Erotic Teasers

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “I don’t want to lose you,” he’d said.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Counseling. Time. Whatever it takes. You’ve been through a lot.”

  But we couldn’t afford counseling, and time didn’t change anything. Instead, month by month, I felt him slipping farther away.

  “Is your husband at work?” Reece asked.

  “Yeah, he works long hours,” I said.

  There was a sparkle in his eyes that hinted at possibilities. Possibilities he was clearly open to. Whatever it takes, Brett had said. A hot guy in my kitchen wasn’t one of the options he’d come up with, but maybe this was what it took—having a sexy guy see me as desirable. So I did my best to force my guilt aside and enjoy his admiring gaze.

  “It must be hard being without a kitchen,” he said. “Tell me about it,” I said. “Tonight’s going to be takeaway. Chinese, probably.”

  Mike and Reece worked all afternoon, and poor Abigail skipped all her naps. I didn’t even try to settle her. It was just too noisy.

  “Right,” Mike said later. “I’m done for the day.”

  “I’ll just finish the sink,” Reece said. “See you in the morning, Mike.”

  I let Mike out.

  Reece glanced my way. “I fancy takeaway tonight. Want me to pick some up, save you going out?”

  “Oh,” I said, “yeah, that would be great.”

  He returned laden with bags. I hesitated. Did he plan to eat here? His food would get cold if he drove home. “I’ve got plates somewhere,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll eat out of the box.”

  With a little stab of guilt, I sat next to him on the sofa. Brett wouldn’t be back for ages. He and I never ate dinner together anymore.

  “Is Abigail asleep?” Reece asked. “Yeah, fingers crossed,” I said.

  We glanced shyly at each other. This felt strangely like a date. “Does your sister live near you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, she moved closer when she split with her partner.”

  “Why did they split?”

  “He couldn’t handle sharing her with the baby.”

  “It’s hard on a relationship having kids. For us, it was the birth that did it. It broke me.” Shut up, I told myself. He doesn’t want to know.

  But he was nodding in sympathy. “At least you’re still together.”

  “By a thread,” I said.

  Tuesday afternoon after Mike had gone, I watched Reece drill holes into a cupboard door, the wood braced against his thigh, and found myself imagining his cock. Strange. I hadn’t had that kind of thought since the birth.

  He looked my way, with a tiny smile, as though he knew I’d been watching him. “Want me to get takeaway again?” he asked.

  I felt a funny flutter in my stomach. “Okay.”

  Abigail had refused to settle, so I rocked her as we ate.

  I glanced down at myself, suddenly aware of the baggy T-shirt and sweatpants I lived in these days. “Look at the state of me,” I said. “Stains all over my top and I haven’t washed my hair for days. Abigail wakes the minute I get in the shower.”

  “Look at me, then,” Reece said. He had wood chippings in his hair and his clothes were filthy.

  I laughed. “Okay, you win.”

  Abigail was grizzling. I stroked her hair, hoping to lull her to sleep.

  “Look, I’m happy to hold her while you take a shower,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got better stuff to do than sit around here.”

  “Seriously, I don’t mind.”

  The thought of a shower was too tempting. I handed Abigail over. Her wide blue eyes gazed up at him. She seemed quite content to lie there in his big, strong arms and I didn’t blame her. He stroked her forehead with his fingertip and soon her eyelids grew heavy.

  “You must have a magic touch,” I said. “I’ve always been good with my hands.”

  I reached for her. “I’ll try her in her cot,” I said.

  I held my breath as I laid her down, but she remained fast asleep.

  “You’re incredible,” I said once I’d crept from the nursery. “You can put in a new kitchen, settle a crying baby… What more could a woman want? You must get horny housewives jumping you all the time.”

  Reece grinned. “It’s happened. My girlfriend doesn’t mind. She kind of gets off on it, actually. One time she had me invite a customer back to our place.”

  “Really?” Our eyes met and I flushed.

