Stolen Moments

by Stolen Moments [FF] (retail) (epub)

  Isabel’s eyes lit up with keen—professional—interest and she grasped the back of Morgan’s neck, kneading firmly. “Pretty tense. You know what you need, don’t you?”

  Morgan looked at her dumbly, dark eyebrows raised, mouth curved in a half smile, wondering if she should tell her.

  “Well, what do I do for a living?” Isabel’s eyes, guileless and innocent, fixed on Morgan’s. “I can fix the pain. That’s what I do. I can’t believe I’ve never given you a massage. It’s the least I can do for the driveway. And after that I’ll make us some dinner.”

  Morgan’s heart stopped, yet she still felt her pulse beating wildly in her throat. Her mouth went dry, but between her thighs she could feel herself getting wetter.

  “We can use the guest room,” Isabel continued enthusiastically, pointing at a second door. “The bed’s perfect in there, very firm, and the room’s nice and warm. Come on.”

  Morgan followed Isabel in and watched as she placed two firm pillows on top of the covers.

  “You can kind of put your head between these so you can breathe,” she said. “Just lie down on your tummy.”

  “Okay,” Morgan said weakly as she focused on the queen-size bed covered with a duvet in abstract pastels. She untied and removed the belt from her robe, tossed it aside, and lay down on her front. Then she lifted her arms, bent them around the pillows, and rested her forehead between them on her clasped hands.

  “Yes, that’s good,” Isabel said as she got up on the bed and straddled Morgan’s hips, her knees resting against Morgan’s sides.

  Morgan could feel the heat even through the fuzzy robe. Oh God, I’m dying. I’ll never survive this.

  “Do you always give massages like this?” she croaked, face between the pillows.

  Isabel laughed, completely relaxed as she tugged on Morgan’s arms to bring them down again so she could pull the blue robe off, exposing the smoothly muscled, bare back down to the waist.

  “Hardly. I do have various massage boards, but this is so much more comfortable. You’ll probably fall asleep.”

  Morgan groaned silently to herself. As if.

  She felt Isabel’s warm hands grasping the rigid muscles at the nape of her neck and moving outward along her shoulders, then returning, the fingers pushing and squeezing the tightness from neck to elbows, down both sides of her back, then in toward her spine. With the heels of her hands Isabel pressed from shoulder to waist. Slowly and surely Morgan’s body relaxed and her heart rate slowed down, her mind filled only with the rhythm of Isabel’s strong hands on her.

  She drifted for a long while as the soothing massage continued. She had almost dozed off when something changed. Isabel’s soft, regular breathing had changed. It was still soft but it had become uncertain, slightly ragged.

  All of Morgan’s senses were suddenly on full alert as she forced her body to remain limp. Now Isabel’s breathing seemed to quicken a little, and Morgan’s heart pounded in reflex. She almost swooned when Isabel grazed the sides of her buttocks lightly with the insides of her thighs. And then again, until Isabel wasn’t just straddling Morgan anymore, but lightly brushing her inner thighs and center along the top of Morgan’s muscled cheeks, forward and back, as she continued to manipulate Morgan’s back and shoulders with her hands.

  “Morgan…I…” Isabel’s voice shook. “Oh God…” The massaging stopped as she leaned forward, her hands resting on Morgan’s shoulders. In this position the apex of her thighs rested on Morgan’s buttocks, and Isabel squirmed slightly, pushing down. Her breathing had become even more erratic. Morgan imagined the other woman’s breasts heaving above her.

  “Take your clothes off,” Morgan said hoarsely. She turned her head sideways to look up at Isabel. Hazel eyes met blue, both pairs darkened by desire in the dim, golden light of the lamp.

  “Yes.” Isabel’s voice was a whisper. She lifted one leg over Morgan and moved away enough to struggle out of her loose trousers, satin underpants, and T-shirt while still on the bed. Then she bent over Morgan and removed the robe.

  “So lovely,” Isabel said, her voice trembling as she caressed Morgan’s smooth, firm buttocks. Again she straddled Morgan and lowered herself slowly to sit, leaning forward with her hands resting on the bed beside Morgan’s shoulders. She moaned softly.

