Alluring Anniversary
Disclaimer: No, I do not own, no I am not making money, so no, I should not be sued.
Summary: Plain-Jane Sakura Kinomoto has never been bad. . .until she stumbles, literally, into the arms of a gorgeous stranger.
A.N. Oh how it's been so long. I'm so sorry I've been gone. I was busy writing stories for, you! It's certainly has been a LONG time. . . Let's see if I still remember how to do this thing. . .
It never would have happened if she hadn't taken that damn quiz. . .
At least it never would have happened if she hadn't taken it and failed.
Failed.
Her.
Sakura Kinomoto, who had never failed a test in her life.
Granted, she wasn't really serious when she took the Steamy! quiz, writing in her own answers instead of choosing the generic multiple choice ones. Deep down, she knew it was ridiculous to be upset, especially since she totally hadn't taken it seriously. More than that, what did an idiotic quiz like that really mean?
Nothing.
She knew it. But what had started out as a joke had touched a nerve that she hadn't realized was sizzling and raw.
Had she really filled in the second question with alpaca?
She suppressed an embarrassed cringe. Sure, alpacas were an industrious animal, but she had also heard that they spit and kick.
As if that was the problem with her answer. . .
Earlier that evening, while getting ready for a cocktail reception, Sakura had dressed in her usual, simple black cocktail dress that she wore to just that sort of business/social obligation. But when she had looked at herself in the entry hall mirror, taking in her straight shoulder-length auburn hair, and bangs that made her look twelve instead of twenty-two, that's when she realized why an idiotic magazine quiz could upset her so much.
Lucky or not, she was plain. She wasn't sexy. More truthful, she never tried to be.
That's when everything changed. One minute she was headed to the kitchen for the self-indulgent comfort that only chocolate can bring, then the next, something she hadn't recognized flared inside her.
She wanted to feel beautiful. . .
She wanted to feel sexy. . .
. . .She should have had that chocolate.
Instead, her heart was pounding in her ears as she hurried back to her bedroom. Her hands practically shaking with a mixture of excitement and anxiety, she put makeup and blush over her pale white skin, lipstick over her lips, and mascara on her eyelashes. She even curled her straight hair, swept up her bangs and pulled it into an intricate twist.
She even wore the dress Tomoyo Daidouji had sent over. Sakura may have thought that her best friend was crazy to make this for her, but at the moment, she couldn't have been more elated.
Thirty minutes later, standing in front of the mirror a second time, Sakura hadn't recognized herself.
No one would call her an alpaca tonight.
There was just one tiny problem now that she sat in the hotel parking lot, wearing the dress and even the silky gloves she was sure had sex appeal written all over them. . .
She couldn't bring herself to get out of the car.
She sat there having second guessing the way she was dressed. The determination she had, had flown away like the September wind that had started to pick up the second she drove into the parking lot. It was like a sign that she had no business going inside dressed like she was.
Without a parking valet or doorman in sight, Sakura shut off the ignition, gathered the purse that was too small for anything other than blush, a brush, and breath mints, and took a deep breath.
Tonight, Sakura felt anything but her usual self.
The second she stepped out of the car, a gust of wind kicked up, the kind that shut car doors with a slam and carries a person through the parking lot on heels so high they feel as if they were teetering over the edge.
"Ahh!" she cried out into the wind, the sound carrying away.
She was plunged across the blacktop, sand biting and stinging her skin as she headed the short distance to the hotel. She thought she was alone. But without warning, she ran into another body.
Hard. Jarring them both.
The impact sent her lurching forward, arms extended like she was flying. It happened so fast that she couldn't regain her balance. Her gloved hands hit the pavement first, the chain on the purse like a vise around her wrist. Her knees crashed into the ground, and pain shot through her. She lay there stunned.
"Are you okay?"
A man's voice, deep and commanding, came at her in a disjointed muffle through the wind. She tried to pick herself up, but before she could manage, strong hands came around her, and he swept her up with ease. She tried to make out who he was, but he was much taller, and she couldn't make out more than his shirt when he pulled her close, his body blocking the wind.
Huddled together, he propelled them the remaining few steps to the hotel entrance. Despite the pain, she was very much aware of the man's touch, of the way his arm was secure around her, the way he controlled her body easily. She had the altogether foreign thought that she was safe.
The sliding doors of the hotel whooshed open, and the sudden calm after the storm felt like a deafening echo in her ears.
"Are you okay?" the man asked again, his hands clasped firmly around her arms to keep her steady.
Her curls fell in tangles from her twist. She could feel her dress was askew and her gloves were ripped to shreds. All of the effort she had gone through were in vain.
She was a mess, it was impossible to attend the party now. "Fine" she stated bleakly.
She felt him tense, felt the heat of him in the simplest touch of his hand. "You aren't so fine," he stated with calm insistence.
"What?"