  “You go shower,” he said. “I’ll shout you if she wakes.”

  With the hot water blasting down on me, I pictured Reece, his girlfriend, and his customer in bed together. Stop it, I told myself. Abigail could wake any moment.

  I finished my shower, threw on my robe and rushed out, but she was still sleeping. I caught the way Reece was looking at the robe.

  “Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t look it.

  “Nobody looks at me that way anymore,” I said.

  “Not even my husband.” “That’s a shame.”

  “It’s not his fault. I’ve shut myself off since the birth.” “Still love him?”

  I swallowed. The conversation was getting pretty intimate. “Yeah. But I can’t bear him near me.” I hadn’t told any of my friends that. “I’m broken,” I said.

  His dark eyes did a slow sweep of my body. “You don’t look broken to me.”

  “Believe me, I am.” Although I didn’t feel it when he was looking at me like that.

  Unbelievably, he reached out to touch my face. I froze. In the silence, I could hear our breathing. He traced along my jaw. I thought about what I was doing. Brett wouldn’t like it. He wouldn’t even want to know about it. But if this was the price…

  Reece’s fingers trailed down my throat to where my robe met my bare chest. His eyes searched mine. “You can tell me to stop.”

  I didn’t.

  His fingers inched inside my robe until they cupped my breast. I had to clutch the fridge to stay upright. The rough calluses on his fingertips only added to the sensation. He was breathing hard now. I closed my eyes, willing him to continue. I could feel life seeping back to a forgotten part of me.

  He withdrew his hand. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “And definitely not broken. See you tomorrow.”

  On Wednesday morning, Reece gave me a secret smile when I let him in. That night, as we ate dinner together again, I realized I’d spent more time in his company this week than with my husband.

  “I was thinking about your problem,” he said.

  “My . . . oh.” I flushed, realizing what he was talking about.

  “And like I said, I’m pretty good at fixing things.”

  I stared at him. So fix me, I thought. Please fix me.

  “What time’s your husband home?”

  “About six.”

  He touched my hand.

  Hit by a wave of guilt, I pulled away. “I’m married,” I said.

  “I get that,” he said. “I’m not proposing to fuck you. Unless you want me to. Fingers only. Let me prove to you that you’re not broken.”

  Were we seriously having this conversation?

  “What’s in it for you?” I asked.

  “It would be no great hardship, believe me.” He shifted closer until his hips met mine.

  Feeling something sharp in his jeans pocket, I reached in and pulled out one of his business cards. Immaculate Kitchens. We provide a full service.

  It broke the moment. I giggled. “Satisfaction guaranteed?”

  He smiled too. “We aim to please.”

  “I hope you don’t offer this to all your customers,” I said.

  “I don’t. Don’t tell anyone or they might get jealous. So, do you want the full service?”

  I found myself considering his offer. If it saved my marriage, would it really be so wrong?

  “Trust me,” he said. “I’m pretty damn good with my hands.”

  Did I trust him? I realized I did. Besides
, I wanted what he was offering so damn badly I wasn’t able to refuse. Before I knew it, I was nodding.

  “Let’s get it straight,” he said. “I’m not going to fuck you, or even kiss you. It’s hands only.”

  “Okay,” I said weakly.

  He led me to the bedroom. “Lie on the bed. Want to take that robe off, or can I?”

  My throat was so dry I could hardly get words out. “You can.”

  He untied my belt and peeled it back.

  I lay there, completely exposed. “Shit, I’m shaking,” I said.

  “Relax,” he said. “I’ll be gentle.”

  He began with my breasts, cupping them and stroking them until my nipples hardened to tight points. His warm palm swept down my stomach. I felt a finger, his forefinger, I thought, gently exploring me. I couldn’t believe this was happening, but my body was responding—big-time.

  “You’re so wet,” he said.

