Love in Bloom -- Part 1

Yes, I know. This is more romantic than my usual schtick. Sometimes even I like a little sugar with my sex. ~DD

***

When Amanda meets her old high-school crush, he doesn’t remember her. A bouquet of flowers and a lost towel spark an affair neither one will forget.

An arm filled with red and pink blooms, Amanda Blakely tugged down the hem of her pink uniform shirt, drew in a deep breath for courage and rang the doorbell.

One minute stretched into two. She rang again.

“All this stressing out over seeing him again, and he’s not even home,” she muttered.

Although why she’d been so excited when she’d written down the name the woman on the phone had given her, she couldn’t have said. The high-school memories she had of Dustin Fremont, if it was even the same guy, weren’t exactly ones she pulled out when she wanted warm and fuzzy feelings. Maybe she was just plain curious.

Or hopeful—that he’d grown a paunch or lost all his thick brown hair.

She shifted the large bouquet in her arms and sighed. This was the last delivery of the day and she was damned if she would try him again later. The roads were getting slushy and a freeze was forecast for the area. She needed to head home soon. She gave the bell one last poke and leaned her ear against the door.

The door swung open and she fell forward with a yelp.

Strong hands gripped her forearms, holding her away, but she thrust out the hand not holding the flowers and her palm slid across damp, naked skin. When she’d caught her balance, she drew in a shaky breath, cringing inside, and lifted her gaze to meet that of the boy she’d crushed on throughout high-school.

Good lord, there was even more of him to swoon over now.

And so, not a boy anymore.

She forced herself to curl her fingers away from his hot, humid skin and straightened away.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was deeper than she remembered but still recognizable for the way it made her body react—with a wash of melting heat. She glanced up and lost her train of thought as her gaze locked with his hazel eyes.

She cleared her throat and nodded, the greeting she’d rehearsed evaporating from her mind like the droplets of water on his skin.

He’d changed. Gotten…thicker. Everywhere. Tanned skin stretched deliciously over a well-muscled frame.

She had a reason for being here—but what was it? She was sure it had nothing to do with the towel beginning to loosen at his waist.

“Flowers,” she said, thrusting the bouquet of roses and carnations at him.

The blossoms slapped his naked chest and he instinctively curved an arm around them, his expression bemused.

He should have looked ridiculous, holding a pretty, feminine armful of flowers against his golden chest with a white towel tucked around his hips, but Mandy couldn’t suppress the little whimpering sigh that slipped between her slackened jaws at the sight of all his manly glory.

His head canted at the sound, his gaze narrowing on her as though seeing her for the first time.

“They’re for you,” she said stupidly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

His gaze went to the flowers and his eyebrows lowered as he stared at the bouquet, a hint of irritation that pricked her to gather her wits.

“There’s a card. From Simone. Says thanks for…everything. Not that I know what ‘everything’ is, but she told me what to write. Phone in order.” She clamped her lips shut to keep from babbling more.

The corners of his lips twitched. “Guess I should get them into water.”

“She seemed especially eager to get them to you today,” Mandy blurted, then turned crimson. She sounded accusatory. Like it was any of her business why a girlfriend of his would send him flowers as a morning after thank you.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, I’m sure,” he said, his tone wry. Then his eyes narrowed on her again. “Do I know you?”

Rather than answer the question because she’d already embarrassed herself enough, she blurted again. “I was thinking you must be really good.” Good lord, had she really just said that?

“I’m not—” He shook his head. A bark of laughter shook his chest. “Guess I can’t deny it too much or you’ll think I’m gay or sexless.”

“I’d never think that.” Sweet Jesus, would she ever learn to just shut up?

“I know you. That voice.”

No doubt, he recognized her penchant for babbling at him every time he’d smiled at her in the hallway at Reagan High. Her cheeks burned. “Um,” she pointed her thumb down the hallway. “I better go. Delivery boy called in sick. Hope you like the flowers.” She turned and hurried away.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

Amanda kept on walking, pretending she hadn’t heard him. He’d never known it in high-school. Now she was double-damn sure she didn’t want him learning it today.

Amanda turned the corner, hurrying toward the elevator and hit the button. Her heart pounded so loudly, she never heard him coming.

A finger tapped her shoulder. “You didn’t stick around long enough for me to tip you.”

The glance she aimed over her shoulder slid down to his towel, which was still loosening. Because she didn’t think she could take the stress any longer, she reached for the ends working their way free and pulled them together, retucking them at his hips.

When she realized what she’d done, she froze, her fingers still trapped against his skin.

The elevator door slid open behind her and she didn’t dare glance back.

His still features didn’t change. Must have been in shock, which suited her fine.

Things couldn’t get any worse, but she had to get away. She pulled free her hand and stepped backward into the elevator, her mouth gaping when his towel puddled at his feet. The doors slid closed between them.

“Oh my,” came a breathy whisper from behind her.

Mandy glanced at an elderly woman whose grin stretched wide across her face.

“Thanks, my dear. I’ve wondered about him for years.”

“You’re welcome,” Mandy muttered.

The elevator stopped twice more on the way to the bottom floor. Only then did she breathe a deep sigh of relief, happy the ordeal was over and ready to go back to the shop to lick her wounds in privacy. Seriously, could she have mucked things up any worse?

She stepped out of the elevator, but only made it three steps before a hand wrapped around her wrist and she was pulled into the stairwell next to the elevator and trapped against the wall and Dustin Fremont’s broad chest.

“I didn’t want a tip,” she said, shocked to her toes that he’d run down four flights of stairs to stop her. But why?

“We weren’t finished.”

She glanced down. The towel was back in place. She wasn’t sure if she felt relief or not, but now that she knew exactly what the fluffy terry hid, it wasn’t any protection. And what it hid tented against the material.

“Ignore it,” he bit out.

“Impossible,” she sputtered.

“Your own damn fault.”

“How? Did I ask you to answer the door naked?”

“You rang the bell three times. You could have taken that as a hint I wasn’t ready for company.”

“I didn’t want your flowers to wilt,” she said, then pressed her lips together as she fought the urge to cut her gaze down to the towel again.

“So you can conduct a conversation,” he said slowly, his voice deepening to a sexy rumble.

“This is an argument. Which we can end as soon as you let me go.”

He snorted. “Go out with me.”

“What?”

“Sorry, but there’s a breeze in this stairwell and I don’t have time for niceties. A date. I buy you dinner. You tell me your name.”

“I know what you’re packing. Think I don’t know what you really want?”

“Is that a problem?”

If anyone else had said that she’d have slapped him silly, but hadn’t she been thinking about just what he inferred even before he opened the door to his apartment?

Before she’d rang his bell, she’d tried to shore up her confidence to ask him out, reminding herself that she owned her own business, sat on the neighborhood development committee where she could string reasonably educated sentences together, but then she’d reverted to a stammering geek at the first sight of his manly frame.

Some dreams were best left behind in high-school.

“I respectfully decline, Mr. Fremont.”

“Why?”

“Has no one ever turned you down?”

“No.”

“Then let me teach you one of life’s little lessons. Sometimes, you can’t have what you want.”

A deep exhalation caused his shoulders to droop. His hand dropped away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assault you.”

“Since I didn’t exactly conduct myself like a lady either, I forgive you.”

He cleared his throat and one hand went the knot at his hips to hold the towel in place.

She breathed a little easier.

“Who are you?”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “I’m the delivery girl for Passionate Posies.”

“Your name.”

“You always this stubborn?”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’ve never exposed myself to someone whose name I don’t even know.”

“Well, let me be the first. I have to go.” Since he still cut off the exit with his bulky frame, she gave him a pointed stare. “It was nice seeing you again.” Then her cheeks flushed with heat when she thought a second about what she’d just said.

One side of his mouth slid up. “Wish the ‘seeing’ had been mutual.”

Impatient now because his expression was filling with amusement the redder her cheeks got, she pushed against his chest. “I have other deliveries. You’ll get me fired,” she lied.

“Sure,” he said standing to the side to let her leave. “And I better get back before someone calls the police.”

“Or takes a picture. I’m sure this isn’t the one you want posted in the business section.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve seen my pictures there?”

“I’m a business woman myself. Of course I read that section.”

“I’ll be seeing you again.”

She shrugged. “Bound to run into each other sometime.”

When she left him, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. She’d survived. And she’d intrigued him. She knew it from the glint of challenge in his gaze.

No one had ever turned him down before.

***

Dustin turned over the card he’d found stuck in the bouquet and tapped the glass to get the cabbie’s attention. “Hey, would you hang a right at the next street? I have a quick stop I want to make.”

Flowers. He needed something to give his secretary. She might have a coronary that he’d thought to bring her something for Valentine’s Day. But she’d worked for him for eight years; it was about time he thought of something besides the blueprints.

And why not check out the florist shop responsible for yesterday’s delivery? The identity of the flustered woman who’d fallen across his threshold was still driving him crazy. He knew her. Maybe he’d even dated her. Something about all that strawberry blonde hair, china blue eyes and complete lack of sophistication sparked a memory.

Once he’d figured it out, the mystery solved, he could move on.

After he’d satisfied more than his curiosity. Since she’d first fallen against him, nearly tugging his towel off in the process and raised those wide baby blues, he’d been snared.

Part of him was bored with his usual go-to list. Not that there were many. He hadn’t had a lot of time to meet anyone new in months. And the ones he did know didn’t make it past the third date before they started leaving things behind in his apartment. And since none of them were what he was looking for, he quietly deleted their numbers from his speed dial and got busier at work to make sure he was never available for their calls.

A coward’s way out, but he didn’t like dashing hopes. Hated a woman’s tears because they made him feel guilty. And he didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. He never led them on. The women he dated tended to think too highly of themselves, like clinging to his arm at a function was a favor he owed them something for.

They weren’t what he wanted.

The girl in the pink-bibbed uniform shirt probably wasn’t either, but she was different. Lacking any poise or artifice. Lacking even the ability to hide her intense interest in what lay beneath his towel because her gaze had slipped downward one too many times, her cheeks blooming with color to rival the roses she’d slapped against his chest.

He thought he might enjoy giving her plenty of reasons to blush. He turned down the collar of his jacket, pushed through the glass doors, and entered a fragrant garden.

Passionate Posies wasn’t what he’d expected. Sure flowers were arranged in vases, but the wild colors and the size of the arrangements hinted at a lush sensuality.

An older woman looked up from the sales counter. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a woman,” he said, grimacing at her instant grin. “She works here. She made a delivery yesterday.

The woman’s gaze sharpened, then gave him a brief onceover that had him gritting his teeth because the sparkle in her eyes said she knew what had happened.

