The knowing smile that caught her attention let Tanya know that her sly appreciation of Damon had been noticed. She braced herself for a deriding comment, only to be met with a wink, which stumped her. Wondering if the man in front of her was just that desperate, or an equal opportunity flirt, she almost wished she was brave enough to find out. Her own ministrations had lost any real satisfaction years ago.
As part of Marcus’ stable, even on the legal side, she could be excused from offering something outside her job description. At least until Marcus realized she was ruining his reputation for only having the finest available, and he cut her loose into the financial abyss she had barely kept out of these last few years.
She shook her head to clear away the unrelenting desire to give into what her body wanted. Tanya forced herself to again accept her lot in life. She grimaced and forced her libido to remember that she was only a lowly delivery girl. At least, that was her mantra during her lonely nights. She thought people like her were doomed to be alone forever; heck, there were even groups dedicated to it nowadays. So it wasn’t as if she were being singled out, at least.
Reality came crashing back as she looked down at her frumpy attire and the even frumpier body it hid. She thought that she was not the girl a man like that could actually want. The very air around him shouted he was used to the Sabines of this world, and Tanya fell far short of Sabine’s sculpted perfection.
Looking past the man who was playing such havoc with her view of life, she evaluated her body in hopes of finding something to give her hope. Starting at the top, her bosom was naturally impressive, but so was the rest of her—if “impressive” was the right word to use. She frowned at her reflection. It didn’t matter that her livelihood was dependent on her biking all over the city; she could never be the stick girl that men desired. With modern medicine failing to help her, she had turned to exercise, but that only sculpted her curves. It didn’t straighten them.
She was cursed to be of stocky build, and no amount of working out or surgery was going to change that. Standing 5’7” in her running shoes, she was never going to be the weak chick in the room. Embracing her perceived shortcomings, she had even taken up MMA fighting in her spare time. It was a must for a girl on her own to know how to defend herself in the city. The elevator stopped, and they got out. She reigned in her delirious imaginings.
Guys like the virile male Tanya followed down the corridor didn’t want a girl such as her. She believed that only those who could leech off her would ever want her, and as she had very little to leech, she was doomed to be alone. Shoring up the disgust she felt at letting her imagination get away from reality, she missed that they had stopped in front of one of the few doors on this floor.
The sound of a throat clearing broke her out of her depressing thoughts, and at just the right moment, too. One more second of reality and she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop herself from screaming her torment at being around his masculine goodness and not being allowed to touch it. Looking into a face that would make women wet just with the deep blue eyes alone, Tanya finally made herself listen to what the delectable mouth was saying.
“I think Marcus may have been right in his choice after all,” was the only comment the man made before opening the door to the opulent suite. “Welcome to the Bears’ Den.”
Continued in:
Courier
Sneak Peek: And Then Her Mouth
by Portia Klee Jordan
Chapter One: Mathilde
They picked her up in a bar.
It held with long tradition in Eurotrash swing. It was the etiquette of their set.
“Mathilde, or something, I swear to sweet Jesus,” Lise breathed out at him, her hair like black night in a Veronica Lake sheet over half her fading face. He remembered the first time he noticed that expression, over a big bowl liquor glass filled with amber fluid, when she was young. When they were both younger. How the force of desire punched him back from the table like a fist. It knocked the wind out of him. They had been together for a little while; some nights, maybe a week in the islands, dewy with damp funk, fucking in that fervid, hazy scape, covering everything—the bed, their bodies, the air around them—with a fine sheen of cum and sweat. He had come to think of it as the manifestation, the light purple coat of love. He matched her and it was good; he was not going to let her go. And this costs.
She had been holding the glass up to her lips, like she did this night, and she stood by him in a little corner of the tiki-hut tourist trap bar they had taken up at, transfixed. Fogging her glass with her moist breathing, in and out, a little cloud of steam and passion forming and dissipating as she stared at something across the black-lacquered disco floor, over the Continental lounge lizard heads. He remembered with a slight, warm smile that it had been like a shock, it had hit him like a shock, when he realized she was gaze-locked with a rather ordinary looking American. A woman. That was the price. That was the first time.
