I Love Lacy

by Lillian Feisty

  And then pushing past her lips and into her sweet mouth.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and discovered she was trembling.

  “You okay? We can stop anytime…” Please don’t stop.

  She turned those big blue eyes his way and Christ if that didn’t make his balls tight. She was like something out of a magazine. A fantasy come to life.

  “I don’t want to stop.” She reached to his waist and fussed with the buckle. It came open with a soft clink. “I want to taste you. I need to smell you.” She undid the first button of his jeans. “Everywhere.”

  “Okay,” he responded. What else could he say? He’d always said he had high ethics but very low morals.

  She tugged his jeans over his hips, leaving him in his boxers. Through the cotton, she wrapped her small palm over his erection and squeezed. He pushed the back of his head against the wall. There was still a small part of his brain that was wondering how the fuck this was happening, but that little voice was getting easier to ignore.

  Then the voice disappeared all together. She pulled his boxers down and his cock sprang free. Her eyes went wide before she lowered her lids and inhaled deeply. He watched as she held the lungful of air and when she exhaled her breath caressed his skin like a balmy summer breeze.

  “Now I know what my mother was talking about.”

  “Huh?” She was talking about her mother?

  She nodded. “Yes. My mother knew my father was the one when she smelled him. It’s one of the perks of being an Aromatherapian. That and our chicken cacciatore.”

  “The one? Chicken?”

  “Mmm.”

  It seemed like a topic he should delve further into, but just then she took his cock in her palm and sucked a drop of juice from the swollen tip. He groaned as she slid his dick over her lips and across her moist tongue and sucked him straight to the back of her throat.

  His heart pounded, his blood boiled in his veins. He couldn’t stop—he pushed deeper, withdrew and repeated his thrust. He tried to be gentle but she grabbed his hips and urged him further.

  “Fuck,” he said. “You are so fucking amazing.”

  She hummed her agreement and the sweet vibration nearly sent him over the edge.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he yanked her to her feet. “Not yet.”

  Her eyes were big and dilated as she stared at him and nodded. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

  Christ. If only she hadn’t asked the question, because he had an answer. And very low morals.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  Her pulse jumped at his words. She was so glad this man knew how to take initiative. She wouldn’t have been at all happy with a man who was a pushover in the bedroom. Or the kitchen, as the case may be.

  With quivering hands, she began unlacing her boots. God, why hadn’t she gone with a nice pair of slip-ons? The process was taking forever.

  His eyes burned into her, watching her, and as each second passed more anticipation built in her belly.

  Her fingers were trembling by the time she was finished with the boots. She kicked them off to land with a clatter near the stove. His eyes scanned her body as she tugged off her leggings.

  Normally she would have been shy stripping in front of a total stranger—not that she’d done it very often, just that one time in college—but Mason’s scent was radiating off his body in spicy, fresh waves. He was turned on by her. She could smell it. One of the perks of being an Aromatherapian was it took a lot of the guesswork out of dating.

  Then she was naked except for her bra and panties. If she had known she was going to be getting busy with a hot PI, she would have done better than her plain purple cotton underwear. Oh well. There would be time for dress-up later.

  “Take off your bra and panties.”

  Her pussy clenched at his command. He was bossy and she loved it. She stepped out of her panties, then reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She wasn’t self-conscious about the extra five pounds she’d put on recently—one of the unfortunate side effects of her job as a food critic—because his scent was so strong it was making her giddy and carefree.

  “God, you’re fucking amazing.”

  She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  “Now turn around and lean over the table.”

  Her legs quivered but not from hesitation. Her body was reacting to the heady adrenaline rushing through her blood, filling her with an unfamiliar self-assurance. In fact she’d never been so confident with a man before. She wanted to show this stranger herself, her most private self, and as she turned to follow his command she inhaled deeply. His spicy scent filled her lungs, her head.

  She bent at the waist and laid the top half of her body on the kitchen table. Her breasts tingled on the cold, wooden surface. She felt him behind her, leaning against her body as he gently took her arms and placed her hands palms-down on either side of her shoulders. Her elbows stuck out and straight up. She loved the way he had restrained her movement with nothing more than a few tricky moves. Detective Mason was very efficient.

  His hands moved over the exposed skin of her ass. “So soft and lovely. Have you ever been spanked?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “No,” she breathed.

  “Have you ever wanted to be?”

  Oh boy, did she. It was one of her naughtiest fantasies. “Yes.”

  “Have you been naughty?” His touch grew firm as he massaged her bottom.

  She inhaled and repressed a smile. “Yes. Yes, I think I have been.”

  “Are you laughing?”

  “No,” she giggled.

  “You are. That definitely deserves a punishment.”

  “Yes, Mr. Mason.” She was really getting into it now. Her body shook in anticipation. Her pussy was wet, throbbing.

  Smack. The palm of his hand struck her bottom and she gasped as the sting went straight to her sex in a lightning-hot pulse.

  “Did you like that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Tell me how you like it.” He smacked her again and she cried out, writhed against the table.

