Extreme Passions

by Extreme Passions [Bold Strokes FF] (retail) (epub)

  Her mouth was less quiescent this time—less yielding, more eager. We shared control, passing it back and forth like a runner’s baton between tongues, teeth, lips. Gradually, I moved her toward the bed, squeezing the softness above her hips, fanning my fingers across the small of her back, her hands gently tangled in my hair. When her hamstrings hit the mattress, I stopped.

  “Shirt.”

  Thankfully, it was a simple tank top. With one jerky movement, she stood before me, bare from the waist up—and even as I looked at her, she squared her shoulders and set her jaw, determined to be proud.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said quietly, summoning all the affection I felt for her, supersaturating my words with it, wanting nothing more in that single moment than for her to believe me. Because she was. Magnificent—a chiaroscuro of tan and pale, lean muscle giving way to soft curves. Her breasts—not large but not small either—perfectly in between and perfectly her.

  I stripped off my own T-shirt and sports bra, tossing them aside without breaking our gaze. Her swift intake of breath went straight to my nipples. “Beautiful,” I repeated, pressing into her, molding my stomach to hers, “and fucking hot.”

  I kissed her again as our muscles slid together like puzzle pieces, as she moaned into my mouth, as I let the fingers of one hand play in the short hairs at the back of her neck. “What do you want?” I gasped, finally tearing my mouth away. “Tell me.”

  She gulped for air, her gaze flickering over my face, warming me with the palpable strength of her desire. “I...” she began, then swallowed. “I want...I want to f-fuck you.”

  The slight stutter, her earnest intensity...the aching pressure between my breasts spiked momentarily as I pushed her backward, onto the bed. “Is that all?” I asked, looming above her. Her hands came to my waist before wrapping around my back, pulling me close.

  “I want you to fuck me.” She whispered this confession into my ear, her voice quiet but stronger. I shivered and kissed her neck—allowed my lips to pull fire to the surface of her skin. A mark.

  “I will,” I murmured, gently scraping my teeth against the ridge of one tendon. “Soon.”

  I shifted my weight over her to trail a burning ley line of licking kisses down her body, pausing briefly to suck at the soft fullness of her breasts. Her nipples were hard and dark, but I didn’t touch them. She loved to be teased, after all—that much I knew. I undid the button of her shorts, then pulled down the zipper. I worked them down her legs, slowly revealing the red-brown triangle beneath—trimmed dark hair, crimson swollenness lying in wait.

  “Commando,” I laughed softly, sitting back to admire what I had revealed. “Very nice.”

  “Now yours,” she replied hoarsely, and I watched her abs contract as she sat up and reached for the fly of my cargo shorts. I let her undo the buttons, one by one. Her muscles quaked as she pushed the fabric off my hips, down my legs, until finally, I shifted enough to kick them off.

  Her roving gaze had paused at the vee of my thighs, and I watched her appraise my naked sex, watched her lick her lips. It was hard not to shiver. “See something you like?” My tone was going for casual, but even I could hear the hitch in my voice.

  “Yes,” she answered throatily, raising her head. “God, your body is amazing.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” I whispered as I lay down on top of her again. This time, I focused my attention on her nipples, sliding them between the lengths of my fingers, up and down, twisting ever so slightly, occasionally flicking one or the other with my tongue. Her hands were frantic against my skin, one massaging the taut muscles of my back while the other kneaded my heavy breasts. My sighs mingled with hers, and I felt our stomachs grow slick as we moved against each other.

  I shifted slightly to one side so I could draw my fingers down the center of her body, dipping briefly into her navel before teasing the crinkly hairs at the base of her torso. I slid lower in fits and starts, tantalizing, teasing, listening to the low whimpers that each slight movement of my fingers wrung from her throat. And then, finally, I pressed harder, dipped lower. The delicate folds of her softest skin gave way before my fingertips, welcoming me into the swollen maze, wet and scorching. Her hips bucked and I pressed down firmly on her stomach, holding her to the bed.

  “You’re going to k-kill me,” she stammered hoarsely, staring up at me with wide green-black eyes.

