by Tara Nina
“David, we consider the whole family to be a cherished addition to the church.” Penelope gushed then cut her eyes toward Emma Jean as she added, “Wish all our parishioners were as delightful.”
“Come, Penelope.” Reverend Paul slid his arm around his wife’s waist and guided her toward the exit as he said, “We’ve got hospital visitations to do before choir practice.”
“Yes, yes, Paul. You’re right,” she proclaimed on an exasperated breath. She clutched the pink purse close to her side. It matched the plain pink dress she wore as she followed his directional push toward the door. The clack of her matching pink patent leather shoes echoed as she walked.
The moment his wife’s back was turned, the reverend sent a knowing nod to Emma Jean, which she acknowledged with a slight nod of her own. David noted this little exchange. Was she having an affair with the reverend? Nah, he didn’t seem like he’d be Emma Jean’s type and the next words out of her mouth confirmed it.
“Ever notice his suits are always too loose and what’s with that silver streak running down the middle of her black hair? She looks like a skunk. Shove a stick up their asses, plant them in a corn field and they’d be the perfect his and her matching scarecrows.”
David couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping if he wanted to. As skinny and lanky as Paul Pickford was, he’d be a perfect scarecrow. Penelope’s gaunt features were sharp enough to scare anything away from pecking at her. In his mind, it was a wonder anyone had married her. He scrubbed a hand down his face in an attempt to sober his resolve, but it was hard with Emma Jean laughing heartily along with him. Sitting back, he knew it would be quite some time before he’d make it through a Sunday service without that image corrupting his thoughts.
A sudden vibration caught David’s attention. He dug the cell phone from his pocket and knew from the number on the screen his date with Emma Jean had come to an end.
* * * * *
When David pulled up to the front of Devilish Delights, a group of women were exiting the store. Each carried a purple bag with the store name on it.
“That person may have complained about your business, but those ladies don’t look unhappy in the least,” David quipped, putting the car in park.
“Maybe I should have designed a vanilla sex, sensual window before now,” Emma Jean replied watching two more women stop and admire her window before entering the store. She looked at David as she jested, “Wonder what that prude would think if they knew the letter spurned a window design that attracted more customers rather than deterred?”
David smiled then said, “I think you’ve won this round with your mystery foe.”
“Let’s hope it’s the first and last round. Thanks for brunch.” She leaned on the center console, getting as close to him as it allowed as she added in a husky, sexually laced tone, “And thanks for the finger and syrup tease. You’ve got a very talented tongue.”
“Anytime.” He closed the slender gap between them.
The heat of his lips on hers made her shiver. When he cupped her cheek and deepened their kiss, Emma Jean yielded, allowing him to guide this first kiss. Soft and sensual yet filled with passionate promise.
“Umm,” she purred as they broke apart. “You do have quite the talented tongue.”
David smiled as he released her cheek and got out of the car. When he reached the passenger side, he opened her door, helped her out and said, “I hate we had to cut this short. Can I call you later?”
“Of course,” Emma Jean declared. “We can pick up where we left off. If you like,” she took a step toward the store then shot him a look full of sexual invitation and added, “bring your cuffs by my place and I’ll show you another way to have fun with syrup.”
“You never know,” he said as he stood at full height and towered over her. Emma Jean had to tilt her head back to see the sexy look in his smoldering brown eyes. It pleased her to know she’d lit a fire in this one and she wasn’t about to back down as she held his stare. “I just might take you up on that offer. Shall I bring the police force issue or those black leather padded ones you talked me into buying?”
His phone vibrated in his pocket and his head shook. “Could you hold that thought? I’ve really got to go. But I promise I’ll call you later.”
She ran the tip of her finger along his jawline and said with a smile, “I’ll let you off the hook, for now. But once I have you in cuffs, you better believe no phone call is going to get you the key until I’m done with you.”
Before he could reply, she turned and marched into the store. To her surprise it was busy. Earl stood at the cash register with three people in line to check out. Several patrons perused the aisles. She hurried over to help Earl.
“Why didn’t you call me? I would have come back sooner.”
“I didn’t have time. Seems the new window design worked in your favor.”
By the time they closed and locked the doors at ten p.m., Emma Jean’s feet hurt. The last time she was this busy, a romance writers’ convention was in town. More than half of them ventured in for research purposes and left with at least one item in a purple bag.
After speaking with several of the patrons, she learned today’s crowd came from a “Learn to Cook like the Chefs” convention being held across the street in the newly renovated Cumberland Convention Center and Suites. They told her they ventured over to peruse the All Natural Grocer at the opposite end of the strip mall. The name of her store, Devilish Delights, and the sensual window design caught their attention and piqued their curiosity. They couldn’t help but explore her unique store. Emma Jean noted some left empty-handed, but most carried a purple bag on their way out.
