Let It Roll

by Sophie Kent

  Yet the effect was exactly what she’d been going for. Kevin couldn’t take his eyes off her. She reached back and unhooked her bra, then let it slowly slide from her shoulders, leaving her naked, except for the panties. She smiled as she backed up and saw Kevin moving forward with her, looking for all the world like an absolute beast. For a shimmering hot instant she thought he was suddenly someone else. He’d never looked at her like he was looking at her now--like he owned her.

  Susan suddenly backed up against a wall, missing the doorway to her bedroom completely. She jumped with surprise--the smooth, cool paint of the wall almost felt like someone grabbing her. She didn’t have a chance to turn around, for Kevin was upon her, his hands sliding up her sides and doing that teasing flesh play to the tingling mounds of her breasts. His weight suddenly pushing her against the wall, his mouth slowly kissing a trail from her bruised lips, down her jaw line, to the sensitive flesh around her ears. She latched her arms around his neck, and then started clawing frantically at his shirt, trying to get it off, but having no effect at all on his buttons.

  Kevin pulled himself away, just enough to work the buttons of his sleeves, and then down his torso, pulling his shirt off over his broad shoulders and the golden skin that stretched so enticingly over the rest of his beautifully sculpted body. His hips still had Susan pressed hard against the wall, and the cool of the wall was making her break out in gooseflesh.

  Susan couldn’t keep her hands off him. Her fingers danced over his skin, her hands stroking his flesh, the hard muscles beneath, the unbelievably sexy man at the core.

  She needed him. Her hands went to his pants, pulling them open, reaching into his underwear to hold his hardening member. Kevin gasped and kissed her hard, his manhood pulsing, thick and long, in the palm of her hand.

  He pulled away, his lips bruised, his manhood jutting out of the top of his underwear. He fell to his knees and took Susan by the hips, his fingers grasping the feather light silk of her panties and pulling them down around her ankles. He kissed the underside of her breasts, trailing down her ribs, tickling her as he slid down her abdomen, and even further until he was between her legs, pulling one up over his shoulder to spread her open, his mouth locking onto her shuddering sex, his tongue slippery and hot, as he licked inside her.

  Susan’s hips undulated and bucked, her head thrown back against the cool wall, her hands knitted into Kevin’s short cropped hair, pulling him all the further into her. Susan lost track of time. She wouldn’t be able to say whether Kevin had had her against that wall for ten minutes or ten hours. All she knew was he would bring her so close to climax, and then he’d slow down until her blood stopped boiling, and her body was at a steady simmer, then he’d start licking with rougher, deeper licks.

  Lost in this erotic reverie, Susan didn’t notice when Kevin picked her up and carried her to the bed. All she knew was they were suddenly in her bedroom and she was slung across her bed, now completely naked. The bed linens had been changed, pulled down halfway like a hotel’s turn down service, and the sheets were so soft it felt like heaven.

  Liz works fast.

  Susan looked up to find Kevin pulling down his pants. His body looked spectacular in the dim blue light cascading in through the bedroom window, making his skin glow in the darkness.

  Susan felt her back arch as he moved onto the bed, holding himself above her, slowly easing down onto her, their legs entwining, his hips pressing against hers, and his chest and belly melding to hers, sending shivers of ecstasy and burning need rippling through Susan’s body like the beating of a drum.

  Kevin lowered his face to Susan’s and kissed her, slow and deep.

  She needed him inside her and now! But she couldn’t pull her lips from his to tell him, not even for a moment.

  Kevin pulled her atop him as he rolled them over on the bed. Susan could feel his need pressing up hard against her. She wiggled and felt it slide along where she wanted him to be. Kevin’s mouth left her lips as she gasped, and his tongue licked down her neck and then his face plunged into her cleavage, licking and sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh. His hands slid down her back and cupped the orbs of her ass, pulling and lifting until his manhood slid up inside her, making her gasp and whimper and cry out his name.