“She’s in the back room, working on an arrangement,” she said, pointing to a door behind her. “You can go on back.”

He reached for the counter ledge and lifted it, heat flushing his cheeks
because she craned her head to watch him pass. What the hell else had the delivery girl told her about him?

When he walked through the door, he caught sight of his quarry sliding a long-stalked flower into an arrangement bursting with color.

Her back was to him, and apparently she hadn’t heard the swish of the door closing behind him, which suited him fine because this time he could look his fill.

Not just a delivery girl, he thought, noting the way she played with the grouping of blooms and long ferns.

Her wildly curling hair shivered around her head every time she turned her head to eye the arrangement from a different angle. At last, she must have been satisfied because she reached behind her to untie the bow at the back of her pink apron and began to draw the garment over her head.

The blouse she wore beneath it rose as well, and she was half out of her shirt before she realized the problem.

“Dammit,” she muttered, reaching for the hem of her blouse but finding her arms trapped inside the armholes of the apron.

He stepped forward, and lifted the coverall and the blouse the rest of the way off. “That better?” he murmured.

She gasped and spun around, her hands covering her breasts.

“Not so funny when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?” he drawled.

She eyed the tangle of clothing she’d just shed, and then straightened her shoulders. Her hands dropped to her sides and she gave him a glare that dared him to say something else.

“I’m heading out to grab a bite,” the older woman called from the shop room. “I’ll lock the door on my way out.”

The blonde in front of him rolled her eyes.

He moved in closer, liking the way her cheeks flushed a deeper rose the more he crowded in. Any other woman he knew would be eyeing him with catlike satisfaction. “Is she matchmaking?” he murmured.

She wrinkled her nose, and her hands swung forward then back like she still wanted to cover herself. “She probably poked her head in the door and saw you stripping me and jumped to all the wrong conclusions. Why are you here?”

“I came about that date.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You came all this way because I turned you down?”

Dustin shook his head. Sure, he’d been a little taken aback that she hadn’t said yes, but that wasn’t why he’d made it a point to seek her out. Watching the emotions slide over her face and mobile mouth aroused him more than any woman’s practiced smile had in a long, long time. “I came because I really wanted to see you again.”

An Excerpt from Pleasing Sir

Following is a scene from Pleasing Sir.

One adventurous little submissive is just what the bosses need…

Raelie might be a submissive in search of just the right Dom, but she’s not the kind to sit back and wait for the right man to happen. When she gets the chance to fill in as Bryce Caldwell’s executive assistant, she decides some subtle seduction is needed to see if he dominates the bedroom the same way he does the office.

Bryce can’t keep his mind off the sexy blonde sitting just outside his office. Especially not after the security cameras in the copier room catch Raelie “misappropriating” office property. A little disciplinary action leads to a whole lot of complication while he tries to find out whether she’s the right assistant to fulfill a special vacancy. Add a second round of interviews, and suddenly, Bryce is finding out he’s not the only one who’s not sure who’s really in charge.

Content advisory: oral sex, voyeurism

Bryce hit the function key on his keyboard that opened a dozen different views from the security cameras staged around the office, looking for her, Morgan a silent witness at his shoulder.

Miss Raelie Wood wasn’t at her desk. He wished he could resist her powerful allure because it wasn’t like he didn’t have work to wrap up or that he couldn’t find a woman he didn’t have to stalk. However, Raelie filled his thoughts to distraction.

Bryce recalled how her eyes had slid shut in ecstasy while she’d massaged her breasts Tuesday morning after he’d watched her bend over his desk. He’d been unable to look away, hoping that damned little button would slip out of its hole and offer him a glimpse of her full, firm breasts.

Yesterday during lunch, he’d gone rock hard the moment her fingers had brushed his cock. He’d sat in an agony of suspense wondering if she’d done it on purpose or by accident. In the end, the answer to that question hadn’t really mattered. He still hadn’t decided whether she was the one, which meant he couldn’t make a move on her. So he’d locked his outer office door and took care of the erection in his private bathroom before he’d been able to continue working.

This afternoon, watching her play with that damned string of large white pearls while one sleek thigh scissored atop the other had been sheer torture. He’d rushed through the meeting agenda to push the men out of the office before he betrayed the uncomfortable extent of his distraction.

Raelie was becoming an obsession. Every pout of her lips, even the way she gazed up at him, wide-eyed and expectant, had driven him slowly into blue-ball hell. He was quickly realizing that the timetable he’d worked out in his mind for a careful seduction, once Kathryn returned, didn’t take into consideration his constant state of arousal or the blonde woman’s tenacity.

For the sake of his business and his sanity, he either had to fire her or step up the schedule.

“There,” Morgan said, leaning over his shoulder and pointing toward the entrance to the copier room.

She stood in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder, an action made suspicious by the furtive way she looked up and down the hallway. Was she planning to steal supplies from the cabinet?

He set his cursor over the view into the room, watching her enter and quietly lock the door behind her.

“Is our little Raelie a thief?” Morgan said, laughter in his voice.

“I don’t think so,” Bryce said, his body tightening with irritation.

Morgan might be his partner in business and one of his wingmen when he cruised the clubs, but this time, Bryce felt oddly possessive toward this particular woman. She had to be his first. He wished like hell he hadn’t been tempted to mention the fact to Morgan. Now, Morgan felt it was his duty to help Bryce make a hook-up.

She walked toward the copier and slipped her feet out of the pretty pink pumps that had teased him all through the meeting with the crew. Then she reached for the hem of her skirt and lifted it on one side. Her free hand disappeared beneath it and a wispy bit of lace drifted down her long, silky legs toward the floor.

When the hell had she removed her pantyhose?

“Do you think she has a clue we have a camera in there?” Morgan murmured.

“Obviously not,” Bruce clipped, annoyed that Morgan was enjoying his tension.

Morgan had been the one to tempt him with the security cams the day Raelie occupied Kathryn’s desk. Ever since, Bryce had been obsessed, tapping keys to find her a dozen times a day, watching for a glimpse into her thoughts, looking for a hint of how to entice her to play.

However, he quickly discovered he was the one caught. Just watching the swell of her breasts as she breathed turned him on. Temptation was making him the worst sort of perv, not that Morgan seemed to have the same scruples as he leaned closer to the screen.

Raelie took a small step stool and placed it next to the copier then opened the cover and turned. Pulling up her skirt in back to expose her bottom, she sat on the glass.

“Fuck!” Morgan breathed.

Bryce wanted to give him a shove, but couldn’t tear his gaze from the screen.

Raelie’s skirt pooled around her hips, cutting off their view of her lush ass. Holding up her skirt in front with one hand, she reached between her legs and hit the start button. Light flashed, rolling beneath her. Paper spat out the side.

She leaned over, glancing at the sheet resting on the hopper. Her nose wrinkled, and then both her hands disappeared between her legs. She wiggled a bit and bent to mash the button again.

Morgan smacked his shoulder. “Look in the queue, dumbass.”

“What?” he said, shaking his head, unwilling to look away from the young woman who smiled impishly as she took pictures of her intimate parts.

Morgan snorted. “It’s a new machine. Didn’t you pay attention to the demonstration?”

“Of course not,” Bryce said nastily, his gaze still glued to the monitor. “It’s what I have a secretary for.”

“You’ll be glad I was listening.” Morgan shoved Bryce’s chair aside and commandeered the keyboard. He opened a file, and then clicked on an icon for a document.

A picture filled the screen—Raelie’s pretty, shell-pink pussy bracketed by pale buttocks, her lovely, orchid-shaped inner lips spread to display the opening of her vagina, which was deep and dark…beckoning.

“She’s a real blonde,” Morgan murmured.

Bryce clamped his jaw closed, the rush of blood toward his cock robbing him momentarily of the ability to speak.

“Well, will you lookie there,” Morgan said, touching the screen twice, pointing to the glints of gold piercing her inner lips. Morgan turned to Bryce and waggled his eyebrows. “Think she knows we can access what’s printing?”

“Of course not,” Bryce said, scowling at his grinning friend. “She’d be mortified.” Bryce hesitated a moment, then ground out, “Print it. Print every one of them. Then delete the entire file. But use another computer.”

While Morgan hurried out of his office, Bryce switched back to the video feed in the copier room.

Raelie hopped off the glass and smoothed her skirts down her sides. She gathered the copies from the hopper then bent over to grab her panties from the floor. She used them to wipe the copier glass and balled them up inside her fist. Taking a deep breath, she walked back to the door and unlocked it.

Morgan sped back into his office, papers clutched in one hand, which he slammed against Bryce’s chest. “Done,” he said, with a sly look. “What are you gonna do with them?”

“Morgan, have a seat there,” Bryce said, pointing toward the sofa to the side.

Morgan raised a brow. “Thought you might be worried about embarrassing her.”

Bryce snorted, anger building in his gut. “Not anymore. She played us, buddy. When she bent for her panties, she pointed her sweet little cunt right at the camera.”

Morgan’s grin reflected delight, which annoyed the hell out of Bryce.

Bryce tightened his tie and headed out of the office to find the not-so-innocent Miss Raelie Wood and let her know there were consequences for misappropriating office property.

The wait was over.

Raelie bent to retrieve her purse from the bottom drawer of the EA’s desk and slipped inside the panties and the copies she’d made.

Bryce’s office door opened, and she straightened, knowing her face burned. She hoped he didn’t intend to stay much longer, because she needed to get into the online copier folder and delete the pictures of her pussy.

“Do you have a minute, Ms. Wood?” he said, his words sounding clipped.

“Of course, sir,” she said breathlessly, still horribly aroused. She’d wiped the copier glass with her panties, but knew she’d have to return with some Windex. She’d gushed arousal as the machine vibrated and heated beneath her bottom. She’d imagined Bryce looking at the pictures of her cunt, and she’d been transported.

His face looked so stern as she passed him upon entering his inner sanctum that she faltered for a moment, wondering if she’d been caught after all. However, Morgan sat on the dark leather couch inside. Surely, this was all about business. He wouldn’t chastise her in front of another man. “Is there anything I can do for you before I leave, sir?”

Bryce’s eyes narrowed, and he stared for a long, disconcerting moment.

Raelie fought the urge to fidget. If he was the guy, he’d want her to show greater self-control. Still, she couldn’t help lifting her chin a notch and meeting his gaze.

A soft snort gusted from his otherwise implacable face. Then Bryce thrust a paper toward her.