For some reason, only when they traveled—which was fine with him. Perhaps even the pattern he would have picked. Tonight they were in a bar in Amsterdam when Lise decided on Mathilde—and whether or not her name was Ebba or Gerde, she was Mathilde tonight. Lise always picked the names and the women.
Some kind of wildness creeps over a traveler, some kind of freedom from societal mores and traditional codes, a beautiful, cunning wantonness surfaces even in women who have been flogged with fear from birth. Robert found it easy to approach women traveling. He was, after all, the prick-coded counterpart of an extremely attractive couple. Without fear of insulting them accidentally, without worrying about what words to choose to provide some cushion of decorum and safety, Robert approached these women in the bars casually and honestly, prowling. Lise had smiled into his ear one night, mouthing it, her hand milking his balls through thick trousers (he could feel her grin against his ear,) that he was the best pimp she had ever known. Then she sent him off with a squeeze to work his magic on “Sabine” or “Paquette” or, one very memorable evening, “Juana.”
Mathilde had jostled up against him, pushing her soft body into his shape as they performed the verbal dance on the padded railing and among the hot, drunk patrons squeezing them together. He could feel Lise on the other side of the fountain, smoldering into her globe glass, watching them. He knew she had already worked her left hand up under her tight skirt, and was stroking herself , her slender, pale fingers enraging the already purple, bulging lips of her cunt. He often suspected the deft, pulling circles of her fingers conducted the sentences he exchanged; that with the tempo of her hand Lise orchestrated the night and he was just the instrument of an engorged, hungry organ unable to move autonomously, to service her own desire. He could never have imagined a more just deity. He attended without hesitation.
Between them in the cab, Mathilde reeked softly of bar smoke, a beery floral perfume, and underarm sweat. Her breath was hissing and fast, mewling out of her open mouth as she panted with slightly drunken lust. He knew the words from those pimply, furtive days in boys’ middle school, “groping,” “fondling”—they alone elicited this dirty, prickling erection. But it was far more satisfying to be plying soft young flesh, pinching pink arm skin and stroking Mathilde’s breasts into damp, stiff peaks; wedging himself down to suckle on her cherry red nipples; feeling Lise through Mathilde’s body, rubbing up against her, grinding hips in awkwardly, crammed in the back seat of the cab as it careened through traffic, the driver unable to keep his eyes off the rearview.
The shaving was a ritual. Robert remembered the provincial French girl, her first time overseas, they had picked up in a Japanese saki house. The look of pure terror on her face when Lise had produced the straight razor was thrown into sharp relief by the dissolving hysterics they had all collapsed into once its purpose was explained to her. Lise shaved Mathilde with care and erotic dexterity; Robert had become so entranced with the cold sharp metal/hot tender skin contrasts of this particular foreplay, it aroused him like no other feti
sh. Mathilde’s naked cunt, just the smallest obligatory nick smiling in a thin red line, readied, washed and pampered for his probing, fingering, fucking—the anticipation almost overwhelmed him.
Mathilde stood in a little pool of her own excitement in the center of their rented flat, looking at both of them with limpid, large wet eyes. She was stripping, pushing at her clothes, stretching them tightly over her round proportions, oozing out of a slip, her hands coaxing her breasts from a sweat-soaked brassiere, her skin glowing hotly in the warm yellow light. Her hands. Her hands releasing her body, the smell of her sex, the odor of wet pussy waving out around her as she turned her back to them, looking coyly over her shoulder through a halo of golden hair at them in periphery, pushing panties down over the globes of her asscheeks and then bending over, her legs splitting like the white skin of a pomegranate as her head bent to the ground, the fruit and smell of her cunt revealed to them like a jewel. Robert heard the slight gasp and felt Lise give out a tiny shudder beside him—a sure sign of something she called “the psychological orgasm.” He smiled to himself. His own silk pants were spotted with fluid leaking from his cock, bathing the head, making the once soothing material clingy and itchy. His mouth was watering.
