of his cue slide gently up her calf. She smiled, but took the shot and sank it. She stood and looked at him through her eyelashes, smirking gently.

He chuckled. "All right hot shot, go again. So you still play?"

She shook her head. "Been a long time..."

"Well, it's just like..... You know."

"yea....bike riding," she answered.

"Mmmmm. Something like that."

She called for the four ball corner pocket, but it meant a shot down the near rail -- difficult for a right handed player. With her right foot on the ground, she propped her left hip on the side of the table and swung the cue around her back.

"Ohhhhh, nice," he drawled.

"They're your damn rules. My foot's touching the floor."

He chuckled again and gestured with his hand. "Take your shot."

Tom watched the furrow in her brow as she concentrated. With both arms behind her and leaning back for the shot, her breasts pushed forward making the orange cotton fabric taut. They were smooth and round, held in (he guessed) padded satin, not lace. "Damn....," he muttered under heavy breath, and she knew he was looking. It was enough to throw her. The ball nicked the corner without going in.

"Shit," she said climbing off the table. But she knew she'd started to get to him. "You're up handsome," as she took a few steps to give him room.

Thomas paused, feeling tightness in his thighs. "That's about right," throwing a glance at her. He looked back at the table, but he'd already chosen his next move. "Nine ball. Corner pocket." He flexed a shoulder and brought the stick down hard. He hadn't given her time to get near him and the ball went down fast. As he set up for the next shot, Cara circled the table the opposite way and met him on the other side.

He could feel the heat of her, as she got close. Leaned over the table, he cocked his head to look at her. She smirked at him, her eyes glistening. She did like this. He saw the flush in her cheeks...the shallow breathing thru parted lips. "Twelve ball. Near pocket," he said quietly. It was a bank off the far rail and he needed a second to set up the angle. Cara slid her warm hand under the collar of his pullover and stroked the back of his neck, dragging her fingertips thru the nape of his short hair. God it felt good. He had a flash of memory from years before -- the same smooth fingers doing the same teasing thing. He let his breath out slowly as his head drooped, enjoying her touch. He let her caress him another moment before drawing back the stick. The cue ball made the ricochet, but just barely kissed the twelve, pushing it into the rail.

"Ohhhh...you're wicked," he hissed.

"I thought you liked playing with me?" Cara questioned, feigning a pouty lip.

Tom chuckled, shaking his head and resisted the urge to say anything more.

He paused again. He wanted to know what she was thinking. What did she remember? What was she thinking now? She was certainly playing along but how far would she go?

Cara moved away from him. She sank the three ball and then set up for the one. She couldn't aim fast enough and Tom approached her, stopping directly behind, and placed his hand on her back, caressing in small circles. His hand slid down just slightly as his fingers brushed along the flare of her bottom, below the hip line, then pulled around her side and glided with open fingers along her abdomen until his palm was centered over her navel, fingers reaching down.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Should I keep going? No distraction is against the rules...."

He saw her breathe deeply, then slowly blink once, focusing on his touch.

"Mmmmm. I'm gonna sink this first." He heard her struggle not to give in. The one ball slammed into the corner and dropped.

"Dammit, you're actually beating me."

"Luck." She paused, eyeing him. "You're distracting me."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah. I missed it."

"Yea," he agreed as she turned sideways and bent over to line up another ball.

Tom leaned toward her with his warm breath near her ear. He wanted to up the ante.

"How about if I kiss you senseless?"

She gasped gently and went for the shot but the ball hit two rails and rolled to a stop in the middle of the table.

"You're gonna pay for that," she threatened as she stood up.

He looked down at her, the corners of his mouth just curling upward. "I hope so."

Tom pulled away and found his next move with the fourteen ball. He called a pocket but it took extraordinary effort to concentrate. She was still next to him, leaning sideways just slightly. As she grabbed his taught hamstring and began to massage slowly toward the inside of his leg, he started to come undone. He was heady with a memory from a decade ago. She'd given him massages a few times...rubbing his arms, his legs, straddling his lean hips and pushing down hard into his back...too excited to stop, but too nervous to do anything else. But that was 14 years ago. Now, she wanted more.