  I leaned down to catch one nipple between my lips, sucking deeply before scraping it with my teeth. “No, love,” I whispered. “I’m going to make you feel so good, so alive.” Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow, but I didn’t stop until I felt her body begin to gather beneath mine. “Not yet,” I crooned. “Oh no, not yet.”

  Her lips tried to form the word “please” and failed. I raised my head and smiled before sliding down along the bed until I rested in the wide vee of her legs, until the hood of her clitoris was even with my eyes. I reached out to touch the swollen head with one light fingertip, and she gasped.

  “Like that?” I whispered, barely audible, my breath cascading against her burning skin.

  “Fuck...” she breathed, just before I brought a second finger to her, before I squeezed lightly, gently massaging the flame-bright nerves between both fingertips. “Fuck yeah...oh God...”

  I glanced up, my gaze tracking along the rolling hills of her belly, the sharp peaks of her breasts, the rigid planes of her cheeks as she gave in to sensation. Beautiful. My heart so full, full to bursting, full of light and want, so much energy, so much heat—and I breathed it out, sighed warmly against her skin. She shivered. I caressed her delicately with my tongue even as I continued to massage the base of her clit with one finger—and suddenly, without warning, her hips surged against my mouth, my hand.

  She cried out—softly, surprised—and I stayed with her throughout the unexpected climax, prolonging it with sucking kisses and firm but gentle strokes. Finally, she tugged at my shoulder blades, urged me to move up her body. I resisted.

  “Amazing,” she murmured hoarsely. “God, you’re so good at tha—”

  I grinned and licked at her clit again, forestalling her compliments, gently teasing until her strong legs began to tremble. Only then did I raise my head—and despite her groan of protest, I slid up to finally stretch out next to her. I brought our lips together, then, breathing the taste of her into her mouth.

  “Do you remember what I told you?” I asked softly, my tone almost conversational. Another way of teasing. “Years ago, do you remember?”

  She swallowed audibly. “Y-you said you’d blow my f-fucking mind.” The words were a whisper, a harsh blast searing her lips.

  “And? Am I keeping my promise?” I reached one hand down to cup her briefly before circling the opening into her body, rubbing gently, anointing the tiny grooves and spirals of my fingertips with more of her wetness.

  “Oh,” she groaned, eyes shuttering in pleasure. “Oh yeah.” She raised her hips as far as my restraining hand would let her.

  I knew exactly what that meant—she wanted me inside, needed me enclosed by the smooth pull of her body. And I wanted that too, so badly—to be inside her, to know the curve of her, to hear the hiss of her breath as I pressed in and up. But before I could angle my fingers for that slow slide, I felt her hand move down my belly, felt it shift and turn, felt two fingers slip on either side of my clitoris to squeeze and caress me.

  “God...” That was my voice, low and choked and nearly unrecognizable, even to my own ears. I was very, very wet, I realized. Wet and open next to her, for her. She coated my clit with my own wetness, her fingers skating around and across it with fleeting strokes before finally returning to the place that ached to be filled. And then, as one, we slipped our index fingers into each other’s bodies, just up to the first knuckle.

  She groaned, and her eyes grew even darker—a retinal eclipse of the iris, black swallowing hazel. My breaths came faster, and I rocked against her, urging her to enter me further even as she massaged me w
ith barely glancing brushes of her thumb.

  As one, the deep, gentle thrust. As one, the addition of another finger—stretching, filling. In and out, in and out, point counterpoint, her eyes boring into mine, her breaths the air for my lungs, in and out, in and out and the pressure, a rising tide beneath my skin, coalescing and pooling, bubbling and seething until finally finally finally—

  “I do love you,” she affirmed, gasping. “I do.”

  And then the light, the fire, they poured from us simultaneously, erupting in hot, wet tides, cascading over fingers, palms, wrists. Her abs locked against mine as she strained into me, pushing and pressing as though she wanted to climb into my skin, to feel, experience my ecstasy from the inside out. My internal muscles clutched at her fingers, holding, embracing, worshiping the boldness of her touch—firm inside, yet yielding.