He went to Mathilde in the middle of the room, gazing at the proffered ass, loosening his pants, undoing his shirt. He laid his hot hand on the white skin, and thought he detected a color change, a flush. A little heat wave recorded on her ass. Robert stroked her gently, and then as his desire grew, he plied the flesh with his hands, making it jiggle, assessing the power and softness about to engulf his now violently hard prick. Mathilde snorted out a tiny laugh as she lost her balance, staggering in front of him, still bent forward, reaching out to steady herself with her hands. Offering herself up to him.
A drop of liquid spattered the hardwood floor between his feet. He let his hand move over Mathilde’s thigh, finally allowing himself the luxury of her pussy—Lise’s hand covered his at this, his favorite moment. A new surge of blood, a muscle spasm flexed him when he realized the splash at his feet was from Mathilde’s literally dripping cunt. He traced a snail-thin trail of wetness up the inside of Mathilde’s leg, Lise pressed tight behind him, small “mmmm”s of pleasure issuing from her mouth and from Mathilde, who was pushing back against his arm with need. His and Lise’s fingers dipped into Mathilde simultaneously, and they each began stroking her lips with unique rhythms of want. Robert began swaying gently back and forth in the rocking of fuck, his cock beating a slow tempo on Mathilde’s ass, Lise naked behind him, pressed up against his back. His fingers stroked over Lise’s fingers, over Mathilde’s slick sex, over her gaping, hungry hole. Mathilde whimpered a little every time his fingers paused at the entrance to her deepest self. He teased her, dipping first his fingers, then the head of his penis into her folds; stroking his shaft along her lips, under Lise’s hand, against her clitoris in tiny circles. Her clit was swollen and throbbing. Then, holding onto her hips, he let Lise’s hand guide him inside Mathilde, and thrust into her, her swallowing cunt rippling along his shaft as he was gulped deeper inside, every inch of his cock embraced.
Lise was humping up against him now. He could just feel her hand as it twirled around her own cunt, brushing his buttocks as she stroked herself into orgasm. Her breasts slid against his skin as she pounded into him, one hand in the stroking fucking he was serving Mathilde, the other in her own pussy. She would slip the masturbating hand between the cheeks of his ass or over his balls occasionally, smearing him with her thick lubricant. As he began heaving faster and harder into Mathilde, Lise racked with pleasure behind him, squealing with her first orgasm.
The air hit his back like cool water as she left him, moving around in front of him, positioning herself under Mathilde’s head. Robert looked into Lise’s face, flushed and damp, her hair a wild mass behind her. She smiled at him thickly, slightly—another spasming pump of cum-hunger dragged at his dick like it was being sucked up from inside him. He loved watching women eat Lise’s pussy.
Robert pulled Mathilde back, rolling her hips, his cock slurping out of her grabbing grasp loiteringly. He watched as his slime-shiny prick pulled out, Mathilde’s cunt lips clinging to it like grapevines, and disappeared again, the delicious feeling of his cockhead pushing open vacuum-tight spongy spaces, caressed by this wet, engulfing cradle of life and desire. He bent himself over her and folded his arm down around Mathilde’s hip, and began petting her lips and her mound, fingering her clitoris in light, upward strokes. Mathilde gasped when he touched a spot just under her pubic bone and to the side of her clit; he planted his middle finger there and began the expert twirl Lise had shown him. He cocked his head, listening to Mathilde’s muffled yowling, and lifted his eyes to Lise’s face, easing into a slow pump.