  “I liked it,” she said, feeling a warm glow spreading over her ass. “Please…do it again.”

  He obliged, moving his hand lower, nearer to her sex. She was sticking her ass out, encouraging him. Ecstasy shot through her body every time his palm came down, until she was screaming from pleasure and Fuck! She could climax from it all right now.

  “You’re a naughty little Aromatherapia.”

  “Aromatherapian,” she gasped, then moaned when he spanked her for the correction.

  “Do you want to come now?”

  How could she be so close to coming from a few spankings? “Yes, but I want you to fuck me.”

  “Ask me nicely.” His voice sounded deeper, hoarse.

  “Please, Detective O’Malley. Please fuck me, pretty fucking please!”

  “Since you asked so politely.” She heard him ripping apart what must have been a condom wrapper. Her body shook as she waited. She wanted nothing more than to have him inside her, pounding into her. Fucking her.

  She closed her eyes as she felt his large hands grip her hips, pulling her back to his body. Then she felt him, the full, hard length of his cock as he rubbed against her swollen pussy. Moaning, she braced herself on the wooden table as he pressed the tip of his erection against her anus, then moved lower until the head reached her clit.

  “Yes,” she sighed. Her clit was a needy little thing. “Touch me there.”

  He reached around her stomach to go between her legs. Then his clever fingers touched her, firmly rubbing that sensitive place, back and forth and then in circles. Soon she was pleading with him to let her come.

  “Not yet.” He pulled away and she was about to beg him more but then he was filling her, deep and sure, his cock only stopping when it reached the very end of her passage. She ground against his hand, his lovely hand that knew exactly what she needed. He knew exactly how to fuck her, how she liked it slow and t
hen hard and always steady. Detective O’Malley was rock-steady.

  She came. She came right there in a screaming, shaking climax that had her throwing her head back and yelling his name. She’d never experienced anything like it. Her senses went crazy and her nose tingled so much she started sneezing.

  “Oh God!” He thrust into her, as deep as he could go, then stilled.

  She sneezed again and the muscles inside of her vagina contracted.

  “Oh, fuck, Miss Kane! That’s so fucking—yes!”

  She sneezed again and then felt the response of his pulsing cock inside her. He held her still against his hips as he released. She wanted to feel his hot ejaculation and resented the polyurethane barrier between them. Oh well. One day they wouldn’t need it.

  After his breathing had slowed a bit he pulled out of her. Her legs shook as she stood, and she was about to lean against the table for support but then she was in his arms.

  Unfortunately he’d pulled his pants up and his shirt was still on. She’d have liked to have felt his skin next to hers as he walked through her house. As if he’d been there before, he went straight to her bedroom and pushed open the door.

  She loved her bed. Covered in vintage quilts, it was warm and welcoming and as Mason lowered her onto the soft cotton, she sighed in pleasure. She clung to his hand, wanting him to join her, but he shook his head.

  “If you still want me to take the job, I need you to fill out some paperwork.”

  She nodded and tried to concentrate as he explained his short but thorough contract. A few minutes later she had signed on the dotted line and it was official. Mason was hired. For some reason the thought lessened her anxiety a bit.

  As he folded the papers and placed them on her dresser, she stifled a yawn.

  “Get some sleep. You’re about to pass out. All that Benadryl.”

  She pushed herself onto an elbow. “No, my tiara—”

  He pulled a quilt over her naked body. “Take a nap. I’m gonna take a look around, check out the safe. See what I can come up with.”

  Suddenly she was so tired. The antihistamines must be kicking in and it was too easy to sink into the welcoming warmth of her bed. The light clicked off and the door clicked shut and she closed her eyes. Just before she drifted off she heard a soft voice. “Sweet dreams, Miss Kane.”

  She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of him in her house—his boot steps on her wood floor, the sound of a faucet running. The low murmur of his voice as he made a call. She smiled to herself. There was something reassuring about those everyday noises, something very comforting. And despite all that happened, as she drifted off too sleep she realized she’d never felt so safe.

  Chapter Two

  Miss Kane’s house did not look like the home of a crazy person. She lived in a 1940s bungalow that had been immaculately kept up. As he inspected doors and windows for signs of breaking and entering, his shoes squeaked over the shiny hardwood floor. Original pine, he noted with appreciation. And the light fixtures were all period antiques that had been restored.

  Her furniture consisted of a few high-quality pieces, including a plump leather recliner that looked downright welcoming. Her house was a far cry from the sparse apartment he called home and, just for a minute, Mason wondered if it was time to suck it up and start dating. A woman’s touch could be a good thing.

  Yes, earlier her touch had definitely been a good thing. His mind was still reeling from the impromptu encounter in her kitchen. He didn’t know what had come over him—before noon, no less! Just the thought of her sweet ass, blushing from the spanking he’d given her, made him want to do it again. He wanted to spread her open, lick her from top to bottom. He wanted her underneath him, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips as he pounded into her.

  His balls went tight. He wanted her.

  He could have left an hour ago. Okay, about five hours ago. She’d been sleeping for hours, and the afternoon sun was beginning to illuminate her house in a soft glow.