Raelie glanced down, saw the picture of her genitals, and felt a flush of humiliation heat her cheeks and creep down her throat to the tops of her breasts. This was so not how she had imagined she’d feel in her fantasies. “I can explain…” she began, but couldn’t continue when she looked up again.

His expression didn’t betray a thing—not disgust or anger, and sadly not a hint of arousal. “Miss Wood, what were you thinking?” he said, his voice dead even.

She bit her lip, preparing a story then winced as he lifted a brow as if to say, I dare you to lie to me. But she did it anyway, although not with as much conviction as she might have wished. He was just too scary at the moment. “Um…I wanted to see my piercings?” She waited, and when he didn’t immediately respond, blurted, “I’ll pay for the toner and the paper, sir.”

Bryce’s eyes were fierce, frightening slits—completely sexy—which was not something she should be thinking right this moment. Not when she was about to be fired.

“This is misappropriation of office equipment,” he rasped softly, like Dirty Harry to a perp. “A firing offense. What do you think I should do with you?”

Raelie froze, heat draining away as the blood left her face. “Perhaps you could suspend me instead?” she asked hopefully. After all…he’d asked.

“Suspension seems a little light for this kind of infraction,” Morgan said from the sofa.

There wasn’t of hint of teasing in his hard voice. Lord, had her sin been so bad that even Morgan Markham was shocked? Shame shivered through her. She closed her eyes. It was one thing for Bryce to see the picture. But Morgan too? What had she been thinking? She bent her head. “Maybe you could…” She bit her lip. The only retribution she could think of that she deserved seemed every bit as inappropriate as her “infraction”…and completely self-serving.

“What, Miss Wood?” Bryce insisted, stepping closer and folding his arms across his chest. “What do you think I should do?”

She didn’t back away. Each shortened breath dragged in his spicy scent and warmed the parts that had burned when the copier light hit them. Slowly, she looked up. “Maybe you could…spank me?”

A choking sound came from the couch.

Bryce aimed a killing glare at his partner before focusing on her again. “Spank you? Does that seem an appropriate and professional punishment? It sounds like something the State Employment Board would definitely frown upon.”

She quickly shook her head, although she knew her continued insistence could get her fired for sure. If she was about to get the boot, she couldn’t blow this last chance at getting what she wanted. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Now or never. “I would never tell. I’ve wanted your attention for the longest time, sir.”

Bryce blinked, his expression still neutral, but she saw a hint of tension in the grinding of his jaw. Then his gaze softened, fractionally.

His hesitation gave her hope. Raelie felt a rush of power sweep through her. If he was intrigued, here was a weakness she could exploit. She turned abruptly away and glanced over her shoulder—at him then at Morgan—and walked around him to his desk, bent over the gleaming wood, and reached back to inch up her skirt over her bare buttocks. “Just for the record, sir, you didn’t ask me to do this.”

“Looks like Bryce could be the one to scream sexual harassment,” Morgan murmured. “Want me to leave, Bry, while you…uh, handle this?”

“We’re partners,” Bryce said, his voice still level. “It’s our copier she abused.”

Raelie faced forward and rose on her tiptoes, lifting her bottom higher. Seconds ticked by. The longer she laid there, her ass perked for them both to see every inch of her feminine anatomy, the more nervous she got. Her stomach clenched. Maybe she’d misinterpreted the signs and colored them with her own desires.

At last, the slide of leather through cloth told her he was removing his belt. She bit back a whimper at the thought, but a tiny groan slipped out.

“Are you afraid of my belt, Miss Wood?”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a small tight voice, so excited she thought she’d melt from the inside out and end up a gooey puddle at the foot of his desk.

A warm, heavy hand cupped one cheek, molding it. Clothed thighs pushed against the backs of hers. Bryce leaned in and pinned her to the desk. “I’ve watched you, Miss Wood. You’ve been playing me all along, trying to seduce me, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” What else could she say? She’d laid it all out, sacrificing her pride to reach this moment.

“I’m a particular kind of man,” Bryce said. “Some might even say peculiar or deviant. Does that frighten you?”

Jesus, did he mean it the way she hoped? Her mouth went dry and she swallowed. “No sir, I’m not frightened.”

“Just so we’re clear. You can stop me at any time. Your job is not at risk. You can say no. Do you understand?”

She nodded eagerly, her excitement growing so intense she couldn’t catch a full breath.

The hand on her ass squeezed. “I need an answer, Miss Wood.”

Her pussy clenched, and moisture seeped to wet her folds. “Yes sir, I understand. You’ll stop if I ask you to.” She took a deep breath and deepened her voice, “This is consensual, something I need…so that I can be a better secretary.”

A muffled laugh sounded from the sofa then leather creaked.

While her heart beat madly, Morgan walked around the other side of the desk to stand in front of her. He held his own belt in his hands. Had Bryce signaled him? She tried to glance behind her to see Bryce’s face, but couldn’t quite reach.

“Morgan’s my partner, Miss Wood,” he continued in his uninflected voice. “Some matters require joint disciplinary action. Do you have a problem with that?”

She swallowed hard. This was happening faster than she could have hoped, but she really didn’t want the pace to slow. While she’d been teasing Bryce, she’d worked up her own arousal to a fever pitch. “No sir,” she whispered, “you know best what punishment I deserve.”

Morgan threaded the leather tongue of his belt through the buckle, forming a circle that he looped around her wrists. He drew the loop tight and pulled her arms toward him. Then he threaded the end through the handle of Bryce’s center drawer.

Standing on her toes, with her body stretched across the surface of Bryce’s desk, she was completely, deliciously helpless.

Morgan’s fingers dug into her hair, and he lifted her head. “Had a feeling ’bout you for a while, Raelie Wood.”

“Oh?” She didn’t complete the thought. Her scalp stung, which only heightened her awareness of the cool wood beneath her and the heat radiating off the man standing behind her.

Bryce nudged apart her feet, widening her stance. When she was spread so wide she felt her inner lips gape open, she couldn’t help the little shivering sob that escaped.

“Was that fear, baby girl?” Morgan asked, easing his grip on her hair and kneeling so his face was aligned with hers. “Or do you want this?”

She searched his face, looking for a clue of what he thought about the way she’d behaved or a hint of where this was going. But his expression remained bland. “Want,” she groaned, hoping she’d given the right answer. Want trumped the trepidation that quivered through her body.

One brown eyebrow arched. The wicked twinkle was back in his eyes. “You’ve been teasing Bryce here until he’s just about lost his mind.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, but allowed a little one-sided smirk, sharing a glimpse of the joke.

He tapped her nose then rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. “You should be. We have a business to run. What are you going to do to make this right?”

She licked her lips. “Whatever Mr. Caldwell feels is appropriate.”

Morgan’s eyelids dipped, but the laugh lines on either side of his mouth deepened. “So if he wants to spank your ass until it’s pink…?”

“I want him to be pleased with my dedication. I’ll trust that I deserved it.”

His thumb slid along her lip again. “If I want to fuck your mouth…?”

Her mouth went instantly dry unlike her pussy which gave its moist approval. “With Mr. Caldwell’s permission…” she said huskily.

“Does your cooperation depend on his being here?”

She nodded. “I’m his secretary.”

Morgan grinned then shot a glance up at Bruce and nodded. “That’s all right with me. How about you, Bryce?”

“She’ll do what I tell her,” Bryce growled. “If I want her to open her mouth for you to fuck, she’ll do it. Won’t you, Miss Wood?”

Raelie’s excitement was so intense she didn’t know how she managed to suppress a squeal. However she suspected that Bryce wouldn’t be pleased at her loss of control. “Yes sir,” she managed to mumble through tight lips.

“Morgan, she can’t open your pants for you,” Bryce drawled.

“Oh, right.” Morgan straightened and unbuttoned his slacks then slid down the zipper. He carefully untucked his cock from the flap of his boxers and pumped his fist once down his stiffened shaft.

Raelie sucked in a deep breath and couldn’t help but stare. The man was huge. No wonder all the women in the building held no grudges once he’d moved on. They’d feel it was an once-in-a-lifetime privilege to take that cock deep inside their bodies.

Morgan gripped himself beneath the head and pointed the tip at her lips. He pushed against her closed mouth.

Remembering to breathe, she opened wide and wrapped her lips around her teeth, letting him slide inside while struggling to ignore the palm smoothing in circles on her ass. When Bryce’s hand left her bottom, she groaned, her attention arrested. A sharp slap landed on one cheek, and she gasped around Morgan’s dick.

Morgan hissed. “Bite me and I swear I’ll be beating that pretty ass too. Got that?”

She nodded, bracing herself for the next blow. When it came, she was prepared. Bryce’s broad hand left behind stinging heat with every slap that had her pussy drenched in seconds. Raelie breathed noisily through her nostrils.

Morgan let go of himself and gripped the sides of her head, supporting her as he stroked into her, using shallow thrusts at first, quick little flutters that forced her to suction hard to hold him inside her mouth. “That’s it, baby,” he ground out. “Suck it hard. Fuck, your mouth feels good.”

She moaned with pleasure at his praise, using her tongue to tell him how much she appreciated it, adding a swirl over his broad cap, pointing the tip to slide it into the vertical slit, then curling it to flutter beneath the ridge defining the head.

Morgan’s scent was musky and earthy. Male sweat, concrete dust, and just plain dirt clung to his skin, but she didn’t care because he loved her mouth. He’d told her so.

“Damn, you’re hot,” he said, pulling her hair. “Fucking that sweet mouth is like fucking a pussy. Baby, let me come deeper.”

He shoved past her tongue, tapping the back of her throat, and she thought that was as far as he intended to go, but a slap against her rump by Bryce and hard tug at her hair from Morgan, disabused her of that idea.

“Loosen your jaws,” Morgan said, his voice sounding rough as gravel. “Breathe through your nose and let me into your throat. You can do it. And don’t you dare choke on me.”

At the gravelly texture of his voice, her pussy clenched. Behind her, fingers slowly rimmed her opening, and she took a deep fortifying breath.

“Open wide and let Morgan sink deeper,” Bryce said, his voice taut and stern.

Raelie gave a whimper but widened her jaw, allowing Morgan to tunnel deeper. Her lips were stretched around him, her jaws aching, but the emotions scrolling over his face—deep arousal, approval, a hint of his usual swagger—made her stay the course.

Morgan’s face reddened, sweat sprouted on his forehead, and his thrusts quickened. “Swallow it, swallow it all.”

Scalding spurts filled her mouth—viscous, salty, tangy. Her jaws burned but she remained obedient, her lips sucking hard, her throat working as he stroked toward her throat, and she swallowed down his cum.