  Staring into her eyes Kevin rocked her back and forth against him, his hands pulling her up and down on him, her sex tight and convulsing as he rocked her through wave upon wave of bliss.

  ###

  They were lying, tangled in a sheet, at the bottom of Susan’s bed. Both were exhausted, covered in sweat and the glow of sex, wearing the goofiest of smiles.

  “That was--” he rasped.

  “Yeah, it was...did you keep count?”

  Kevin laughed and wriggled his eyebrows. “I was a math minor.”

  Susan rolled over on her elbow and looked into his eyes. Unbelievably there was still lust in there. “So are you going to tell me?”

  “Maybe on the honeymoon.” He leaned in and kissed her, his lips smooth and bruised and so utterly delicious.

  Susan smiled wickedly. “Oh my God!” Her voice billowed with false excitement. “I’ve got a wedding to plan. First, I need to call Liz, then the Waldorf--setting the date is essential!--and then I’ve got to start shopping for the perfect dress--”

  Kevin grabbed her and pulled her into another kiss, pushing her down into the soft sheets and even softer mattress. “You’re kidding, right?” Kevin said when he finally let her mouth free of his.

  Susan laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I think I’ve had my fill of big weddings. In fact, I was thinking we could just go down to the municipal building and have the Justice of the Peace do the honors.”

  Kevin smiled at Susan and kissed her. “I can think of something a little better than that.”

  Chapter 17

  IT COULDN’T BE HAPPENING…

  Susan had her eyes closed. The air gusted in soft, warm waves around her body, smelling too fresh and clean to be real--she had to be dreaming. The surf washed in over her feet, licking her toes, making her take a deep sibilant breath.

  She opened her eyes.

  Kevin stood in front of her, shirtless, in a pair of tropical printed swim trunks, his hair rumpled and tossed about by the wind. He was staring at her, his expression expectant.

  Susan looked around at the group congregated on the pristine stretch of beach under the Virgin Drop. Liz, her assistant Lance, holding a digital video recorder, Susan’s parents, Kevin’s parents, and the surfer lady. Her name was Audrey, and she’d been recommended by the hotel--the hotel where Kevin bought the visually stunning swim shorts, and where Susan had bought a white sarong with tiny pink flowers, which she was wearing now.

  Last minute had turned out pretty good.

  Everyone was giving Susan the same expectant look. Liz rolled her eyes and glared.

  Oh yeah, this is my line.

  “I do,” Susan said as a wave of pleasure rippled through her body, and the goofiest, most beautiful smile eased across Kevin’s handsome face.

  Everyone let out the breath they’d all been holding. Audrey gave a little sigh and then placed her hand over Kevin and Susan’s. Their hands had been bound together by a white leather cord.

  “Then, by the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife.” Audrey’s eyes lit up. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Kevin pulled Susan to him and leaned down to kiss her, picking her up in his strong arms as they fell into each other, forgetting momentarily about the gathered witnesses who were now applauding and cheering them on.

  When they came up for air, Liz clapped her hands together and spoke in that voice she used at her art gallery when she wanted everyone’s attention--her tone sweet, yet steeped in authority. “Okay, everybody. We’re headed back to the hotel where I’ve reserved us a very large table in the best restaurant. No dawdling!”

  The parents hugged and kissed the newlyweds, and Liz ushered them down the beach, asking them what kind
of tropical drinks they would like to try first, creating a distraction so Kevin and Susan could stay back and steal off onto the jungle path the led up to the Virgin Drop.

  The way had been cleared much better than the last time they’d traversed it, and there were small pink lights placed every few feet to guide them.

  As they stumbled out into the clearing, the clearing they’d first made love in, the sun was setting in the distance, turning the sky into foamy cotton candy colors: pink, blue, orange and a brilliant yellow. When Susan tilted her head further back she could see the first stars of the night, twinkling in the darkening sky.