“I have to say, that was one of our most profitable days ever,” she commented on a weary sigh as she plopped onto the high-back, swivel stool behind the counter. She slipped her sandals from her feet and let them drop to the floor with a thump. “Usually these shoes are comfortable, but not today. My feet are throbbing.”
Emma Jean propped her feet up on the counter and leaned back. Earl busily restocked a shelf of scented creams and massage oils. When he bent over to pick up the empty box, she couldn’t help but notice the way his butt fit nicely in his jeans. Before he moved, temptation controlled her mouth and out popped the first thing that came to mind.
“Earl,” she said softly, “would you hand me one of those bottles of cream, please? I need to relieve a little tension.”
“Which one? Cherry, vanilla, sandalwood or lavender?”
“Lavender, please.”
He handed her the bottle then returned to his job of stocking the shelf directly across from the counter. She noticed him glance her way the moment she opened the cap and squirted a handful of cream into her palm. In as sensual a motion as she could manage, she rubbed her right foot. When she intentionally let out a low moan, she saw his shoulders stiffen as if the sound affected him. But was it in a good way or a bad? Did he like feet? Emma Jean decided to find out.
In as wishful a tone as she could muster, she announced on a heavy sigh, “I really could use a good foot massage.”
Earl stood and turned to face her. Pure heat filled his stare and Emma Jean shivered. Did that mean he was turned-on by the prospect of touching her feet? His words came out hoarse as if it strained him to speak. “Are you asking me or ordering me as your employee to massage your feet?”
“As your employer, that would be sexual harassment, unless you enjoy being told what to do to please a woman,” she replied without lowering her eyes from his gaze, which seemed to have intensified into a darker shade of hazel. If she read him right, he was definitely turned-on. “But if you were to aid in relieving my discomfort, I’d be more than happy to reciprocate the favor.”
“You’d rub my feet in return.”
“Or anything else you needed massaged.” She held the bottle of cream in his direction. Several seconds passed before he took it.
Knowing she spent time with that detective earlier burned a hole in
his gut. The crowd in the store kept him physically busy, while his mind lingered on the prospect of what they were doing. Images of Emma Jean naked tormented his thoughts, especially since it wasn’t him she was possibly fucking. Had they or hadn’t they? The question swirled through his head even though he tried to prevent it from surfacing.
But he couldn’t keep from thinking of her fucking someone else. The sound of her shoes hitting the floor unleashed a side of him he fought desperately to contain. Earl focused on stocking shelves and not Emma Jean’s feet, or any other part of her body, until she asked him to hand her the cream. Instantly his cock hardened.
Lavender filled the air and he knew without looking she rubbed her own foot. Her low moan shot straight to his balls, making him wish he massaged her flesh and made her utter sensual sounds of pleasure.
As if she read his mind, she asked him to rub her feet. In a last-ditch effort to battle the sexual beast he knew lived within him, he tried to get out of it but didn’t succeed. Emma Jean didn’t back down. He should have known she wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily.
He stood beside the counter where he could reach her feet with ease. Earl filled his palm with lavender cream then lifted her untouched foot. Breathing deep, he enjoyed the hint of leather the sandal left behind on her skin. His gut clenched the moment he gently applied the cream and she sighed audibly. With each circle of his thumbs to her instep, Emma Jean rewarded him with erotic sensual noises, which made his cock swell and his balls tingle.
What would she think of him if he suckled her toes and tasted the salt of her instep? Earl fought the urge. His insides tightened and his nerves sizzled with need. It was all he could do to concentrate on simply massaging her tired feet.
He smoothed the cream into her skin across her ankle and up her calf as far as the jeans allowed. In slow strokes, he massaged from toe to heel, up her ankle to cradle her calf, then back down. Gathering her foot in both hands, he deepened the massage. Hard, then soft motions tenderized the tired appendage, until he sensed the tension in her foot easing.
Emma Jean’s eyes closed. The sight of her parted lips made his mouth water with desire to taste her kiss. But he resisted.
Without hesitation, he moved to the other foot. Gently he applied the cream and inhaled the phenomenal scent of leather mixed with lavender. Heat filled his soul and made him hungry to taste her toes. Keeping her foot lifted, he massaged intently. From toe to instep, he kneaded the tired flesh. Again he rubbed the ball of her foot then slid to her ankle and up her calf as far as he could reach. Sweat beaded his brow, but he didn’t brush it away. That would mean releasing her foot. As long as Emma Jean enjoyed his foot caress, he would continue, even though he suffered.
Every ounce of him ached with the need to undress her and massage her from head to toe. He itched to peel those jeans from her ass, down her legs and taste her flesh from the apex between her thighs to her hot, red-painted toes then back up again to feast on her pussy. Earl closed his eyes and prayed for the strength to battle this sexual demon. Sex for him wasn’t passive. He liked it rough and it had cost him.