When he pulled free from her mouth, he knelt and kissed her, his tongue penetrating and sliding deep. He had to have tasted himself there. When he leaned back, he winked. “You did good, office girl. Now, think you can behave from now on?”

Raelie whimpered because Bryce was pinching her clit.

Morgan chuckled and rose, pushing his cock back into his pants and zipping up. “You got it handled from here?” he asked, his gaze rising behind her.

“I’ll finish the punishment.”

Morgan walked away, his steps muffled on the thick carpet. The door shut with a quiet click behind him.

Raelie tensed, wondering what Bryce would do next and whether a punishment fitting her naughty crime was his only intention.


* * *

Copyright © 2010 Delilah Devlin

Delilah Devlin
Ravished by a Viking — "Perfect Read." Fresh Fiction
Website * Facebook * Twitter

* * *

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Textile Free

Content advisory: just consensual, heterosexual fucking

I’d left my Berlitz book in the locker along with my street clothes, thinking I wouldn’t need to translate anything I might find inside a sauna. However, as I started into the steam room, an elderly woman stopped me, shaking her finger in front of my face and pointing at a sign.

It read, “textilfrei”. Textile Free? What did that mean? My German seriously sucked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I said, jerking back my face when her finger wagged too close and feeling my face flush with heat.

Behind me a deep, accented voice said, “The sign says ‘no clothing’, Fräulein.”

The woman nodded sharply to the person behind me, gave me a loud harrumph and headed into the sauna with her large, white towel tucked beneath her armpits.

I turned slowly, heat rising in my cheeks. The man behind me was tall, broad-shouldered, with a severely square jaw à la Schwarzenegger, blond hair and crystal blue eyes. He wore only a thick white towel, knotted around his slim hips.

My blushed deepened. “Really?” I blurted. “No clothes? But it’s coed.”

“Sorry, miss. But Germans take their saunas seriously. Go remove your clothes and wrap a towel around you.” And as though I was simple-minded, he placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward the women’s dressing room.

When the door swung closed behind me, I took a deep breath. Part of me was angry because they’d both embarrassed me. The other part couldn’t forget how heavy and strong the hands he’d laid on my shoulders felt.

The smart thing to do would be to shower in one of the stalls—the thing I’d come in off the streets to do in the first place—and leave without facing either one of them again. But I’d spent a night in a cramped, six-person sleeper car on the train and needed to wash away the smell and grime. Since I wasn’t checking into my hotel until later, I’d thought the public fitness center I’d passed would be ideal. The promise of a steamy sauna to unloose my cramped muscles had been too delicious to ignore.

I opened my locker and stripped off my shorts, undies and sports bra, then wrapped myself in the fluffy towel the attendant had given me. Straightening my shoulders, I left the locker room.

No one hovered outside the sauna, and I felt a little bit of a letdown. Not that I wanted to see granny again, but the man had made an impression I couldn’t shake. I pulled open the door and entered the steam-filled room. Except for lights running along the bottom edges of the benches, the small room was dark, vision obscured in cloudy mist. The smell of eucalyptus rising from the heated rocks at the center of the small, cedar-lined room was comforting—not unlike the sauna at my gym back home.

I walked to the back of the room and halted. The old woman who’d castigated me was completely nude and sitting on her fluffy white towel, her brown eyes glaring. I shifted my stare, but not before I’d gotten an eyeful of drooping boobs and dimpled flesh.

The door opened behind me, footsteps neared. Heavy hands turned me to the right. “You may use your towel if you wish. But it isn’t the custom.” The same man as before bent toward my ear. “You risk her wagging her finger at you again.”

This time there was laughter in his voice. I turned slowly, my glance dipping quickly. His towel was still around his hips. I told myself I felt relieved, but couldn’t deny a niggle of disappointment because I was curious about what little of his body I hadn’t already seen.

He sat on the first level bench of the sauna and patted the place beside him. Not so much an invitation. The set of his square jaw made it a challenge.

I dragged my feet, pouting as a show of resistance, but I sat on wooden slats beside him. The steam thickened, hiding the old woman. I began to perspire.

“American?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes, from Arkansas—it’s near Texas.” I added the last because everyone knew where Texas was.

He nodded.

“You’re from around here?”

His lips pressed into a polite smile and he nodded again.

“Thanks for the rescue,” I murmured. More to fill the silence than because I really felt grateful. The man was arrogant.

I felt the top of my towel give and I retucked the end between my breasts.

My companion frowned at my towel, then loosened the knot at the side of his hips and laid the edges of his own towel open on the bench. He breathed deeply and leaned back, bracing his elbows on the ledge behind him and seeming completely unconcerned that his penis lay curved atop his left thigh.

I swallowed hard and darted a look at his face.

He caught me staring and one corner of his mouth curled upward. Then his gaze dropped to my towel and he arched an eyebrow.

I know he thought me prudish. I might have felt less so if it had only been him and I inside that tiny room. Still, I was tempted to prove him wrong. And to prove to myself that I was equal to the adventure I’d set out to enjoy. Sure, getting nekkid in a sauna hadn’t been part of what I expected on my solitary journey through Europe, but who was I kidding? The man was sexy as hell. How often did a girl enjoy an opportunity like this?

Looking straight ahead, I lifted my chin and pulled the end of the towel from between my breasts to let the terry cloth fall on either side of me. With my legs crossed, only my breasts were fully exposed.

“Nice,” he murmured beside me.

“Is it polite to stare?” I blurted, my voice a little choked because he continued to stare at my breasts.

“Only when one invites it. You stared first.” He laughed softly and scooted closer on the bench. “Ich heisse Peter.”

That much German I did know. “I’m Chelsea.”

Water hissed as more dropped from a spigot onto the stones. Mist swirled around us. His hand glided over the sweat slicking my back, then came to rest at the indent of my waist.

“No one can see,” he whispered. “And it is only Helga. Her eyesight isn’t very good.”

“It was good enough to point out the sign,” I said, stiffening inside his embrace. I felt it my duty to resist. As handsome as he was, no doubt he’d seduced many a woman inside the “textile free” zone.

Muttering sounded from the other side of the sauna. Footsteps shuffled toward the door.

“You know what she’s thinking,” I said. “Don’t you worry she might complain?”

He gave a devilish waggle of his eyebrows. “What do you think they will do when they find two naked people seated inside the sauna?”

Sweat trickled from my hair to my eyebrows, and I lifted a hand to wipe it away. I was completely wet. My hair, my skin, between my legs. My nipples hardened, the areolas puckering as the tips extended. A droplet of sweat ran down my breast, curving over the slope.

Peter made a noise, somewhere between a snort and a groan. A thick, blunt finger traced the path of the droplet and brought it to his mouth. He licked it then smiled and crowded closer.

Ensnared, I didn’t bother making a fuss when he cupped my breast, sliding a thumb over one bud. It felt too good. When he bent and suckled it with his lips, I squeezed my thighs together tighter.

A large hand landed on the top of my uppermost thigh then slid beneath it. I could have stopped him by continuing to squeeze, but I slowly opened my legs.

Maybe it was the heat that melted away my inhibitions, but I think it had more to do with the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his long-fingered hands—and certainly that thick, red cock slowly beginning to stir against his thigh. I’d never had sex with anyone as beautifully made as he was. Looking at his naked body was enough of a thrill to breach my defenses.

His hand glided up the inside of my moist thigh and cupped my pussy, one long finger entering the divide and sliding inside me. It swirled, slid deeper, pulled away then stroked inward again. When he drew it back, he glided his fingertip up to the top of my folds, circling over my clit.

A prickle of alarm, a final attempt by my conscience to assert itself, had me placing a hand over his to halt him.

He paused. His lips released my nipple and he smoothed them up my neck to caress my jaw then drop over my mouth. His kiss was soft, entreating. His tongue prodded the seam of my lips and I opened to him, but still clutched his hand.

“Do you want me to stop?” he said, kissing my mouth again then nuzzling my ear. “Is that what you really want?”

I didn’t like that he was so practiced, so sure of his victory. But I shook my head anyway. “I don’t want us to be interrupted.”

Peter rose and left me, locking the wooden latch at the door to ensure our privacy.

As he strode back, I couldn’t help but stare at his cock. Despite the wilting heat, it now stood perpendicular from his groin. It was red, veined, the tip round and broad. I swallowed hard and lifted my gaze. “Won’t others complain when they can’t get in?”

“Perhaps. But we won’t be long. Will we?”

I snorted and shook my head. “I don’t know what you think we’re going to do—”

His hands curved over my shoulders, massaging me. His cock was only inches from my chest. “Only what you will enjoy. If you wish, I will open the door right now, and you may go.”

But then he would have won. Would have proven me a mouse. And I wouldn’t have the experience. Something to mark the beginning of my journey. I cleared my throat. “We don’t have a condom.”

“Do you think my being at the door was a coincidence? I followed you here from the street.” He rolled out his fingers. A small latex circle was squeezed between two digits. “They are in a dispenser inside the men’s dressing room,” he said, shrugging.

“If someone looks into the window—”

He stepped twice backward, and placed his hands on his hips. Irritation tightened his features. “All they will see is steam. I opened the spigot.” His eyebrows lifted. “Any other concerns, Fräulein?”

I cleared my throat. “Chelsea. I don’t screw guys who don’t know my name.”

His features relaxed into a grin. “And are we going to…screw?”

I wrinkled my nose. “God, I hope so. But it’s so damn hot. I can barely breathe in here.”

“You need breath?” He laughed softly. “Keep your mouth open. Breathe through it, not your nose. Keep the breaths shallow.”

“Is that even possible?” I muttered. My heart beat fast. My breaths had shortened. Grew shorter the closer he came. When he stood directly in front of me, his cock level with my breasts, I couldn’t help but stare. His cock pulsed, seeming to dare me to touch it.

“He likes attention.”

Even German men talked about their pricks in third person. I glanced up. “I don’t think it’s wise for me to take him in my mouth without that condom.”

His nose wrinkled. “I understand. What about your hand?”

At home, if a strange man wagged his cock in my face and demanded a hand job I’d have screamed or twisted it off. But with Peter Schwarzenegger it felt safe. I’d never see him again. Never risk meeting him on the street or discovering he was the friend of a friend and have to worry about him exposing the fact I’d done this with him—a complete stranger.

I cupped his balls in one palm and gently squeezed.

A hand landed on my hair, curving over the top of my head. “Gut. Sehr gut,” he murmured. “Tighter.”

I wrapped my fingers around both stones and tightened them. Then I grasped his shaft in the other hand. My hands were sweaty enough, and his cock cloaked in a fine mist, that my fingers glided easily up and down his length. At the end of each pull, I swiped my thumb over the soft cap. Seminal fluid seeped from the narrow eyelet hole.