  Kevin hit his knees and pulled her to him, his face planted in the soft silkiness of her sarong, his arms wrapped around her hips, his hands gently cupping her bottom. He slowly lowered her to the ground, her body gliding down against his until their lips met and kissed for maybe the five thousandth time. By the time she lay on her back in the surprisingly well manicured grass, Kevin had freed her of her sarong, and himself of the god-awful swim trunks. Susan gripped Kevin in the palm of her hand, stroking him, making him moan softly against her neck, his breath hot as he licked up her neck to her earlobe. He pulled her thighs open with his own and entered her, hard and hungry, making her moan now. She gasped as he took her right breast into his mouth and sucked, and kissed her lips again, this time surging into her again and again, making her body heat up all over, causing her eyes to roll back in her head.

  Later, after all the stars had come out, and they lay in the dark, wrapped and tangled in each other, Susan asked where Francesca was.

  “Boss lady had to stay in Chicago for her granddaughter, Cloe’s, first grade recital.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “And she needed to put some finishing touches on our Lakewood design.”

  Susan smiled and gave a small giggle.

  Kevin leaned up on his elbow, peering down on her in the near pitch dark. His skin seemed to glow. “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She smiled and ran her hand slowly down the side of his face.

  “No, really, what was with the giggle?” He said it in that tone of voice she loved to hear. She was getting him worked up, and all she’d done was innocently--or not so innocently--giggled.

  Susan sighed, trying not to sound too pleased with his reaction so far, baiting him. “It’s nothing. It’s just that...”

  Kevin’s face lowered toward hers.

  “Win one little opera house and you think you’re some sort of architectural god.”

  Kevin fell back on the ground and laughed.

  “I mean, really Kevin, do you honestly think you guys can compete with the big boys?”

  Kevin grabbed Susan and pulled her on top of him, kissing her to shut her up, his want hard against her inner thigh. He leaned back and took advantage of her sudden breathless state.

  “That’s why Francesca’s designing it with me, to help me transition.”

  Susan snorted. “It’s a skyscraper, theater boy, I don’t think you have a chance.”

  Kevin leaned up and kissed her, taking her breath away with his hot, wet mouth, blowing her mind with his talented tongue as his manhood pushed slowly into her again, laying her open, making her his.

  Susan felt herself giving in, letting him take her, turn her inside out and fill her with his love. She could live with that.

  She could really get used to this.

  Kevin rocked her into a cool blue oblivion, and scorched her very heart with his need. He was her man, for now and forever. The best man. But if he thinks he’s winning the Lakewood bid, he’s crazy.

  *The End*

  Thank you for reading my book.

  If you liked it, please leave a review on Amazon. It’s so important. Really, really important. Did I tell you how important it is???

  If you loved Liz, check out her story in Wild Card, a Long Shot Novel

  Here’s a free sample…

  Wild Card

  Chapter 1

  I stared at the painting—the god-forsaken, horrifying painting.

  It was the first of an installation that I’d hoped would not only reap critical praise, but would also sell like fucking crazy.

  Or so my trusted protégé/roving talent scout, Jill, had told me.

  I stared at the painting again.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head.

  I was in hell…

  Lance, my trusty assistant and gay bestie, ambled up to me and cocked his head to the side.

  “Zombie turkeys,” he said, sotto voce. “Interesting.”

  Correction: I was in Zombie turkey Hell.

  I wondered if there was an open bar in Zombie turkey Hell.

  “Where is Jill?” I asked. I was going to strangle her with my bare hands.

  Lance took a slow side-step away from me. “You know I hate it when you seethe like that.”

  “I do not seethe!” I looked at him and he’d already taken another long side-step away from me.

  “Jill’s in Portland this week,” he said, “and yes, you are seething.”

  I opened my mouth to scream at him, but had to admit that yes, I was seething.

  I wanted to yank the zombie turkey off the wall, drag it outside, and torch it.

  “You’re right,” I said, turning back to the painting, folding my arms under my breasts—only the flat-chested could cross their arms over their chests, and I had been blessed with an ample bosom. “I’m sorry.”

  Lance sighed, cracked his long, elegant neck, and then stepped back toward me.