  “No, put your hands on my shoulders.” Morgan’s voice was husky as she raised her bent arms again and rested the side of her head on her clasped hands. Her body was once more rigid and tense with arousal.

  Isabel clutched Morgan’s shoulders and began to slide forward and back on Morgan’s buttocks, her thighs spread wide. She was so very wet that Morgan’s buttocks were soon slippery with moisture.

  Morgan pushed her face into the bed between the two pillows and groaned loudly as she felt the heat and the friction and the slickness from the other woman against her sensitive skin. When she heard Isabel moaning, she groaned again and, gritting her teeth, tried to hold back the orgasm that was about to take her over the edge.

  She knew the other woman was close too. Isabel gripped Morgan’s shoulders harder. She was gasping. Suddenly she brought one knee to rest between Morgan’s thighs and then she was riding just one muscled buttock. She thrust her engorged clit against it hard—once, twice—then her hands came away from Morgan’s shoulders as she arched her back and climaxed with a loud wail. Whimpering, she collapsed on Morgan.

  Morgan was panting, frantic. She grabbed Isabel’s hand where it lay beside her, pulled it between her body and the mattress, and pushed it down against her dripping sex. One touch and she came hard into Isabel’s palm, then convulsed again, sobbing in ecstasy.

  They lay there, Morgan’s heart pounding into the mattress, Isabel’s heart pounding into Morgan’s back.

  “What the hell was that all about? Oh God, what an orgasm.” Isabel’s voice was a moan in the hollow at the nape of Morgan’s neck.

  Morgan turned her head so that Isabel’s mouth was against her cheek and her silky hair hung over their faces, blocking the light. The memory of her own climax made her guts contract involuntarily. Slowly their breathing returned to normal but they did not move, still enjoying the hot, damp sensuality of their bodies pressed together.

  Suddenly Morgan had to know.

  “Have you ever thought about us this way before?” she asked.

  Isabel moved her head slightly, nuzzling Morgan’s face. Morgan could feel the eyelashes flutter delicately against her cheekbone.

  “No, never,” Isabel breathed. “But I’m sure I will from now on.”

  “Have you ever had sex with a woman before?”

  “No, never. But I’m sure I will from now on.”

  There was a short pause. Suddenly both women erupted into giggles.

  “That was funny,” Morgan said finally, still chuckling.

  “Yes, but I meant it. That was incredible.” Isabel finally rolled off Morgan’s warm body and lay on her side, smiling.

  Morgan turned onto her side too, head propped up on an elbow as she gazed at Isabel’s face and the red lips she had wanted to kiss for so long and still hadn’t.

  “You’re so beautiful, Mor. I’ve always thought so,” Isabel whispered, as the tips of her fingers brushed Morgan’s cheek.

  Morgan closed her eyes and touched her lips softly to Isabel’s. A faint quiver began again in her stomach and moved swiftly down to her belly. She slid the tip of her tongue along Isabel’s full bottom lip, then along her top lip, and then gently pushed her way inside. Isabel moaned softly as her tongue met Morgan’s, gliding along and around its length. Soon they were both breathing hard again, probing and sucking, claiming each other’s mouths. And their hands caressed wherever they could reach—breasts and nipples and hips, and thighs that ended in silky, wet folds.

  “Isabel. Let me taste you. Please, will you let me taste you? I need…” Morgan could hardly get the words out.

  “Yes. Yes, baby. I want you to.” Isabel was panting slightly as she moved to lie on her bac
k, her hands going to Morgan’s head in anticipation of guiding it down.

  “No, come and sit here.” Now Morgan lay on her back, motioning Isabel to straddle her again, but this time to sit on her stomach.

  Isabel did, thighs pressed against Morgan’s sides. First she sat very lightly, partly resting on her knees, but when she felt the firmness and strength of the abdominal muscles beneath her, she settled more heavily. Both women moaned softly as Isabel’s hot, wet center pressed into Morgan.

  Morgan gazed up at Isabel, at eyes dark with passion, mouth swollen from kisses, and full breasts bathed in the glow of the bedside lamp. She cupped Isabel’s breasts, tugging gently on the dark pink nipples with her thumbs and forefingers.