He breathed heavily, thinking only of her hands and where he wanted them to start roaming. He made his shot but the cue ball barely hit the fourteen.

"Damn you," he said quietly.

She was sideways next to him, and her head turned toward his chest, her eyes roving over his tall frame. "It's just a game," she shrugged gently.

They both knew better. Tom was starting to ache. He needed her out of the bar. Cara bent over the table to call another shot, her skirt brushing against the side of his thigh. He leaned into her from behind, his arm around her waist.

"Why don't you come upstairs," he whispered, more a statement than a question.

Care paused and straightened slightly. The cue sagged in her hand for a moment and then slid along her opposite thumb, connecting with the ball and surprisingly dropping into the pocket. They barely noticed. She stood up and he watched the movement of her chest, the desire in her eyes.

"Ummm, I don't know," she managed, blinking slowly and holding the cue upright for support.

"Didn't you ever think about this?"

"Pool?"

"No. Not pool."

She smiled shyly without answering, and he knew the answer.

"I couldn't..." Then she answered his question. "Yes."

I was the first time Cara had blatantly expressed raw desire for him. Tom wanted her to keep talking.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

She dropped her head slightly with an embarrassed grin. "Uhh..that would be my line."

His eyes flared. "Well good. Cause we're gonna do something about it now."

Enough of this shit. Tom welcomed the rush of adrenaline as it galvanized him into action. Before she could respond, he took the cue stick from her hand and replaced it with his in the wall rack and laid a twenty on the table for the drinks.

"I have to get back," she countered lamely, biting her lip.

"Mmmm. I know." He paused before adding, "It's only 9 o'clock."

He was ready to move but he couldn't drag her. He faced her and slid a hand around her waist.

"Listen, I need to know what you're thinking. So you gotta tell me."

His gaze burned into hers. "Come upstairs with me. Ok?"

He waited breathless while she paused a second before answering.

"Ok. God yes."

Her eyes flashed with anticipation, as if making the decision itself had suddenly destroyed the apprehension and unleashed a feverish wanting. With a hand on the small of her back, Tom guided her out of the lounge and into the lobby of the Hotel Monaco.

"Hang on just a sec," he murmured and then broke away to walk to the front desk. He spoke to the concierge briefly and then rejoined her at the bank of elevators.

As he pushed the button for the 8th floor, the doors closed and Cara felt the tension in her body ratchet to an excruciating level. Tom loomed over her, but didn't touch her or say a word. His eyes ravaged the front of her body -- shoulders dipping into biceps, full breasts rising and falling with her breath, trim waist and the flare of hips, curving backward. He flexed his hands trying to give them something to do.

She was smiling, but with alarm in her eyes.

"You ok?" he asked softly.

His care seemed to relax her tension, but not her excitement. She nodded ever so slightly, "Yeah." Her hair fell around her shoulders in haphazard sections, with shorter layers curving forward to caress her jaw. She blinked mascara'd lashes over green eyes and then parted her lips and licked gently, making the bottom one moist.

He looked hard at her again. "God, you're beautiful."

She blushed, crinkling the corners of her eyes. Through her smile, he watched the tip of her tongue brushing the inside of her teeth. The combination made him ache even more.

The elevator opened and she followed him down the hallway until he swiped a card in one of the doors. He went first and held it open as she brought herself inside the dark space. It was cool, with the soothing hum of the room fan. Black sky and city lights filtered in thru the blinds of two ceiling high picture windows at the far end, behind a sitting area with an armchair and table. A king bed took up the middle of the room. It was too dark for Cara to see details, but she knew the comforter was down and pillows were propped against the silky padded headboard. She dropped her purse by a bureau along the wall.

The door clicked as she turned back and his shadow approached her in three strides.

"Come here," sliding a hand around her waist and the other along her jaw to the nape of her neck.

Tom dipped his head as he brought his lips down to hers. She was so sweet. He tipped his head slightly to fit against the crease of her lips and she opened gently to lap at him with the tip of her tongue. Her body was shaking from the pent up tension but she pushed into him, using her mouth and breasts and hands to ask for more.