He watched Lise pull her knees up to her chest, rubbing her breasts with the tops of her thighs, pushing her pouting sex out between the backsides of her legs. The musky, dark smell of her twat wafted around his head like a veil. He asked Mathilde to pull her hair back. He told her he wanted to see it, so lovely. With one pink hand clutching her yellow hair at the nape of her neck, Mathilde angled her head slightly against Lise’s olive thigh and glanced at him over her downy cheek, out of the side of her eye. She smiled very sweetly, Robert thought. He brought her hips back sharply onto his pelvis, impaling her, and she gasped. He smiled back.
Mathilde slowly pushed her tongue between Lise’s cum-drenched nether lips, parting them, peeling them apart like a nut shell. Robert knew that languorous, half-lidded feeling, wanting to lick sex like a dog, long strokes of the tongue loyally lapping pussy. Mathilde salivated and sprayed like citrus, juicing Lise’s cunt to an even gaudier sheen. Lise gasped and arched, splaying her legs, pushing herself up into Mathilde’s eating mouth. Almost as if he had telepathically communicated it, Mathilde acted Robert’s fever to suck, lipped Lise’s clitoris into her mouth and began tongueing her to orgasm, plunging her mouth into Lise’s hole, bringing it back up again to tease at the button, fucking with her tongue.
Robert squeezed Mathilde’s clit between two fingers, tweaking in earnest. Mathilde bumped her head against Lise’s thigh, slack-jawed and oblivious at the moment of her impending pleasure. Lise grabbed Mathilde’s head and held her, crooning to her to cum. Robert rocked his penis deep inside her, thrusting up against the pelvic crib, into his cupping hand kneading her cunt. Squeezing it, extruding the orgasm from inside of her—Robert watched a brief string of spit drool down onto Mathilde’s back from his lip and sucked it in under his teeth. Then he felt the compressing ripple, the wave begin, spreading out from Mathilde’s deepest center, cumming and cumming, gumming his prick ever inward like a toothless maw; and the fast gush of her spending washing his balls and hips in spurts. A squirter.
That urgent yank pulled at him again from inside, the preciousness of a woman’s orgasm manifesting itself physically making his head spin in the near-nausea of sentimentality. Gripped with new desire, he pulled out of her cunt, looking down at her delicious bottom, proffered at the altar of his passion. The purple, puckered asshole glistened up at him, slick and inviting, the promise of almost unbearable heat and pressure from that forbidden portal luring him.
He looked into Lise’s face, his eyes caressing the length of her body, settling on the blond head buried with renewed vigor in ready pussy . He gently began probing his hungry head against Mathilde’s anus, a question, a request. She pushed back at him. An answer. An eager reply.
Robert spit in his palm and rubbed the gooey mass over the head of his cock, and fed his prick into Mathilde, stretching her, slowly, excruciatingly, pushing forward into her ass as she groaned, her whimpers muffled by labia. He began fucking in earnest, pushing in, pulling out, feeling that sweetest burning crest in his bowels. Robert staved himself into honeyed, round buttocks, hinging his arms out in an effort to pull Mathilde ever farther down onto the pounding piston of his extended carnal appetite. His fingers pockmarked her ass, leaving impressions lik
e they would in pliant dough, pulling her into the shape that best conformed to his need. And all the time, he watched her give Lise head, Lise’s face contorted in ecstasy, Lise’s nipples bright and rigid, Lise bucking her hips high as she started to cum. Mathilde’s red mouth in almost-profile, showing him. Mathilde’s red red tongue, plumbing, torturing Lise’s clit, lapping inner lips, fucking and plunging, stroking and teasing, and then, blessing her with release, engulfing the clitoris like a penis and sucking Lise off until she came, rocketing, clenching, cumming, cumming. He could feel it rising in himself now, undeniable, unrequited. Deeper, deeper into that hot hole, a purging and a burning, the muscle at the entrance to her ass bearing down, impossibly close now, yanking, rutting, exploding, exploding, great huge gobs of himself shooting up from down in him, drawing his balls up against his body, spurting, his head thrown back in mad delirium.
Continued in:
And Then Her Mouth
Sinful Needs (Wicked End Book 2) Page 51