  Isabel arched her neck and pushed down on Morgan’s stomach, groaning. “Stop, you’re going to make me come.”

  Morgan stopped, and they looked at each other through a haze of desire. Morgan caressed Isabel’s hips, then pulled them forward.

  “Come up here. Come up to my mouth so I can taste you.”

  Isabel moved up Morgan’s body and gripped the headboard for balance. She was trembling slightly. Before she could lower herself to Morgan’s mouth, Morgan’s hands were on her hips, holding her in place.

  “Wait, I want to look at you. I need to see you, ” Morgan murmured shakily. She looked up at Isabel’s center and her breath caught as she saw the rosy tips of Isabel’s labia not quite hidden by the soft, down-covered flesh protecting her vulva. With two fingers of each hand she parted the silky-soft inner labia and spread them open.

  “The Japanese call this ‘butterfly,’” she whispered. Her eyes teared at the beauty she saw there: delicate, glistening flesh almost scarlet in the lamplight, and the tip of the clitoris like a tiny red pearl where the folds joined.

  Now she let Isabel lower herself slowly to her mouth, and she licked gently all along the slick, satiny length of her, drunk with the taste and fragrance. Isabel cried out softly as Morgan gently impaled her with her stiffened tongue. In and out Morgan thrust while rubbing her face along the length of Isabel’s clitoris. Isabel’s sharp cries of ecstasy as she came brought Morgan to climax instantaneously, her hips arching up from the bed. Once again Isabel collapsed on Morgan, sobbing her release, and Morgan held her tightly.

  When the aftershocks had abated, Isabel mumbled, “I can’t take this anymore. If I have another orgasm like that, I won’t survive.” Her face was still hidden against Morgan’s throat.

  Morgan grinned. “Yeah, I’m pretty tired.”

  “I was going to make you dinner,” Isabel sighed as she rose up on her elbows and looked down at Morgan.

  “I know, but it’s too late now.” Morgan lifted her head up and touched her lips to Isabel’s throat, barely brushing the delicate pulse she saw there. “I need to get my clothes. I can shower at home.”

  “Well, while you get your clothes on I’ll have a really quick shower. Don’t leave till I’ve finished, okay?”

  Morgan admired Isabel’s long bare legs, smooth back, and full buttocks as she disappeared into the bathroom. Seeing her like that was all it took. Morgan sighed, enjoying the faint tickle of arousal in her belly and waiting for it to pass. Then she remembered something. A minute later, she opened the door to the steamy room and her stomach clenched at the sight of Isabel through the glass door. It was an erotic pose, head thrown back, eyes closed under the pulsing water.

  Morgan opened the shower door and stepped under the warm cascade. Water poured down on them both, and instantly Morgan’s black curls were plastered down on her head. For a moment their eyes locked. Then Morgan pushed Isabel up against the wall of the cubicle. Their wet bodies slid against each other. Lust shuddered through Morgan as her mouth found Isabel’s throat. Her thigh pushed up between Isabel’s thighs and her hands pulled Isabel’s hips hard into her. Isabel moaned loudly as Morgan sucked and licked her exposed throat while her thigh thrust back and forth along Isabel’s clit. Isabel’s hands clutched wildly at Morgan’s shoulders. Release was sudden as she cried out and came violently, jerking against Morgan’s slippery thigh.

  Isabel’s weakened legs buckled and Morgan let her slip slowly through her arms till she was on her knees clutching Morgan’s legs, her forehead pressed against the hollow between hip and thigh. Morgan turned the full force of the showerhead away from her, then stooped down, offering her arms to help Isabel up.

  But Isabel didn’t get up. Still breathing hard, she looked up at Morgan through the steam, rivulets of water coursing down her beautiful face.

  “I haven’t tasted you yet and I’m in the perfect position to. I’m going to drink from you and suck your clit very hard until you beg me to stop.”

  Morgan swallowed convulsively, the rapidly increasing moisture from her throbbing center mingling with the water from the shower. Her favorite fantasy was turning out to be so much more than she could ever have imagined.