  So slowly that it killed me, he slid his finger up and down my clit. It was hard to believe such a big, strong guy could be so gentle. Watching my face, he painted circles round and round the most sensitive point on my body. My pleasure spiraled upward with each one. Then he switched to a rapid side-to-side movement, taking me to a whole new level. I gripped the mattress.

  “Inside?” he whispered.

  Excitement seared my stomach. I was too turned on to worry it might hurt. “Yeah.”

  His middle finger pressed into me. I sucked in my breath. “Deeper,” I managed to say.

  He sank his finger in all the way.

  I lifted my hips to his hand. “Fuck me with your finger.” He smiled. “Patience.” His finger withdrew and returned to painting circles.

  Pleasure raced down my legs and arms. He increased the pressure and after every circle began pushing his finger deep.

  “So…good…” I gasped, bucking for more.

  A sweet but long-forgotten feeling was stirring in me. The finger pushed in again and I soared upward. I was so close already…

  The finger retreated.

  I groaned. “Don’t stop.”

  But he stood up and adjusted his cock inside his jeans. “I’m off.”

  “Are you serious?” I said. “You can’t leave me like this.” “Nothing’s broken,” he said. “We’ve established that. I think your husband should be the one who finishes the job, don’t you?” Thursday morning.

  Reece waited until Mike was out of earshot. “So. Did you . . . ?”

  The heat rushed to my cheeks. “No,” I said. “Abigail woke. Otherwise we might have.”

  “Only might?” he pressed.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He frowned and continued his work. This was their last day. The kitchen was almost finished.

  Late afternoon, Mike shut his toolbox. “Right, that’s it for me,” he said. “I’ll leave Reecey boy here to finish and we’ll mail you the invoice.”

  Mike slammed the door behind him. There was an immediate wail from the baby monitor. I sighed and went to get Abigail. Cradling her in my arms, I perched on my glossy new kitchen counter and watched Reece position the final few tiles. His dark jeans hugged his ass to perfection.

  He washed his hands. “Give her here, then.” I watched him rock Abigail to sleep.

  When she was safely tucked up in the nursery, he turned to me, his eyes glinting. “Want to continue what we started yesterday?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”

  He led me to the bedroom. “Look, I’m not going to fuck you,” he said. “I promised you that. But have you got anything I can use to…?”

  My pulse sped up a notch. I opened a drawer and pulled out my vibrator. I’d only taken it out once since the birth. Abigail had woken before I had time to use it.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said.

  He nudged my legs apart. I sucked in a breath at the feel of the hard plastic tip. I was wet already. He twisted it gently against me as though it were a screwdriver. My body blocked it for a second, then accepted it. The cool plastic slid on in.

  I forced myself to take deep breaths as he eased it deeper.

  Halfway in, he paused. “How does it feel?” “Amazing.” I bucked my hips, desperate for more. He switched it on.

  I gasped.

  His rough palm clamped over my mouth. “Shh! You’ll wake Abigail.”

  This was insane. I was lying here naked under a strange man, with his hand over my mouth and a vibrator stuffed deep. My husband was far from my mind just then. All my focus was on this sexy young guy and what he was doing to me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to lie still. The vibrator buzzed deep inside me. He teased my clit with his finger and I felt like I was going to explode on the spot. And if he sucked my tits at the same time, I would detonate.

  He must have read my mind because I felt his warm breath on my breast. Through my eyelashes I saw his lips descending. They wrapped around my nipple and I felt a delicious, almost painful tug as he latched on. He slid the vibrator out and sank it back in deep. It felt incredible. Another few thrusts and I was teetering on the brink, ready to shatter.

  But before I got there, he slid the vibrator out. “No!” I said. “Don’t stop!”

  “Nothing broken?” His finger rested on my clit, maintaining the lightest pressure.

  “I guess not. Now, please . . . ” I lifted my hips, desperate for release.

  He shook his head. “I want you to want it so bad.” “You can’t do this to me.” I slid my hand down the back of his jeans and dug my fingernails into his asscheek. He groaned and pressed himself against me, his erection crushed against my thigh. I unzipped his fly, took his cock in the palm of my hand, and wrapped my fingers around its sticky solid warmth.