He took her elbow and guided her away from the lobby. He swept her along again, but when they came to a set of double doors leading to the hotel guests rooms, she stiffened.
"Where are you taking me?"
"I'm staying here."
"You're taking me here, as in to your. . . your"
"Room?"
"Exactly," she stated primly. "I can't go to your room."
He made some kind of grumbling noise deep in his chest, but instead of guiding her through the doors, he tugged her away and soon had her inside an elegant ladies' room decorated in marble and brass. Thankfully, it was empty. Though not as thankful as he slid the lock home.
"Now what are you doing?"
"You're bleeding."
"Bleeding?"
He pointed.
"Oh," was all she managed to say when she glanced down at herself and got a really good look. Her stockings were ripped beyond repair, blood marked both of her knees, and on top of all that, the sight of it made her weak.
"Oh," she repeated, this time sort of wobbly.
"Don't go weak willed on me now."
"I am not weak willed," she stated, her spine straightening.
"That's what I like to hear."
Next thing she knew, he had her up on the marble counter as if she didn't weigh anything at all, he skirt riding high. That was when she looked up and saw his face.
Her first real look.
She wasn't sure if she sucked in her breath or if she sighed. She only knew that her world went completely still.
They stared at each other, she on the sink with her chin tilted slightly, he standing so close that his thighs touched her knees. He looked as surprised as she felt.
It seemed like an eternity that their gazes locked, but it probably wasn't more than a second.
He looked as commanding as he had acted. He was tall, his dark hair unruly, his dark eyes filled with intelligence, knowing and confident. His control of the situation was apparent in the hard line of his square jaw. This was a man used to getting what he wanted.
He wore a finely made shirt that molded to broad shoulders and narrowed into a lean waist and long legs. Standing there, he appeared to be in charge of his surroundings, not giving a second thought to being in a woman's bathroom with the door locked and with a woman he didn't know.
He didn't smile, or say a word, though his gaze seemed to draw her to him. But after another second, his eyes narrowed fractionally and he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head before he focused on her scrapes.
"Let me look at your hands."
He didn't wait for her to agree. He took each wrist, peeling the shredded gloves away finger by finger. Despite his commanding size, his touch was gentle as he cleaned the blood away. She watched him as he concentrated on the job, the way his head tilted so he could get a better view.
He cradled her arm as he cleaned her wounds.. She grew light-headed and swayed.
He glanced up, "How are you doing?"
"Fine," she whispered.
Better than fine. She felt odd, hot tears of yearning burned her eyes as he nodded his head in approval and moved on to her knees. . .
But the torn stockings were in the way. Without hesitation, he reached under her dress. She gasped. Her head swam at the feel of his fingers finding the tops of her ruined thigh-highs.
The act wasn't intended to be sexual, but this man's touch made her world tilt even more.
Intense.
Like a dream you didn't want to wake up from.
Feeling the man's hands on her thighs, even innocently made something flare.
Rebellion against everything she believed to be proper?
No. It was hot, simple, and unadulterated desire.
But she wasn't about to give in to something like that, least of all with a stranger. She was smart. She was sensible.
"I could have done that," she stated, her eyes shifting nervously as she tried to find someplace to look besides the silky waves of his hair.
"No need now."
He concentrated on her knee. She tried to find the old Sakura, the one who would demand that he take his hands off her.
"I was trying to sound intimidating," she said.
He glanced up at her, one dark brow rising. "I guess it was the squeak in your voice that threw me."
"I did not squeak!"
"You did."
Her mouth fell open. "You're making fun of me."
He smiled then, for the first time, she realized, and her breath caught a little more. "Never."
Then he refocused on his project. Her knees.
This was the sort of man who made a woman feel sexy. Dark and dangerous, commanding the world around him with nothing more than a look and a few words. And when he looked up, she was sure he felt it, too.
Their gazes locked, their bodies close. He glanced at her lips and a teasing sweetness made her yearn even more.
But he was a gentleman.
After one last glance at her mouth, he returned his attention to her knee. Everything that wasn't her, everything that wasn't Sakura Kinomoto surged up. Suddenly she wasn't embarrassed at the thought of being sensual. She wasn't afraid of being rejected.
And wasn't that really why she had been afraid to be sexy? The fear of rejection?
Give in.
Touch him back.
Good girl Sakura Kinomoto wanted to be mouth wateringly enticing.
She counted to ten, then twenty. But when he finished with her knee, he straightened again, his composure disarming.
He stood there studying her, not smiling. Then his eyes drifted down over her body, his eyes flaring with something hot. No one had ever looked at her that way before, the heat making her feel both panicked and excited.
Then everything changed.
It happened so fast that she didn't have time to think. One minute she was holding on to being sensible Sakura, smart, sane, safe. Then the next she whispered, "Kiss me."
One long beat of silence passed before a tremor raced through him.
