Ivory Tower by Lace Daltyn Page A

core.
    Tender kisses
along the back of her neck continued, enhancing the feeling of his touch. Some
part of her wanted to turn, needed to turn, to see who...
    Oh! He cupped her
mound, his fingers touching her intimately, even through the seams of her jeans. Back and forth, the fingers moved, then the feeling
left and she was bereft.
    Until the zipper
of her jeans lowered and his hand caressed her like she was a treasure to be savored.
The chest she leaned against faded to nothingness as her jeans melted to the
floor with gentle nudges. Before she could miss the broad strength she’d leaned
into, it was back. He was back. Delilah reached behind and entwined her hands
into locks of long hair that felt coarse and manly.
    Hands moved over
her body, exciting her like she’d never known before, never felt before.
    Then they dipped
into the reservoir between her legs, stroked slick folds, and took her to new
fevered heights. Delilah tightened her hold in his hair, then leaned back into
a rock hard cock.
    “Please,” she
begged.
    The sigh she heard
had a distinct masculine sound to it. A sound she could hear forever and not
tire of.
    The fingers delved
deep inside her, drawing more sensation, more raw feeling, and she arched into
them, rocking back and forth, held in place by the man and his hands.
    She crashed over
the top of an intense orgasm, her body shivering with need and exhaustion as
the crescendo built, then slowly ebbed.
    Delilah reached
out for support, her legs tangled in pooled jeans, and found only the rough,
hard wall holding her up. She opened her eyes and looked around wildly.
    No one was there.
She was alone.
Jenna sat there, unable to move or react, afraid of the reaction from the audience. You could have heard a pin drop for several long seconds after she ended the story, then thunderous applause. It stymied her, and overwhelmed her at the same time.
Her audience seemed mesmerized. By her. By what she'd said. They'd found it interesting. More than that, they found what she said important. And it was hers. All hers. Nobody could ever take that away.

 
    Chapter Eleven
     
    Behind the closed door of her hotel room, Jenna shook her
head, amazed at herself for what she’d just done. She’d been the focal point of
a room that overflowed with authors. And she’d created a scene on the spot. A
sensuous, wild scene that had left her audience speechless.
    Jenna threw herself on the bed, laughing. She’d never felt
so...powerful. So in control.
    And it had been her control. Not her mother’s. Or Josh’s.
    The thought of Josh reminded Jenna she hadn’t called him
since their little tryst last night. She wanted to tell him about today. Needed
to hear his voice. Damn, but she was hot herself after that story she’d come up
with spur of the moment. Maybe they could do a repeat of last night.
    Jenna smiled as she reached for her purse and dug out her
phone. Dead. And no way to charge it. Damn.
    Maybe they sold chargers in the hotel store. She reached
for the hotel phone just as someone pounded on her door. She could hear the
giggles from here. Opening the door, Sharon stood there, along with three other
women who’d been in the front row at her workshop. Sharon was close to her own
age, but the others were older.
    “Come on. We’re all going out and we want you to come with
us.”
    “ Oooh , I can’t. I need to make a
phone call.”
    “You can call anytime,” Sharon said. “This is Vegas, baby.
It’s time to go have fun.”
    Jenna glanced behind her. “I really shouldn’t.”
    It didn’t take much for them to convince her and soon they
were out the door of the hotel. Vegas at night shone like an amazing
kaleidoscope of color and lights. Jenna had never seen so many lights. And
noise. The jingle of machines coupled with the muffled, throaty roar of a
muscle car cruising the strip dazzled her senses.
    There were no short walks in Vegas. Each casino seemed to
go on forever. Jenna craned her neck this way and