  He’d done a full check of the premises and found nothing amiss. No signs of breaking and entering. The only destruction had been to the safe—Miss Kane hadn’t picked a top-of-the-line model. From what he could tell, all it had taken were a few whacks with a hammer to have the thing open.

  The safe was in a small room packed with newspapers, shelves of books and tiny bottles. Dried plants hung from the ceiling, attached to various ribbons and twine. He smelled lavender and vanilla. It smelled like her. He’d been in this room for the better part of an hour, even after he heard her get out of bed. He was afraid to see her again, afraid of how he’d respond. And yet he didn’t want to leave.

  He had no idea what was wrong with him.

  “Did you find anything unusual?”

  You. He looked to the doorway. Her red hair was sleep-tousled and her cheeks were pink. She’d put her clothes back on but was barefoot.

  The instant he saw her he went hard. How could that be? Yes, she was beautiful, but he’d had sex with dozens of gorgeous women. Normally he wanted to get away from them as soon as he pulled the condom off his semi-hard cock.

  So why was he still here?

  Because you want—need—to feel her again. As he’d combed her house the feeling had been building but now, just being in the same room with her made his cock throb with a craving unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  He cleared his throat. “Nothing except the safe. Whoever stole your tiara didn’t break into the house.”

  She crossed the room and pulled a large book off a shelf. “Ralph.”

  “Give me his address. I’ll go interview him.”

  “I want to go, too. I have some things to ask him.” She paged through the book. “Eucalyptus is the exact opposite genotype from mine. That’s why I reacted so strongly to you.” She glanced up and gave him a once-over. “Mmm. Very interesting.”

  He shook his head. “Miss Kane. What are you talking about?”

  “Do you know what an Aromatherapian is?”

  “Doesn’t that mean you mix oils and stuff?”

  “No. That’s an aromatherapist. Same line, different species.” She slapped the book shut and turned to a collection of tiny glass jars stacked on a wooden tiered shelf. “Basically, I’m very sensitive to smells. Like earlier, when I smelled you? That was example of my brain responding to your pheromones.”

  He closed his eyes. “Do you have any scotch?” He suddenly needed something to help tame the hurricane of emotions this woman conjured whenever she was near.

  She shook her head.

  “Tequila?”

  “Nope. I do have a lovely Napa Cab that I’d be happy to open. Hearty and rich with a black currant taste and just a hint of blackberry and mint. And the tiniest smidge of vanilla.” She closed her eyes, licked her lips. “I like it with a rack of lamb, but it’s also lovely with brie and chocolate.”

  “Come here.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “What?”

  “Come here.” As she had described the wine it had been like watching her disclose a deep fantasy. A flush had spread across her neck, her moistened lips tempted him. He had to taste her.

  Her nose twitched and she took two steps before throwing herself against him. She fit so easily in his arms. He would have sworn her mouth had taken on the flavor of what she had described. As he kissed her he tasted berries, mint and chocolate.

  He lifted her light body until she was wrapping her legs around him. He couldn’t believe he was so hard for her again. Two steps and she was pinned to the back of the door and he was pushing his cock against the soft cotton panties she wore under her dress.

  He wanted to rip off her clothes, fuck her against the wall. Instead he concentrated on the way her heels dug into his back, the way she sighed into his mouth.

  But then she was wiggling against him and he had to tear himself away from her lips. He tilted her chin upward to face him. “What are you doing to me?”

  She nodded against his fingers. “It
’s the pheromones.”

  “Oh, right. That explains everything.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I have no idea what to believe.” He slid her down his body until she was standing before him. He had to tear his hands off her—she was just too goddamn sexy. “Aromatherapian?”

  She smiled and he nearly lost himself again.

  “Exactly. So, like I said. I’m sensitive to scents. It’s hereditary—everyone in my family has the ability.”

  “The ability to what, exactly?”

  “Smell things.”

  “That’s your power?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a power.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Sometimes I call it annoying. For example, once I got a nosebleed in a Dodge Ram.”

  He just stared at her.

  “It’s true. I’m allergic to that new car smell.” She shrugged. “Which is a damn shame because I’d love a Prius.”

  He shook his head. When had he totally lost control of this conversation? This situation?

  The sooner he finished this case the better. “So. What’s the estimated value of this tiara?”

  “It’s priceless.”

  He sighed. “Well, for insurance purposes, you’re going to need an anticipated value.”

  “Detective O’Malley. I’m not sure you understand the definition of the word priceless.”

  “Miss Kane—”

  She went to a glass cabinet and opened a door. “You see, I need to wear the tiara each morning for thirty-seven minutes.”

  “Thirty-seven?”

  “Yes. It’s the blessed number.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I get my scent energy from the sanctified amethyst stone in the center of the tiara. Without it I lose all my abilities.” Her eyes searched his, silently begging him to believe her.

  He sighed. Loudly. “But I thought you said it was annoying. Why does it matter if you keep this ability?”

  “I said it was annoying sometimes. Like they way you constantly tap your toe.”

  He stilled his foot.