He kissed at her soft mouth over and over, flexing the hand on her waist and pulling her up flush with his body. The feel of her hips pressed against his brought the blood rushing to his groin. He opened his stance just slightly and ground his pelvis against her again, his cock hardening behind the confines of boxers and cargo pants.

Cara was giddy...intoxicated by him. She grabbed at his back, holding herself to him as closely as possible, savoring the feel of his hard shaft against her. He was musky and clean...and tasted of fresh beer. The hint of whisker growth on his jaw tickled her cheek. With an arm around her, still kissing, Tom pushed her backward toward the bed, his legs straddling the outsides of hers as he walked. She felt the mattress on her hamstrings but he didn't topple her onto the sheet.

Tom stroked her tongue with his, the kiss quickly disintegrating any hesitation she had. He could feel her groping his arms, his back, pushing herself against him. Her lips glided harder against his as she brought her arms up around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair. With her arms up, her breasts sat even higher, thrust against his chest and molding to his body. She whimpered quietly while kissing his top lip. He no longer had any question about what she felt or what she wanted. Knowing she desired him that badly made him harden more. He wanted to just push her over and bury himself inside her wetness, but it would be over too soon. He broke away to kneel before her, both his hands sliding to the hem of her skirt and then underneath to palm each cheek of her ass, black breezy fabric draping over his forearms. He felt the lace of her thong as it disappeared into the crease between his hands. His nose caressed her navel as he breathed deeply, causing her to moan.

Her fingers stroked into his hair, gripping, as if to hold herself up.

"Tom, I can't believe...that feels so good. You're makin me crazy."

"God, I've wanted to do this since that first week I met you," he whispered, continuing to plant kisses along her stomach, her hips, her ribcage. "Man, I bet you cum so hard...I bet you just scream."

Cara's hands stilled and she got very quiet. He looked up at her and saw thought -- not passion - in her eyes. He levered himself up higher to look at her face to face. He smiled quizzically, but then she became even more serious....concerned....worried.

"Hey, baby, what's wrong?"

"No," she managed. "It's nothing."

"Uhnt, uh. That's not the deal. Talk to me."

She shook her head and smiled, and he knew it was fake.

He kissed her soft lips again and whispered, "Tell me."

She turned into his warm neck, head bowed. "I... I'm not very....I don't always..."

Tom was silent for a second working out her admission, and then he wrapped his arms around her as she gasped once, very quietly, looking for composure.

"Heeyyyyyy. Listen to me." He pulled back to make eye contact. "It's ok..."

"No it's not." She seemed angry but he sensed it was with herself, rather than him. "What if I don't...."

Tom cut her off. "It's not a contest sweetheart." He paused again. Dammit, he didn't have patience for a therapy session. She was pulling back from him...and his cock was responding -- or rather not responding. He decided to get right to it.

"Baby, can you make yourself climax?"

She looked shy, but didn't hesitate in answering.

"Yes. Most of the time."

"Good. I bet you can." He smiled. "Ok. You focus on that." And with a wry smile he added, "And leave the rest to me. Ok? This is supposed to be fun."

"Yeah." Cara sighed with a laugh and then nodded. "I'm....sorry."

"Hey, don't ever be sorry for being honest with me. Tell me what feels good."

"Ok," nodding. She paused, tipping her head slightly as if she'd thought of something else.

"Ummm...you don't have to....use protection. I have a... I got it covered." She eyed his chest shyly.

"Ok, sweetheart. I was gonna ask, but...good. Now, you think you could turn off that brilliant mind of yours and just enjoy yourself?" He tipped his forehead to just connect with hers and smiled with the corners of his mouth.

Her smile broke wider. "Yeah," she said with a tiny giggle. "Shit. I'm hopeless."

His hands slid up her back again. "Nope. Just smoking hot."

She felt his thumb brush the top of her cheek bone. He kissed her eyelid, her nose, the top of her lip, and finally tugged gently on her bottom lip, nipping at her, until it deepened to cover her whole mouth.

"That's really sexy, by the way," he whispered into the corner of her mouth.

"What?" She felt his kisses move down her neck.

"That you make yourself cum. Would you show me?"

"Maybe," she said smirking.

"Ohhhhh...more than maybe. That is definitely in your future."