His breathing, through his mouth, slowed and deepened. The muscles of his thighs and abdomen bunched as he thrust his cock through my fist.

I swiped another pearly bead. I wanted to taste it. Had to take the risk. I brought my thumb to my mouth and sucked it.

His nostrils flared. He stepped away. “Up.”

Peter held out his hand and I slipped mine inside. He pulled me to my feet and wrapped his arms around me. “Will you risk another kiss, Chel-sea?”

I turned my head away.

A soft huff was followed by hands closing around my ass. “You would fuck but not kiss?”

“You don’t have latex wrapped around your lips.”

“You didn’t worry about it before.”

“I was surprised. Unprepared.” But not the real reason I demurred. I wanted to deny him at least one thing.

His gaze narrowed, but he shrugged. His hands slid up my sides, then turned me forcefully away. “Bend over. You may wrap the towel around the edge of the seat so not to burn.”

I did as he instructed, twinges of arousal causing my pussy to clasp and release.

His hands cupped my ass. Fingers slid down the crevice dividing them, paused to press on my asshole, but not long enough to make me nervous.

A finger grazed along the edge of my labia, then withdrew.

The snap and stretch of latex sounded behind me, and I gripped the seat harder, bracing my feet apart.

His cock nudged the top of my buttock. “Too short. Kneel on the bench.”

His short, rude command, free of any softening touches, should have angered me, but instead I hid a smile, layered both towels on the bench and knelt in front of him.

His hands smoothed over my ass, cupping, squeezing—parting. Then his cock pressed against my pussy, pushing through my folds then deep inside me.

I groaned and resettled my knees, easing backward to meet his jarring thrusts. He nearly toppled me and I reached for the ledge above me, gripping the hot, damp wood, but not caring that my palms burned. His girth stretched me, caused the tension in my belly to tighten. I tilted up my bottom to take him deeper.

The door handle rattled. My heart leapt.

“Ein moment, bitte!” he shouted, then whispered, “We must be quick.” His hand slipped around my hip and dove between my legs. He thumbed up the hood covering my clit and rubbed it.

He wasn’t getting it. I grabbed the end of his index finger and swirled it over my clit. “Like that,” I whispered. “Circles. Harder. God, faster.”

“Vielen dank, Liebchen,” he said, wry humor in his voice.

Fingertips traced a path up my chest to my breast. He plucked it, squeezing painfully hard. It was just enough to cause the tension inside me to begin the spiral.

I breathed too quickly. My nostrils burned. I pursed my lips and dragged air in only through my mouth.

His thrusts sharpened. My back sank. He grunted behind me, powering harder and I exploded, crying out.

As he slowed, I came back to awareness. My hands and nostrils burned. Sweat dripping from hair stung my eyes. I reached back and pushed his hips then waited as he disengaged.

When I climbed off the bench, he picked up a towel and wrapped it around me. Then he took the other and knotted it around his hips. He lifted his chin to me, unlocked the door then left.

In a way, I found his rudeness admirable. Neither of us had any expectations. His cold ending to our interlude was a clean break. No fuss. No overlong and awkward farewells.

Later, I passed Peter on the way to my hotel, seated in an outdoor café. He spotted me. His chin jerked up in an almost greeting.

I raised a brow.

He lifted a finger and crooked it, turning it to point at the seat beside him.

Arrogant fucker.

But feeling fluid and bonelessly relaxed, I laughed and passed him by. He’d offered what I’d needed, but he wasn’t my destination.

* * *

Copyright © 2010 Delilah Devlin

Delilah Devlin
Ravished by a Viking — "Perfect Read." Fresh Fiction
Website * Facebook * Twitter

* * *

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

All About Me

Content advisory: masturbatory sex

I awoke slowly, enjoying the pleasant tingling that calluses left on my belly. A man’s rough hands smoothed over me.

It wasn’t every day that I woke with someone else sharing my bed. My heart skipped a beat. And then I remembered. Craig. That was his name. I was in bed with a stranger named Craig.

Daylight teased the edges of my eyelids, but I squeezed them shut again, not ready yet to end the bliss. I could pretend for at least a couple of moments longer that we meant more to each other than just a heat of the moment fling.

Still, he’d stayed the night, and the heaviness of the cock poking at my backside telegraphed the fact he wasn’t in any hurry to leave.

A kiss touched the corner of my neck.

“You awake?” he growled then licked the bottom edge of my ear lobe.

“Not yet. Do that some more,” I mumbled.

His chuckle was warm, wicked.

I stretched my legs then snuggled my butt closer to his erection. “I’m awake enough,” I whispered.

“And I’m interested, as you can tell,” he murmured. “But you owe me something first.”

I groaned and pushed my face into the pillow, wanting to hide because he’d risen on an elbow and was pushing my hair behind my ear to peer at me.

He cupped a breast, thumbing the nipple. “You promised.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Coward.”

I whimpered, and then turned onto my back to meet his gaze. “Why don’t you go first?”

He shook his head, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “Now, see? That’s not what I want. And you said I could have anything I wanted if I made you come.”

I snorted. “How do know you I didn’t fake it?”

A sexy grin stretched across his face. “Baby, you came so hard you peed on me.”

His soft laughter made my cheeks burn. I narrowed my eyes. “And to think Bev said you were a nice guy.”

His eyebrows gave a waggle. “Not too nice. And aren’t you glad? Besides, you’re cute when you get embarrassed.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Didn’t seem to bother you a bit.”

“Why should it? I like you wet.” He came over me, sighing as he settled between my legs.

“What else do you like?” I asked, running my fingertips lightly up his back.

He dipped his head and bit my ear. “You’re stalling.”

His breath tickled my neck and I raised my shoulder. “Why not just fuck me?”

“Because this’ll be more intimate.”

“More so than fucking?”

His cheek glided up and down against my neck as he nodded.

I rolled my eyes, thinking hard, or at least as hard as I could with his cock sliding up and down between my folds. “Can I do it faced away?” I gasped.

“What do you think?” Abruptly, he pushed up then knelt between my thighs. “Need pillows?”

“Don’t be helpful,” I groused.

“You really don’t like this.”

I felt like screaming my frustration. He was right there. I was open. Eager. And yet, he sat watching, his expression firming into that hard mask that had made me tear at my clothes the moment he’d closed the bedroom door. “I might like this better if we were in the middle of something, but like this it feels—”

“Dirty?”

I nodded. At last, he understood. Now maybe he’d move closer.

“Do you know what attracted me to you first?”

I blinked at his segue.

“How bold you are.”

Liar. However, I didn’t mind that he goaded me. His needling challenges had led us to this bed. Something I couldn’t regret.

His hands soothed up and down my inner thighs and his gaze dropped to my sex. But the exposure—my pussy to daylight—wasn’t quite so embarrassing because he was arranging me again, lifting my knees, placing my heels just so. Like he was creating a picture for his pleasure. Then he laid his palms against my inner thighs and opened me further.

He could see right inside me. A blush swept my skin, cheeks to breasts.

His nostrils flared as he gazed down. I was happier than I ever would have admitted when he’d allowed me to bathe after my “accident”—then relieved that he’d changed the sheets while I’d cowered in the shower. He hadn’t let me hide there for long, jerking back the curtain and joining me there to “wash” his dick inside me.

My modesty lay in shreds. Oddly, this engendered a feeling of deep, fierce elation. I’d never been with anyone like him. Someone who could make me laugh one moment, then shiver with anticipation with just a single, commanding glare.

I didn’t know him well enough to trust him. And yet, I was thrilled he was here even if he was busy staring at my intimate parts. “You just gonna look?”

“I’m waiting.”

Fuck. He expected me to keep that promise. The one I’d given when he was laughing, holding me against him when we were both so wet, and I’d been desperate for a little privacy to groan at my lack of self control.

“I’m still waiting.”

The texture of his voice, so firm, excited me. I couldn’t get my head wrapped around the idea of how much I wanted him. Or that I needed him to be in charge. Of me.

From the first moment we’d been introduced at dinner by friends, I’d been caught.

All it had taken was one long, challenging look from his dark blue eyes and I’d felt instantly aroused, and then annoyed with myself because I wanted him and he knew it.

Just like he knew it now.

His fingers trailed from my clit straight into my slick folds. He swirled in moisture then licked his fingers, all the while holding my gaze. “Anytime, Heather.”

“This’ll be quick,” I muttered, blushing again.

“Fast, slow—I don’t care. But you have to come.”

“And you think you’ll know?”

He canted his head. “I know the look.”

“I have a look?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Can I close my eyes?”

One dark brow arched.

I shook my head. “I didn’t know you were such a control freak.”

“Yeah, you did,” he said softly. “Start wherever you want.”

I swallowed, knowing I was through stalling because I was horribly aroused. I cupped my breasts, hoping that watching me would entice him to join in and end this. He’d said he liked my breasts, and the tips were sore from where he’d played endlessly—licking, flicking, sucking, biting…

My nipples hardened and I plucked and twisted them, pulling then letting them go to jiggle my breasts.

But he remained still, watching, with his hands on his knees as he knelt between my spread thighs.

What the hell? Why did I care that he watched? His intense stare and the color darkening his face said he was into it. That I was turning him on. His cock pulsed, jutting from his groin, hard and thick.

My hands smoothed down my belly; fingertips scraped through the short blonde hair on my mound. I used one hand to spread my folds, the other to tease my clit, swirling on the knot until it grew harder and stretched the hood, causing it to slide away.

Then I thrust two fingers into my pussy, curving my hips to deepen my reach. I let go of my folds and slid a hand beneath my ass, teasing my perineum while I thrust my fingers deeper and twisted them.

Wetness oozed from inside me, soaking my hand, slipping lower to trickle toward my asshole. And because his breathing was becoming louder, raspier, I dared more—using the moisture to wet a fingertip and stick it in my ass.

“Sure you don’t want some of this?” I asked, my voice husky. I lifted my legs and curled my abdomen, the muscles of my belly burning to hold the cramped position, but now I could stroke both holes deeper and he could see everything I did.

My thumb twiddled my clit while I fucked myself. I tucked another finger inside my ass and gave up trying to look pretty, trying not to make faces or unattractive noises, and just let go. My orgasm bloomed, and my face screwed up into that expression, the one he knew meant I was coming—and I flew. My cry was soft and floated away.

Hands slipped over my knees to ease them down. I blinked, only just realizing I’d closed my eyes there at the end.