  “Our Miss Jill says this painter is the next hot thing… says they can’t keep his shit on the walls in Denver.”

  I rolled my eyes and took another, closer look. The detail was good, if not nauseating. The image was strong and commanding.

  Yeah, but the subject matter was ridiculous!

  Even if I could sell this turkey, I’d be the joke of the Chicago art world, not to mention the east coast.

  No, this couldn’t happen. I was going to have to dump this…

  Some workmen toted in another painting, this one of a gaggle of zombie turkeys surrounding one normal, non-zombie turkey.

  This was ridiculous.

  “So,” I said, looking over at a beguilingly off-centered couple standing by a still wrapped eight by six feet painting leaning against the bank of front windows. “Which one is he?”

  The couple consisted of a slightly punky, devil-may-care faced lothario with a goatee, distressed, practically painted on jeans, and some awesomely broad shoulders.

  The other was about as interesting as dry toast: an almost handsome face that seemed just out of focus... hair too neat… clothes right out of a J.C. Penny catalogue and a rather impressive ability to blend right in with the potted plants.

  Lance groaned. “The pathetically plain one? That’s Randy Crawford: the artist. The hot little slice beside him is his boyfriend, Darius.”

  Of course, it had to be the boring one.

  “God is a mean, hateful bitch if a sad sack like that can land himself such a gorgeous piece of ass!" Lance shook his head bitterly.

  The aforementioned Darius tore the paper covering from the front of the third painting.

  I gasped as the motley tableau before me assaulted my eyes: a grisly depiction of a flock of the zombie turkeys ripping apart a human corpse. The man, or should I say what was left of the man’s shredded and blood-splattered body, was holding a cornucopia in one hand, and a meat cleaver in the other.

  The irony was not lost on me, and yet I could not imagine what kind of mental imbalance or chemical reaction could have caused any sane person to paint this travesty.

  Was the boring painter a closet meth freak?

  At least that would be something interesting I could tell people at the showing.

  Oh god, there was going to be a show, wasn’t there?

  I asked, “Do you think we could just tell people that the hot one is the artist?”

  “Not a chance.”
Lance stage whispered. “He’s already posted his mug all over Facebook and Pinterest. There’s even going to be a banner by the front door.”

  “Fuck.” I put my hand to my forehead and tried to relax.

  But…

  But I was starving!

  How could I deal with a zombie turkey apocalypse on an empty stomach?

  But nothing sounded good.

  “Lance, I think we should order…”

  He waved me off with his perfectly manicured hand.

  “Way ahead of you, boss-lady. I ordered you pasta fagioli from Roma’s, with those little crustinis you like so much.”

  I sighed as I gazed lovingly at him. “Did you, maybe…”

  He smiled devilishly, his perfectly symmetrical face a portrait of beauty, his warm green eyes sparkling.

  “I ordered myself an Italian hoagie… you know I can never eat the whole thing!”

  He sucked in his fabulously ripped six-pack and acted as if he needed to diet.

  But if he ordered the hoagie, and I ate half of it, it didn’t count.

  Girl logic: perfect and insane.

  “Which reminds me, I’ve got to get the contracts for the Caron show out by noon!” He made a show of looking at his shell pink Rolex—a gift from a thankful and filthy rich art buyer that Lance wined and dined… and then did things to that I’m too young and pure of heart to know about.

  The buyer, Churchill Walker, had been old and crusty, though truly charming. I’m sure Lance earned every spinning gear and crystal facing of that twenty thousand dollar plus wristwatch.

  He eyed me. “So you’ll have to stay up front to tip Franco when he delivers the food.”

  “Why didn’t you add the tip to the company card?” I whined. I hated handling cash. And though Roma’s delivery man, Franco, was super nice… he liked to talk far too much about the stupidest of things. He also looked a hell of a lot like every Italian uncle in every movie ever made: potbelly, a mustache, and a hooked nose.

  “That’s why god created Visa and Master Card… not to mention American Express!”