  Gradually, my breathing slowed; gradually we cooled, my face buried in the curve between her shoulder and neck, her cheek rubbing tenderly against the thick strands of my hair. Gradually, reality intruded—distant birdsong, the passing voices of other guests in the hallway. A warm, salt-scented breeze rattled the palm trees outside and ruffled the wavy ends of my—

  “Uh...”

  The sporadic tapping of her fingers against the door frame brought me back. She cleared her throat. “That’s okay, I’ll just wait for you out here.”

  More than a little stunned, I shook my head and blinked. I could feel my face ignite, could only hope she’d chalk it up to sunburn. I closed my eyes, swallowed, and willed my legs to be steady. My left thumb caressed the platinum band around my forefinger, rubbing up and over the smooth ridge of metal, the gesture as comforting as it had been the first time, sitting in church next to my wife—Mara, my first and always, till death do us part.

  I guess it’s kind of dorky, what I thought of then—because standing there with the ashy guilt raining down to coat my brain, I remembered Milton. Y’know, Paradise Lost? Adam, Eve, temptation, apples, snakes...but there was this one line that just popped into my head right then, about how a thought can enter the mind of a person, but if they don’t approve it, if they don’t act on it, there’s no blame to be assigned.

  God, I hoped he was right about that.

  “Yeah, cool,” I said, reaching out to collect my wallet from the dresser. The muscles in my arm trembled slightly. “Be right out.” Briefly, I considered splashing water on my face, but was fairly certain I’d only end up with steam. Instead, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and willed the tension to drain out of my body through the soles of my feet. We were friends. Buddies. And we were going to have a great day, chock full of laughter and horsing around and business as usual.

  “Jeez,” she joked as I joined her in the hallway a few moments later. “You trying to get me in trouble or something?”

  I couldn’t resist—I smiled at her. Not just any smile—the enigmatic one, a slight curve of my lips that was both a blessing and a curse. And maybe it was a promise, too—maybe this would happen someday. This. Us. Maybe the gravity, karma, kismet, fate, whatever the hell it was would force us together...and if it did? Well, so sue me, but I can’t say that most of me would be sorry about that.

  “You have no idea,” I said aloud, drawing out each word. Finally, I managed to lock the door and spun on my heel toward the nearest exit.

  “Hey!” she spluttered, hurrying after me. “How many times have I told you—you’re not allowed to smile at me like that! Not ever!”

  I tossed another grin over my shoulder and quickened my pace. Thankfully, the flush was already subsiding. My body still ached, but at least it was in motion. That helped, a little.

  “Oh, yeah?” I fired back. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

  We exchanged banter like that for the rest of the day—and if you must know, we really did go take a tour of Mount Kilauea. It was incredible—a huge shield volcano that’s been erupting continuously for twenty-three years now, steadily pouring out slow streams of lava. Molten ribbons—gentle but dangerous, tentative yet blazing.

  It reminded me of us, actually. Of the chemistry between us.

  Barely controlled fire.

  Inferno II: Flash

  Lindsey Downing-Greenes

  Hawaii had been a blast—a pure vacation. San Francisco was partially work, but maybe because of that it would some ways be even better—it was something we were both passionate about.

  Six months. Six months since we’d really seen each other last. Something had happened in Hawaii, on the way to that mountain hike, something that made things between us…different. There had been a moment, just one moment, when she had flashed those beautiful warm brown eyes at me and something in them flared, something as raw as the volcano that bled between our feet—and then she hid it away, hid it behind that deep sadness that is the only thing she ever lets anyone see, or maybe that’s just me, trying to read her.

  We still talked on the phone a lot and flooded out our respective e-mails—well, in some ways we had to, her production company was sponsoring my museum’s research—but I couldn’t help but think that on some level, Gwen was trying to put some distance between us. But this trip…we had to take it—there was a medieval retrospective with some traveling items at the Legion of Honor Museum that she thought would shed some light on the research.