Craig came over me, waiting as I slowly pulled my fingers from inside me. Then he fit his cock to my entrance and thrust deep into the moist, hot center of me.

We rocked together, me clutching his back, him growling as he thrust faster and harder. Another quick flash burn of pleasure swept me. He shouted, sharpening his shortened thrusts—until he made the face I knew meant he’d found his own orgasmic bliss.

I smiled, damn near purring as his breaths evened out. “You owe me now.”

He grunted. “Think I’ll mind you watching me jerk off?”

“You’ll mind, because I get to say when you can come.”

He blinked then barked a laugh. “You do know it’s going to take me a little while.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I, on the other hand, suffer no such handicap.” I reached up and gripped his ears, then tugged him downward, showing him exactly how he could pass the time.

* * *

Copyright © 2011 Delilah Devlin

Delilah Devlin
Ravished by a Viking — "Perfect Read." Fresh Fiction
Website * Facebook * Twitter

* * *

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Nip ‘n’ Tuck

Content advisory: oral sex

Gabby Brown heard the distant ding of the bell above the shop door and checked her watch. Noon. At last. She’d been nervous all morning, stuck her fingers with pins until the pads tingled. She’d ushered out the last customer fifteen minutes ago, then hurried to the restroom to run her fingers through her curly hair and gloss her lips. She wore her “uniform”—a cardigan over a plain, button-down blouse, a dark, knee-length skirt and comfortable shoes. The clamps she’d attached to her nipples were concealed beneath her padded bra. The slim, short vibrator was already inside her; the remote tucked into a pocket of her sweater.

She glanced at her reflection.

I can do this, she told herself. It wasn’t as though they were complete strangers. Perhaps she didn’t know what he looked like, but he’d learned her secrets, her passions, while sharing his own. He’d slowly stoked a fire inside her, promising her a discreet thrill. The first of many.

For a woman who had somehow let her youth slip by, the chance to live out a few of her favorite fantasies was too enticing to ignore. He’d promised an elicit pleasure. A test run, of sorts. To save embarrassment or hurt feelings, they’d also agreed to hold off discussing future engagements until they could meet again that evening, online. And because she’d admitted she was shy about revealing her body this first time, she would remain fully clothed.

Leaving the bathroom, she pulled back the curtain separating the store from her fitting room. Her glance landed on the long lean body faced away, looking at the ugly plaid golf trousers. When his hand reached for the hanger, she smiled. Their pre-arranged signal.

Forcing her smile away, she entered the room and strode quietly up behind him.

When she stood beside his shoulder, she enjoyed the fact she had to tilt back her head to meet his gaze. He was bigger than she’d thought he’d be. “Would you like to try them on?”

The face that turned her way was more handsome than he’d led her to believe. A strong, angular chin, a blunt nose. Dark thick eyebrows framed a pair of curious brown eyes.

A frown dug a line between those dark eyebrows, then his gaze flicked to hers again. “The pants are ugly as hell,” he murmured.

“I’ll help you with them, if you like. Try them on for size,” she said, suddenly breathless, flirting with her eyes and lips. She bit her bottom lip, then released it with a little laugh.

His answering smile melted her. It was crooked, and dug a dimple into one cheek.

Eager now, she grabbed the hanger, clamping her hand around his fingers, and tugged him along. “Come with me.”

And he did, much to her relief. There was no sign he was disappointed with her appearance. No reluctance in the drag of his feet. Just a quirk of his eyebrows and a quick glance around the shop.

“Don’t worry. We’ll know if anyone comes in. I’ll be quick.”

He cleared his throat, but ducked through the curtain to follow her inside her little room.

She knew what he saw. A dingy little airless room. A sewing machine on a dented table. A rack crammed full of clothing she’d already mended, shortened, let out…. She was a seamstress—not a sexy job, not until he’d convinced her otherwise.

“This is where you work?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly bemused.

She lifted a shoulder. She’d warned him it wasn’t much. “I make a living.”

“Doing... alterations?”

“Exactly. But we don’t have a lot of time. Marlon will be back from lunch in half an hour.” She lifted her chin toward the pants still clutched in his hands. “Try them on. We’ll discuss the fitting.”

“Right here?”

“If you’re shy, you can use the restroom, but there’s no need. Not with me.”

He gave a slight snort, shook his head, but set the pants on her work table. He took off his sports coat, loosened his tie, and then toed off his well-shined black shoes. When his hands paused at his belt buckle, and his gaze rested on her for a long moment, she decided to make this a little easier for him.

She strode toward him, shooed away his hands, and holding his gaze, she unbuttoned his waistband and slid the zipper down.

A muscle straddling his jaw flexed. “You’re very pretty,” he whispered.

“Thanks for saying that. I hardly ever go to the bother of makeup, but I wanted to look special today,” she admitted.

“Today’s special,” he said, his voice uninflected.

“Yes." Grabbing his waistband, she dragged his pants off his hips. Her gaze dropped to the erection tenting his boxers. “Very special,” she said softly.

His trousers fell around his ankles, and she knelt to hold them while he stepped out. She liked his legs, liked the dark hair cloaking his olive skin, the muscle tensing in his thighs as she stood, her hands grazing him lightly as she came up.

She reached for the bright green golf pants and dangled them off a finger.

His eyebrows rose.

“Like we agreed. Put them on.”

“But….”

She shook her head. “Let me work… first.”

He blew out a slow breath, and then pulled the pants on, one leg at a time, hopping a bit when he was unbalanced.

Her gaze ate him up, watched the bounce of his thickening cock. Red splotches bloomed on his cheeks, and she heard his soft curse. She suppressed a grin. He was being a good sport about this. She’d been the one to design the scenario. Something she’d always fantasized about doing to a stranger, but had never had the courage to try. Not until “TallDarkBanker” teased her in a private chat room into revealing her innermost desires.

The ugly plaid slid up his thighs. He closed the waist, then set his hands on his hips and glared down his legs in disgust. “Really? Who buys these?”

She giggled, then reached into her pocket to hand him the remote.

His eyes blinked, but a thumb flicked the on button. The sound of the vibrator, although muffled, was unmistakable.

As was her sudden lurch. She rested a hand on her belly. “Try for a gentler setting,” she said, her breaths gusting until he tapped the button twice more.

His gaze slid down her body.

Her knees were clamped tight, and she eased her stance as the vibrations settled into a softer hum.

Taking a deep breath, she picked up her tape measure, slid her pincushion over her wrist and knelt at his feet. Keeping her head down, she cleared her throat. “To what side do you dress, sir?”

“To what side…?”

Gabby lifted a brow then stared steadily at his crotch.

“Ah… to the left.”

She pinched the fabric between her fingers, tugging it taut to reveal the shape of his thick cock as it lay against his thigh. She plucked a pin from her pincushion and folded the fabric, creating a pouch that emphasized his cock. She stuck a pin into the fold to hold it.

His thigh twitched. “Careful with those.”

“I’m very, very good,” she said. Then gliding a finger along the seam just behind his balls, she dragged her fingertip up the divide between his firm buttocks, ignoring his hissing breath and the clench of his firm buttocks, and leaned closer. She pulled the fabric tighter, the seam sinking between his cheeks.

“Anyone actually wear them this way?” he asked, his voice rising.

A smile tugged her lips. “I’m just getting your measure.”

“Better make sure you leave more room then,” he growled softly.

A grin tugged at her mouth. “You’re right, sir. I should see how much fabric I should leave… for comfort.” She let go of the fabric, removed the pin at his thigh and efficiently unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Then standing close to his chest, pressing against him to increase the pressure on her clamped nipples, she slid her palms inside the back of his pants and beneath the waist of his boxers, and smoothed them both down his buttocks. When she’d pulled all the material down his thighs, she glanced up to gauge his reaction.

His skin was stretched across his sharp-boned cheeks. His gaze was just as hard-edged and focused on her mouth.

Just as they’d agreed, she leaned toward his cock, letting her eyelids drift down halfway, and breathed in his scent as she rubbed her cheek against his satiny shaft.

“Fuck me,” he muttered softly.

“Now, that’s not part of the plan today. But this is nice, isn’t it?”

“Nice?”

She liked the breathless edge of his voice. Liked the subtle forward thrust of his hips. An unmistakable hint that he was growing restless.

As was she. Moisture oozed from inside her. She tugged the back of her skirt to keep it from getting soaked and eased down to sit on her heels.

Gabby sank her nose in the crisp, curling hairs at his groin. She dragged her tongue from the root of his cock up to the soft bulb at the end, taking her time to learn the places that made him tighten and gasp. Slicking over the cap, she flicked the narrow slit, then dipped the tip of her tongue inside.

“Jesus… fuck.” His hand landed on her head, patting her hair as though he hadn’t quite committed.

Like a cat, she tipped her head against his palm, nudging him, encouraging him to rake her hair with his fingers. The vibrations rattling inside her intensified and she lifted sleepy eyes to see him watching her expression. She smiled.

When he pulled her hair, at last, she told him wordlessly how pleased she was. She opened her mouth and took him inside. She rose slightly higher to angle her head downward because his erection, which was pulling upward and hardening further, crowded into her mouth as he stroked with more depth and intensity.

Her “customer” muttered under his breath and pulled her hair, his hips pumping with full force now into her mouth, cramming against the back of her throat.

She tightened her lips around him and began to suck hard, pulling, growling, her hands sliding up and down his reddened stalk. He’d told her he liked a little twist, so she gave him a double-fisted one, a firm, clockwise tug that had him rising on his toes and powering harder into her mouth.

Without a boyfriend for far too long, Gabby had missed so many things. But when “Tall” had asked her what she wanted most, it had been this act. Something about a man’s body, so different from her own—the musky smell, the silk and steel textures—were what she’d missed most.

All the while she happily licked and sucked, the internal revving hum built, tension curling deep inside her belly.

In the distance, she heard the tinkle of the doorbell. Coming off him, she leaned toward the curtain, and pulled it back just a couple of inches. A man was walking through the store, glancing toward the suits and slacks lined along the far wall. She dropped the curtain, and tilted back her head. “Think you can be quiet?” she whispered.

“Can you?” he asked, his voice clipped, tight. A hand cupped his balls and massaged them.

She sprang to her feet, grasped his shaft and pulled him farther into her little room, backing him up to the table. Then she knelt again, swallowed him whole, and bobbed quickly forward and back, doing her best to do so quietly, but the sexy, slurping noises filled the tiny airless space.

His breaths seemed overloud too—short, ragged gasps that quickened the deeper and faster she bobbed. But she’d planned this. Looked forward for too long to let a little thing like a random customer, another stranger, intrude upon her fantasy.