  The Defense Rests

  Radclyffe

  On the ride up to her exclusive condo on the twentieth floor of a high-rise overlooking Washington Square, Trey Pelosi considered the fact that it was getting harder and harder to find acceptable bed companions. It was a bad idea to sleep with women connected with work, but when work was 90 percent of her life, exactly how was she supposed to find someone somewhere else? Socializing with any of the women she might meet in the course of business was impossible—neither clients nor colleagues were acceptable dating material, especially given her particular proclivities in that regard. Besides, on her rare free evening, she wasn’t looking for candlelit dinners and slow walks by the riverside. She was looking for someone to take her beyond the confines and constraints of her too-busy, too-pressured, too-high-powered life. She was looking for someone to make her forget reason and rationalization and gamesmanship. She was looking for someone to reach inside her and make her scream with the simple pleasure of not thinking at all.

  Tonight was one of those nights.

  Trey let herself in and deposited her Coach briefcase on the marble-topped walnut pedestal table just inside the door. She shrugged out of her tailored Jil Sander silk suit jacket and was about to kick off her Prada heels when the phone rang.

  “No. No, no, no. Not tonight.”

  She’d just finished one of the toughest cases of her career—defending a corporate executive charged with multiple crimes arising from alleged fraud. She’d negotiated a settlement for him with the SEC for securities fraud violations, and he’d repaid twelve million dollars. But after the SEC action was settled, the Justice Department filed criminal charges. The SEC might have been satisfied with money, but the DOJ wanted blood.

  The trial had lasted six months. Forty-seven witnesses were called by the prosecution. There were seven hundred prosecution exhibits, including photographs taken at her client’s three-million-dollar New Year’s party the previous year, which just happened to have been written off against the corporate expense account.

  Crossing the room to check the caller ID display, Trey smiled to herself, remembering the thrill of triumph when she made that particular little peccadillo disappear into the miasma of accounting errors and budget shuffling endemic to all huge conglomerates—none of which, of course, had been her client’s fault. After she’d finished laying it out for the jury, they’d been as confused as her poor client by the labyrinthine details, and if they couldn’t understand, how was he supposed to have been able to?

  Parker, McKay, and Mitchell

  800-757-3224

  “Shit.” She scooped up the receiver. “Pelosi.”

  “Congratulations. I hear you brought them to their knees.”

  “Thanks, Reg.” Trey laughed, recognizing the familiar baritone of Reginald Parker, the firm’s senior partner and her mentor. “Not a clean kill, but almost.”

  “These things never are, but with Not Guiltys on most of the charges, the prosecution won’t get the ten to fifteen they thought they had all sewn up.”

  “No,” Trey agreed with
a note of triumph, “and I bet I can get him a year in a federal penitentiary close to home. One year, and he’ll be out with his Cayman bank account intact, sipping piña coladas in Cancun.”

  “So everybody wins.”

  “Yes, but we win more.” She was satisfied with the outcome, having no delusions that her clients were always good guys. That was just the nature of corporate law. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and no one was truly innocent. Her clients needed representation, they had the money to pay her fees, and even though she’d made partner, at the end of the day she still had to earn her keep.

  “True,” Parker concurred. “Plus I’m delighted to know that the blood, sweat, and marriages of your support staff haven’t been sacrificed in vain while helping you to prepare the case.”

  “We’ll make it up to them come bonus time.”

  “Excellent suggestion.”

  He paused, and the silence on the line had Trey narrowing her eyes. “Reg—I’m not two hours out of court and—”

  “I know, I know,” he said hastily, “but that telecommunications discrimination suit is starting to heat up, and I don’t think Jones can handle it. Now that you’re free—”

  “I’m not exactly free,” she growled, thinking of all the open cases she was juggling. But even as she protested, she knew it was an empty gesture. Because this was what she did—she was the designated

  hitter, the one the firm called in to take on the tough cases, the swinging dick the other swinging dicks called for a rescue. She thrived on the adrenaline rush of trial and the ensuing victory, playing the game with the best and winning. While a trial was in progress, she lived it and breathed it, often sleeping at the office to micromanage the preparations. She was always in control—had to be, lest her opponents smell weakness. One misstep and it could be her blood in the water, not theirs.