Tonight, just tonight, she didn't want to be sensible or even smart. She wanted to be free and wild and filled with unchecked desire.
When he didn't kiss her, frustration kicked in. He only looked at her, didn't even reach out. He took her in, and she cringed at the sudden thought that even made up and not looking anything like her usual boring self, he wasn't attracted to her.
What an idiot to think that a man this strong and handsome and clearly powerful would want her, even with no names mentioned or strings attached.
"Oh, God, I've made a food out of myself. I'm sorry." She tried to get off the counter.
"You haven't made a fool of yourself," he said, his voice ruggedly insistent, his body blocking her way. "You are beautiful and desirable-"
Her snort was a knee-jerk reaction, the old Sakura surging back ruthlessly.
"-but you don't know the first thing about me."
That stopped her. Was he testing her?
"You don't know me either," she whispered. "That's the point."
His brows slammed together. "I could be a. . ."
"What? Murderer?"
"I'm not a murderer." He sounded put out.
"Okay then, a jewel thief?" She tried to smile.
He looked at her lips again, despite his better intentions, and she could see something that her eyes swore was desire. Hope surged, and she felt an impatient anticipation.
"Would it help," she asked breathlessly, "if I promised that I'm not a thief?"
She expected him to laugh, or at the very least smile. Instead his gaze darkened. "I'm not so sure about that. With your innocent green eyes and mouth meant for sin, you look like you could easily steal something I've never been willing to give," he stated cryptically.
But before she could question him, he groaned and cursed. Then this stranger pulled her into his arms.
They clung together, the warmth of his body surrounding her. Their kiss grew instantly hot, their mouths slanting together as if neither of them could get close enough. His hands ran down her spine, and she knew with a heady sense of certainty that whatever his reasons for kissing her, this wasn't about pity.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She didn't admit how many times she had imagined something like this.
He ran his tongue along her lips. Tongues tasted and probed as she tugged his shirttails from his pants, wanting to feel skin.
"Who are you?" he whispered hoarsely against her ear.
She hesitated for a second, then said, "Does it matter?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
She ran her hands up his chest, material gathering against her wrists, and after another second he gave in again.
"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded in a gruff voice.
A sharp thrill ran through her, centering deep and low. She did as he asked, then felt a shiver of excitement as he unzipped the back of her dress, the skirt riding higher until it came up around her hips, the top sliding lower until it revealed the curve of breast.
He dipped his head, that dark hair brushing against her cheek as he trailed his lips along her skin.
"God, you're soft."
He sucked at her lower lip, before teasing her mouth open, allowing him in to taste her more intimately. She didn't realize she had moaned until the sound rumbled in her ears. She felt small and cherished, even beautiful. The heels of his hands grazed the tops of her breasts, but not lower. The tips of his fingers brushed back and forth over her collarbones as he kissed her.
She trembled, stunned by the strength of her need. His breath on her nape was like wind to a fire.
He cupped her jaw, tilting her face to him. "I want you," he whispered. His voice was laced with the sound of raw hunger.
"I want you, too," she answered.
And when he started to undo his belt, she reached down to help, their fingers tangling together.
Frantic, they tugged at the buckle and leather, and the sound of the door banging against the lock didn't reach her at first. Her world consisted of this stranger.
And his hands on her bare skin.
Sakura lay on top of white sheets. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains but since their hotel room was on the fifteenth floor, with no other high building surrounding them, privacy wasn't an issue. Syaoran leaned over and dangled a cluster of grapes alluringly. She plucked one into her mouth with her teeth, and then grinned. "You're spoiling me."
"That's the point."
"How can a girl argue with that?" She chewed thoughtfully, "So what's on the agenda today?" she asked.
"I was thinking we could take a trip to South America. Stop around Southern Peru and Northern Chile, see some of those alpacas you seem to associate yourself so much with."
"I'd love to see alpacas with you." Her green eyes glittered with pleasure. "I still can't believe I managed to get myself hurt again."
"You aren't exactly the most coordinated person, 'Kura," Syaoran smirked as she pouted.
"Next time I get to be the mysteriously charming stranger who plays doctor."
"Aw, but I loved your character. She reminded me more of you than the one you played on our last anniversary. However, the glasses then were a nice touch."
"I liked your character too," she said, sucking another grape into her mouth, enjoying the look on Syaoran's face as she did so, "He was more like you than that quiet book worm you played."
Syaoran nodded as he studied the woman beneath him. He was struck yet again by the beauty she possessed inside and out, as well as his complete and utter good fortune for finding her. He raised himself up and over her, settling himself on top of her, smiling at the noise of surprise she made.
"I love you, Syaoran. Happy anniversary," her lips whispered against the skin on his neck.
"I love you too, Sakura," he said. And then he proceeded to show her just how much.
No acts.
No characters.
Just them.
A.N. erm. . . Yay or Nay? Reviews are love!