Inside her mouth, her tongue swept up and down his steely length, her lips firmed to suck harder. Her hands pumped up and down his slick shaft, grinding around him until his fingers dug into her scalp, his body shuddered and he gave a quiet, chopped gasp and jerked against her.

Cum filled the back of her throat and she murmured, liking the taste of him, liking the thick, gluey liquid that coated her tongue. The vibrator rocked inside her, pulsing to her own contractions, and then a slow wave of heat swept over her, prickling her skin, catching her breath. She came quietly and slowed her motions, reluctant to end their play.

But a footstep sliding on grit outside the curtain caught her attention.

Gabby came off him one last time, a long tendril of moisture connecting them until his thumb wiped it from her mouth.

He handed her the remote, which she switched off. Their gazes held for a long moment, and then she dipped her head, hiding a very satisfied smile.

“I don’t like the pants,” he whispered.

“They’re ugly as hell,” she agreed.

“But I need a tux for a friend’s wedding.”

She understood the code even though she was surprised that he’d decided to ignore their preset rule. They settled on another “date” as he redressed in the trousers he’d arrived in and she stood watching, combing her hair with her fingers.

He kissed her, then gave her a wink and let himself out. Gabby collapsed on a stool, her legs weak. Her mouth and jaw sore—and so pleased with herself, she didn’t move from her spot for a very, very long time.

Dear “NipnTuck,” I snuck into your shop today, wanting to watch you before I announced my presence. Imagine my surprise when another man arrived and headed straight to the green golf pants. I wondered for the moment if you’d decided to leap ahead to the next scenario we discussed, sex in front of strangers, but you spoke to him as though you thought it was me. I almost announced my presence, but you were so adorable, so confident, I decided to see how far the gentlemen let you go.

To my delight, he followed you inside your fitting room. I inched open the curtain to watch—my favorite fetish as you know. You didn’t disappoint, dear Nip. You were lovely, disheveled, and your expression when you came left me hard all afternoon.

If you don’t mind, and if you think you can keep him in the dark, I’d love to watch him fuck you when he comes back on Tuesday for his next fitting.

* * *

Copyright © 2011 Delilah Devlin

Delilah Devlin
Ravished by a Viking — "Perfect Read." Fresh Fiction
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All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

The Hired Hand – Installment 3

Following was my contribution to the Lambda award-winning anthology, Lesbian Cowboys. To read previous installments, click on this link.

The Hired Hand – 3

Ari had opened up a whole new world of sensual delights in that first night. And I had been ravenous to discover more ever since. Not that I was ready to declare that girl-sex was my new preference.

I liked dick. Liked a powerful man stroking deep. Strong, muscled arms encircling me. But lovers, the stick-around kind, hadn’t been in the cards for me.

I sighed as Ari’s hands unlooped my belt, loosened my jeans and slid beneath the waistband to cup my generous ass.

We stood face-to-face in the stall, our gazes clashing. “Think I don’t know what you like about guy-sex?” Ari stepped back and stripped, making quick work of her clothing until her jeans slid down her hips. She wore no panties, just a black harness that wrapped around her waist, more straps disappearing between her legs. She reached down to the blanket where she’d tossed the dildo and inserted it into the fitting at the front of the harness. The dildo, a long, sculpted gel with exaggerated veins and a pair of firm balls, bobbed between her legs.

“Jesus,” I moaned, my pussy already anticipating the stretch and beginning to throb.

“Wait here,” Ari said, her voice tightening.

“As if I have a choice?” I muttered.

Moments later, Ari reappeared, carrying a wooden sawhorse which she set in the hay and then draped with the blanket. She unlooped the end of the rope which she’d tied off on a post and began to wrap it in a coil, bringing me closer.

I kept up the pretense of reluctance, dragging my feet, but the cock was already working on me. My cunt was flushed with heat and growing moist. My breasts were so hard and tight I drew back my shoulders, inviting Ari’s gaze, begging silently for her to lean down and bite the straining tips.

But Ari ignored the jut of my chest, gripped my shoulders, and shoved me face-first over the sawhorse.

“This will work better if you take off my clothes, too,” I said hopefully.

A soft snort behind me told me Ari wasn’t taking suggestions, but my pants were pushed past my buttocks, and the dildo nudged between them.

“Jesus,” I whispered again, letting out a deep breath when the moistened tip glided down and slid along my slick folds. I tried to make more space for it, but my clothing kept my thighs bound tightly together. Hands clutched my hips, and the dildo glided slowly forward and back, then withdrew.

One foot was lifted and my boot was removed.

“Guess I was right. It’s easier without clothes,” I mumbled.

The other came off and my jeans were jerked down my thighs. At last, I was naked. I braced apart my legs, opening my sex, begging again for attention.

A rustling sounded behind me, and then moist kisses landed on my bottom. A tongue glided down the crevice between my ass cheeks, circling slowly over my asshole, just long enough to make me worried, but then she stroked downward. Teeth gripped my outer labia, nibbling gently, then lips sucked. Her wicked tongue stroked into my entrance, while a humming groan vibrated against me. Fingers circled over and over on my clit while lips tugged and tongue stroked. I rose on my toes to tilt my ass higher.

Blood rushed to my head and sex. My clit swelled painfully. Then hands smoothed the backs of my thighs as Ari rose behind me and reached over to grip my shoulders, raising my torso while the smooth gel cock prodded my opening.

“God, please…make it deep.”

A slap jerked me, heat rising in short parallel ribs on my buttocks. The cock found my opening, dipped inside and held still. “Think I don’t know how to fuck?” Ari whispered. “I’ve had miles of dick inside me. I’ve fucked miles of cunt.”

The words, so coarse, spoken in her tight choked voice, elicited a thrill that released a wash of liquid, engulfing the head of the cock poised at my entrance. “I wish you could feel what you do to me…”

“Think I can’t? Think I’m not going to get off, too? You’re wet and sucking at my cock. When I slam into you, I’m gonna feel it right against my clit.”

“Jesus, just do it. God, Ari,” I rose on toes again, trying to back onto the cock, but she followed the movement, and the crown slipped from my channel.

“Hold still. Don’t help. Just feel.” A hand gripped the back of my hair, lifting my head, arching my back, and then her hips slammed forward, and the thick cock rammed deep, pressing deep into my channel, gliding straight until the firm balls slapped my clitoris.

I bucked hard, not caring that she pulled my hair,

Ari wound her hand, tugging my head higher. Only that one hand held me suspended. My arms were still cinched at my sides and my abdomen was stretched, shuddering as she rocked forward and back, plowing deep, rutting like a man into my sex until my cunt felt hot, the soft tissues abraded by the heavy, veined ridges.

“I need more,” I sobbed.

“What’s that?” she said, halting her movements when her belly was pressed against my ass and her cock so deep I felt it at the mouth of my womb. “A cock isn’t enough for you?”

“I need more.”

“Gotta be a little more specific, chica. Want my tongue, my fingers? Will that be enough?”

“Yes. Your fingers on my clit. Your cock ramming deep.”

Ari came out of me, and her hand let go of my hair. My body sagged over the sawhorse. She drew me up gently, shoved the structure to the side, then helped me to lie down on the blanket she’d spread on the fragrant straw.

“I’m gonna fuck you like a man. Face-to-face. But you know why this is gonna be better than anything you’ve ever had?”

As her fingers entered me I gasped and lifted my knees, letting then splay wide. I shook my head. “Why’s it gonna be better?”

“Because I’m a girl. I know what your clit needs, know just how to touch it to make you spark like a wildfire.”

She bent, lifted the hood cloaking my engorged clit, and suckled it, nursing it with her lips. When I began to moan, she drew back, a wicked light in her eyes again. “Not yet, baby.” She came over me, her breasts pressing into mine, her tight little points rubbing my areolas.

My thighs widened and lifted to bracket her narrow hips. The dildo nudged my entrance and slid inside.

With my belly curved toward hers, the base of the cock slammed against my bared clit. It was enough. I was coming apart. But she lifted her belly and slid a hand between us. Her wet fingers circled on the rigid knot of nerves, and she resumed stroking inside me as she braced herself on one arm.

I met her gaze, read the warmth and approval in her expression. Saw the excitement rising in her darkening cheeks. Her eyes slid closed, her head fell back, and she jolted her hips against mine, losing rhythm as her own orgasm began to spiral.

I curled beneath her, latched onto a nipple and bit the tip.

With her finger stroking my clit, her cock driving deep inside, and my mouth filled with soft heat, I exploded.

Our cries echoed against the wooden walls. Horses snorted; hooves shuffled uneasily. Then silence fell around us as we both eased to the ground.

She nuzzled my cheek, and her lips slid along my jaw, then lifted. We kissed, lips softly smoothing like butter in shallow circles. The kiss was divine. Rapturous.

When my legs unwound from her waist, and she arched her back to come out of me, I gave a shaky laugh, hoping she hadn’t heard the jagged edge of it. “Guess I’ll have to give you a raise.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t forget who’s still tied up.”

“The rope’s beginning to itch.”

“Poor baby,” she said, her lips gliding along the rope, kissing the skin rubbed a fiery red. “Was I a little rough?”

“Ari…”

Her head came up, her gaze locking with mine.

“That’s the best I’ve ever had. But there’s a problem.”

Her expression grew shuttered. “Say it. It’s not like you’ve spared my feelings up to this point. I’ve been the one trying to prove up my claim.”

“I need the rope gone, first,” I said quietly.

She dragged me up and loosened the loop, slipping it over my head.

“The cock, too,” I said, pointing my chin toward the gel cock still bobbing between her legs.

Her chest fell, and she kept her gaze down as she removed it.

I came to my knees and placed my hand in the center of her chest and shoved.

She fell backward with a gasp, half on the blanket, half on the prickly straw.

I straddled her waist and bent over her, my mouth an inch from hers. “I’ve let you do me, but I’ve never given you a damn thing.”

“Not true,” she said, her voice thickening.

“Shut up. I thought I wasn’t committing to girl-sex if I never gave you pleasure. That’s gonna change right now.”

Her brown eyes blinked. Her lips curved upward at both corners. “Think you know how, little virgin?”

“I think you’re gonna demand a whole lot more from me from now on.”

“Mmmm…” she moaned, her eyelids sliding downward. “I can think of a place or two I want those soft lips of yours to kiss. Sure you’re up for it, Lace?”

“No, baby. I’m going down.”

Then with my face diving between her legs, burrowing into her pussy, I couldn’t pretend any longer that I’d hungered for the stroke of a tongue, the thrust of skilled fingers and a hard cock from a man.