  I don’t really know if she knows how damned attractive she is to me, and it’s not just her face, though it’s worth looking at, surely. I love her voice, that sexy low alto that’s half a purr, her deep throaty laugh and the way she carries it in the back of her words.

  Our investigations done, she was moody and tense as we walked the path from the parking lot to the edge of the world while we left our partners to quest for the “perfect” souvenirs back at Fisherman’s Wharf after a visit to Alcatraz.

  Gwen had wrinkled her perfectly aquiline nose when asked if she was interested. “Don’t we live in enough of a prison already,” she returned, “prisoners of custom and culture, prisoner to biology and construct, that we have to go visit one?”

  It was way too heavy a statement—and the only one she’d made all day.

  There was a moment of silence when she looked back over the water to “the Rock” before we all mutually agreed that they would go to Alcatraz and we’d go to Sea Cliff.

  “There!” Gwen exclaimed as we came around the path. She ran and stopped short just at the edge, looking down a height that made me sweat with fear for both of us.

  “See that?” she asked excitedly, pointing down, all the way down, past the trees and the shrubs and the five-story drop to the beach and the strange, ancient ruin-like structure upon it. The Sutro Baths—but that’s not what she was excited about, it was the honeycomb of caves right behind it and the anticipation of sunset—of the chance to see the green flash.

  I slowly and carefully made my way to her and put my hand on her backpack, gently pulling on the strap, pulling her away from the edge.

  She had done the same thing in Hawaii—body-surfing the bigger waves, always calling “C’mon, one more!” from out in the big blue, and when we’d climbed the mountain? She’d walked as close as she could to everything—the cliff, the lava, daring the elements, daring herself, always looking for a new reaction, a heretofore unknown combination.

  Times like that, like this, I didn’t know what I wanted more: her or to be her. Either way, she was the core of the answer.

  “Ready to go explore?” I asked her with a grin born partially of relief when she stepped back onto the path with me.

  She dipped her head to peer over her sunglasses at me and her eyes sparked, a reflection of the sun in the water. I could feel the energy crack around her when her lips curved at me—that smile, that smile that got her into more trouble than she could handle.

  No, that wasn’t true—it was more than I could handle. It wasn’t her fault that her mouth was so perfectly curved and her eyes so deeply knowing, was it?

  “Race you there!” she challenge
d with a lift to her chin, and she was off and down the trail, two steps ahead of me.

  “Hey! No fair!” I spluttered and forgot about the height as I scrabbled after her. The low-lying shrubbery gave way to the open ruin.

  “Aha!” I exclaimed, catching up to her, “gotcha!”

  Gwen stopped dead in her tracks and turned her head to give me that full-wattage grin. “Nah, Jules,” she drawled in that half purr that made my blood burn under my skin, “you’ve always had me.”

  My breath caught in my throat as my brain waded through the layers of meaning in those six little words.

  “C’mon,” she urged and led the way.

  It was a pretty amazing sight, but I missed much of it as I followed the woman before me. Gwen explained about the green—how people said you could hear the sun set in the Pacific if you listened hard enough and how, if you got there at just the right time and the sky was just right for a second, half a heartbeat maybe, the sun would flare green and paint the sky in emerald before sinking down into the ocean.

  I realized I was lost in the contemplation of her boyish-shaped ass—small and tight and—I stopped and turned to look back at the height we’d descended from earlier before I did something phenomenally stupid.

  Gwen noticed instantly and stepped back. She gently caught my arm and turned me around.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice low, urgent, “never turn your back to the Pacific.”

  “Why?” I asked, the best I could come up with because I was too busy registering the fact that those delicate long fingers had a surprisingly strong grip on my bicep.

  I flexed it slightly and she dropped her hand as if she’d touched an open flame. Maybe she had, because her cheeks had taken on a rosy hue. I wondered for a moment if she could feel my thoughts, and if she did, if she’d step away.

  She took off her sunglasses and closed the space between us instead. “Because it’s a lie,” she said softly, looking up at me, “because it only looks peaceful—smooth, tranquil.” Her fingertips came up to rest delicately on my shoulder. “Then…it throws out a wave that will sweep you away before you can blink.”