  He groaned again and pulled away. “This wasn’t what we agreed on.”

  “I know,” I said. “But you’re killing me.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s killing me too.” He tucked his cock back into his pants and peeled himself off the bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving you to your husband.”

  Deep down, I knew he was right. This was as far as we could go. He backed out of the room.

  “Where are you going?” I said.

  “Home. If I don’t explode in my pants on the drive, I’m going to sink this thing into my girlfriend.”

  I drew in a shuddery breath, picturing it.

  “While I fuck her, I’m going to imagine what you’re doing here with your husband. Don’t let me down, will you?”

  “I won’t.”

  He gave me a long look and turned to go.

  I slumped back on the bed. My clit throbbed like never before. I checked the time. Nearly half an hour until Brett might return. Too long. I pressed my finger to my clit and the pain eased. The softest pressure was all it needed. Soon I was right back on the verge of coming.

  No, I told myself. Wait. Brett had to be the one to do it. I needed to be like this, crazy for him, otherwise I would lose my nerve and back out. It was agony, but I forced myself to wait. Every few minutes, I stroked myself back up into a frenzy.

  At last, I heard the sound of the front door. “Hi!” I called.

  “Where are you?” Brett’s voice. “In here.”

  The eyes on me now were blue and familiar and open wide in concern. “Are you okay?” he said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you.” I drew back the covers. “Come here.”

  He lingered in the doorway. “I don’t want to put any pressure…”

  “Shut up and get a condom,” I said.

  He handed me one. Wasting no time, I tore it open. Meanwhile he peeled his shirt off and stepped out of his pants and underpants. He was hard already. I pushed his shoulders down to the bed and rolled the rubber down the length of him.

  Desperate to have his warm flesh inside me, I lowered my body over his and sat down hard.
/>   He gave a stunned laugh. “What happened to you?” “Don’t ask.”

  I rode him, looking down at his face. Imagining, just for a second, a very different set of features beneath me. Dark eyes, a shock of dark hair. Hands that could fix anything . . .

  I flung back my head and rode him harder. My husband gripped my waist, supporting my weight as I rose and dropped.

  “I missed you so much,” I whispered. “I missed you too, baby.”

  I reached down to touch myself, sliding my finger back and forth over my insanely swollen clit as his cock impaled me from beneath.

  It didn’t take much before I was right back on the brink again. The friction between our bodies was enough so I removed my finger and gripped Brett’s buttocks instead. “I’m nearly there.”

  His gaze held mine. “Come for me, Chloe.”

  I sped up my movements. He was panting short fast breaths and shunting his hips up to meet mine and giving me exactly what I craved. For a few delicious seconds, I teetered there. That was it! The next time our bodies crashed together, I tipped over the edge. Stuffed full of cock, my inner muscles clamped up in powerful waves.

  Brett gasped and lifted me one more time, before bringing me back down hard. I felt the pulses of his climax as his cock went off deep inside me. I collapsed onto his chest.

  We lay there in each other’s arms until our breathing slowed.

  “So the kitchen’s all fixed,” he said.

  “And so am I.” I clung to him, braced for the questions that would follow.

  But he simply gripped me a little tighter.

  A REAL ONE

  Leandra Vane

  Nine different tubes of pink lipstick were scattered over my bathroom counter. As I scrutinized each one, I was not thinking about which shade would give my pout the most demure look or which tone would complement my outfit the best. To my eyes, each one looked like a deviously delicious punishment.

  Pomegranate—demanding stripes from a leather strap. Mauve—hot, punishing bruises. Bubblegum— definitely a paddle. Sunset light pink—the perfect hand spanking. A jolt of pleasure shot up my spine and down to my toes. I picked up the tube to look at the name of the color. Number 11. Bare Blush. How fitting.