Ari’s essence, richly and pungently feminine, spilled onto my greedy tongue, and I lapped it up like the starving woman I was.

Her fingers dug into my hair, holding me there as her hips rocked gently up and down. I applied all the lessons she’d taught me about how I liked to be touched to bring her pleasure.

I eased two fingers into her moist cunt and swirled my tongue over her clit. I latched my lips around the knot when it grew engorged and sucked hard, slipping another finger inside her and pumping relentlessly as her movements grew more desperate and her breaths jagged.

At last, I felt the tremors ripple inside her. She shoved her pussy into my face, her abdomen curling toward me, her fingers raking my scalp. Her cries were thin, warbling almost, and then she collapsed against the blanket, her legs splayed like a woman who’d been thoroughly loved.

I crawled upward, snuggling next to her spent body and cupped her breast, massaging to soothe her now.

Her hand covered mine and squeezed. “I take it…” she gasped, “that you don’t have any more reservations about whether I can do the job.”

“You have any about me? Besides, one doesn’t have a thing to do with the other,” I said, pressing my lips to the nipple nearest my mouth.

“Ah hell. Don’t make me think.”

“You’re fine cowgirl. You’ve got the job.”

Her gaze met mine. “And this? Gonna let this hired hand have the pleasure of your company every night?”

I scraped my callused palm across her belly, and slid my fingers into her folds. “It’s not so different. Your hand. Mine.” I teased her sex with shallow grazes then tucked them inside.

“Glad you figured that out,” she said, growing breathless again.

“Not a man’s hand,” I admitted gruffly. “Better.”

Copyright © 2009 Delilah Devlin
Delilah Devlin
Author of Darkness Captured and Pleasing Sir
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All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

The Hired Hand – Installment 2

Following was my contribution to the Lambda award-winning anthology, Lesbian Cowboys.

The Hired Hand – 2

“My name’s Ariana Estevez,” she said and held out her hand.

I wished my nails were trimmed and my palms not so rough, but the hand that slid across mine had its own share of calluses.

She wrapped her fingers around my hand and pumped. “Two days,” she said.

Because I was exasperated with my lack of backbone, I turned around without answering and ambled into the barn, more worried about betraying my interest than being thought rude.

“I guess I’ll unpack later,” Ariana said, striding past me and laying claim to the shovel. She slipped off her pressed chambray shirt and hung it on a post, and then, dressed only in a thin tank that hugged nicely rounded breasts, she dug into a pile of ripe manure.

That first day, I had no complaints about the woman’s work. Ariana dug into a long list of chores, keeping up a steady rate of conversation that passed the hours as we groomed horses, readying them for the weekend when the owners would show up to take them out on the trails. As long as we stayed busy I managed to tamp down my unfortunate attraction. But work ended just before dark, and now I didn’t know how to avoid her without retreating to my bedroom.

Footsteps scuffed across the planked porch, and Ariana lowered herself beside me on the bench overlooking the paddock. From the corner of my eye, I noted the damp hair and the bare expanse of skin that shone like warm honey beneath a pair of cutoff shorts. She’d bathed and smelled faintly of flowers.

I intended only a quick glance at my companion, but my gaze landed on another thin tank top, this one buttoned down the front with the upper two opened. The shadowy wedge of skin between her breasts was bare. Nipples, unfettered by any bra, sprang against the pink cotton.

“Thought since it was just us girls…” she drawled.

With heat flooding my cheeks, I turned away, unable to meet Ariana’s lopsided smile.

“Guess it can get a little lonely out here,” she said softly.

“It can,” I said, feeling a little breathless. “But I like the quiet.”

“Seeing anyone?”

My head swung back.

Ariana’s brow was arched. “Just wondering. Pretty woman like you living all alone out here…seems a waste.”

“Like having a man underfoot to feed and please would make my life easier?” I’d tried that and failed miserably. The breakup had nearly broken me and devastated my bank account.

“Sorry, didn’t realize I’d struck a nerve.”

“Well, you did. How about we just drop it?”

“So, there’s no one steady in your life…?” I shot her a hot glare, which had her lips pursing in a silent whistle. “Look, I know you’re not comfortable around me. Want me to guess why? Or how about you just tell me instead of making me play ‘twenty questions?’”

“Like you said,” I murmured uncomfortably, blood starting to pound against my temples, “It gets a little lonely out here. For the most part, people only come to ride on the weekends.”

She snorted. “Ever have a girl?”

Shock had me stiffening and wondering if I’d jumped to a wrong conclusion about where this was heading because my mind was already in a very nasty gutter. “Do you mean, working here?” I asked, knowing I sounded like I’d strangled on something. “No.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I meant…ever have a girl…in your bed.”

My breath caught. Was she taunting me? “No.”

“Not once? Funny, I thought…” Ariana shook her head. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

We sat in silence for a few strained minutes. But I, who never felt easy in my own skin, never knew the right words to explore a possibility so ripe with dangerous undertones, cleared my throat. “What did you think?”

“That you liked what you saw.”

My lips parted.  And unexpectedly moisture filled my eyes. “You must get all kinds of people coming onto you.”

“All kinds, both sexes.” Her lips curved. “But I don’t mind you looking…” Her head fell back, and she shook out her wet hair. The action made her breasts shiver in a delightful way.

I bit my bottom lip and stared as Ariana’s nipples spiked hard, elongating as I watched.

Her arm reached out slowly and draped across the back of the bench. Her fingers played with a lock of my hair. “You do it with all your hired hands?”

There was no use playing like I didn’t understand her meaning. “Of course not.”

“But it’s nice, isn’t it? The convenience of it?”

“It’s only convenient if the cowboy understands rules.”

Her finger slid along the outer curve of my ear. “Do you have special rules for a cowgirl?”

I closed my eyes briefly, and then aimed a glare her way, hoping she didn’t see how unnerved I was becoming. “I’ve never had a female hand.”

Ariana’s hand slipped over my shoulder and reached down to palm my breast through my shirt. “Is it so different? A man’s hand?”

“As night and day.”

“Really? It’s just a hand with fingers…” Her thumb and forefinger plucked at my nipple.

“Completely different,” I said, clamping my lips against a tiny sigh. “I’ve never felt so…”

“Hot?”

“Uneasy,” I blurted.

“That’s not good. Want me to stop?” she said, giving my breast another tentative caress.

I opened my mouth to tell her yes, but instead found myself whispering, “I want you to take off your shirt.”

Ariana’s head jerked back and a startled laugh ripped the air. Her arm slipped from around my shoulder, and she turned sideways in the seat. “Anytime you want to stop, just let me know,” she said softly. “I won’t push. Tomorrow, it’ll be like nothing ever happened. If that’s what you want.”

Because I felt a little winded by her enthusiasm, I shook my head. “Since I don’t know what the hell I want, I guess I’ll just play it by ear.”

Ariana smiled, and then gripped the hem of her tank and pulled it over her head. Without meeting my gaze, she cupped her breasts, lifting them and massaging the slight curves. “I’d really like it if you did that for me. My breasts hurt after a long day smashed inside a sports bra.”

Modesty seemed a little ridiculous at this point. I’d asked to see them after all—it was only a small step to actually touch them. And the sight did make my palms itch. I reached for her breasts and cupped them gently. The nipples scraped deliciously. Her breasts were light and firm, her skin unbelievably soft. Especially the dark ovals of her areolas, which felt like velvet beneath the pads of my fingers.

Her gaze met mine, and she offered me a smile. Then she looked toward the road leading up to the house. “We’re far enough off the road here that we could both get naked. Want to do that?”

“It’s still light.”

Her glance cut to mine. “Worried I won’t like what I see?”

Absurdly, I knew I wouldn’t be as modest if a man sat opposite me. “I’m older. Not as firm. And I’m carrying too much weight.”

“Think I haven’t already checked your ass out? I’m pretty sure I’m going to like everything you show me. Besides, doesn’t this feel unbelievably naughty?”

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips. “Contrary to what you must think about me, I don’t hop into bed with a man this quick.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Ariana stood and pushed her shorts down her slender hips, standing unashamedly naked in the dwindling light.

I shut my eyes, praying for courage, and rose from my seat. I untucked my shirt from my jeans and slowly unbuttoned it. The bra came next, and I shivered as my nipples grew stiff, dimpling as soon as I let them out to play. My jeans and boots took a little longer, because my hands were shaking, but by the time I was as nude as Ariana, I was smiling, albeit tightly, too.

Ariana’s hands grasped both my breasts, lifting them, forcing the heavy mounds upward. She bent and stroked her tongue over one peak, then the other. “Nice, Lacey. Very nice.”

Then she circled behind me, her hands gliding over my buttocks, around again, until she was gliding over my belly, which had begun to quiver. “You know I’m going to want to taste everything.”

Moisture, quick and hot, slid between my folds. “Shall we go inside?” I rasped.

“Afraid the coyotes might see?” she teased.

“I want something soft under my knees.” I reached out tentatively, and twined my fingers with Ariana’s, then tugged her through the door, leading her through the living room and down the darkened hallway to my bedroom. Inside, I didn’t flinch when Ariana turned on the overhead light. She headed straight for the bed.

I hovered in the doorway, caught in a moment of indecision. God, could I really do this?

Ariana climbed onto the mattress and sighed as she stretched diagonally across the coverlet. “Mmmm…it’s so soft.” Her legs fell open. Her sex, swollen and deep, dark pink glistened. Her eyelids dipped blissfully as her hand stroked her darkly furred mound.

My mouth grew dry at the lush invitation. “Don’t go to sleep on me,” I quipped, trying to cover my awkwardness.

Her lips pursed in a mischievous grin. “As if! I’m waiting for that sweet pussy to slide right over my lips.”

 A cowboy had said the same thing to me, long ago. From him it had sounded crude, and I’d hesitated. From Ariana, with a naughty light glittering in her eyes, it was wicked without seeming tawdry.

“How about you let me show you how to love a woman?” she said softly.

I hadn’t known I was worried about not knowing exactly how to arouse this woman, and I relaxed, letting Ariana pull me down beside her until we faced each other on the bed.

“I travel a lot when I’m on the circuit,” Ariana said, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. “And sometimes, I have different partners, women and men, that I pick up. I don’t care too much about whether I please them. I only worry about whether they’ll please me.” Her finger rimmed my lips slowly. “Lacey, I want to show you everything they taught me.”

Come back in December for the next installment of The Hired Hand.

Copyright © 2009 Delilah Devlin

Delilah Devlin
Author of Darkness Captured and Pleasing Sir
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All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.