The sound of a zipper cut through the fog of his overstimulated brain, but not in time to stop her. His eyes opened wide and took in the beautiful sight of Emma Jean leaning forward and his jeans undone. When his cock jutted free, her audible gasp of delight thrilled him to the core.
“I like a man who doesn’t wear underwear,” she said huskily. “They just get in the way of both parties’ pleasure.”
Clutching one of her feet in his hands, Earl stammered, “Emma Jean we mustn’t—”
“Relax, Earl,” she said with a devilish gleam in her eye, “it’s my turn to massage you.”
“That’s not my foot.”
“I never said I’d massage your feet.”
She leaned back in her chair, tugged her foot from his grasp and gathered his cock between her feet. Oh God, she couldn’t be doing this to him. The words shot through his head as the thrill of her feet upon his swollen shaft speared him to the core. He leaned against the counter for support. His knees weakened with each sensual stroke of her smooth, lavender-scented feet. Soft then hard, she rubbed up and down his cock, caressing him with her toes, the balls of her feet and then digging her heels in tight against the base.
When he thought he couldn’t take any more, she wiggled the toes of one foot into his jeans and tickled his balls. Sheer ecstasy flowed through his veins. There was no stopping it. Earl grabbed the counter’s edge with one hand and cradled the calf of one of her legs in the other. He gasped loudly as the orgasm shook his cock and emptied his balls. Cum coated her feet and toes.
Gently she caressed his cock until the last waves of his orgasm subsided. It was all he could do to look at her. He hadn’t meant for it to go this far, but he failed to control the situation. Again.
Emma Jean loved the feel of Earl’s cock between her feet. It wasn’t exactly the way she’d wanted their first sexual encounter to go, but spontaneity thrilled her the most. She couldn’t resist the deep look of desire on his face as he massaged her feet. She’d heard about foot fetishes and even carried items for the foot connoisseur. From the way he lovingly caressed her feet to the hot, hooded gaze in his eyes, she figured Earl for that type of sexual adventurer. The amount of cum on her feet proved her right.
It had taken a strong desire to please him that kept her from stripping off her jeans and riding that handsome cock of his into her own personal oblivion. Somehow she’d managed. She lowered her legs, leaned forward and gathered his cock in her hands. Gently she caressed its glorious length and wrapped her hand around it. Even semi-flaccid, its size impressed her. She fingered his balls, massaging that precious sac. Lifting her gaze to meet his, it surprised her to see sadness instead of sexual heat.
When he captured her wrists and tugged her hands from his cock, she knew something was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, grabbing the paper towels from beneath the counter. “I’ll clean this up.” He dropped to his knees and began his task.
Emma Jean stopped him the moment the paper touched her feet. His gaze remained lowered to the floor and she felt the tiny tremor in his hand. “Earl,” she said, cupping his chin and lifting his face to see his eyes.
Pure agony showed on his face. How had a sexual foot massage turned into such a traumatic ordeal for him? With the way he responded, she knew he enjoyed it or else he wouldn’t have ejaculated all over her feet. She’d never forget his expression at that moment. One of true exhilaration and joy through a hot sexual experience, those were the best facial expressions in her book. But now, he looked like she killed his dog.
“Emma Jean, this never should have happened.” His voice came out graveled and hoarse as if it pained him to speak.
Though he tried to lower his head as if in shame, she refused to let go of his chin. Instead she gathered his face in both hands and held his head straight. But she couldn’t stop him from closing his eyes.
“Earl, look at me,” she demanded in a soft nurturing tone. Something tormented this man and she intended to find out what.
“Earl, please look at me,” she repeated when he didn’t respond.
Fire from a sexual heat no longer brightened his hazel eyes. A cold sadness clouded them giving the appearance of a man who carried around a shitload of self-hate over something. But what?
“What happened here is nothing to be ashamed of,” Emma Jean said, not letting his gaze wander from hers. He tried to look away. She followed, placing her face in front of his eyes so he had no choice but to focus on her.
“This never should have happened,” he repeated. His shoulders sagged and he struggled with his jeans as he stood.
Emma Jean let go of his face, gathered his hands in hers and held them tight. “Earl, I don’t know what this is all about, but sex is a natural part of our genetic makeup. There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. What we just did gave us both pleasure and that’s what I believe is the true
goal in life. Pleasure, lots and lots of sexual pleasure.”
“But sex,” he proclaimed profusely, “feet, my cock, that’s not natural.” He closed his eyes and it appeared as if it was all he could do to say the next sentence. “It’s perverted.”
He jerked from her grip and turned his back to her. Emma Jean shot from the stool and stood in front of him. Fire filtered up her spine and stood her straight. Chin tilted, she refused to back down. Something sexually bad happened to this man, she sensed it all the way to the center of her soul. The passion he showed her earlier fueled her need to fight to save his sexual persona.
“Consensual sex between two willing adults no matter what form it takes is not perverted,” she snapped. She placed her hands on her hips out of fear she’d shake him violently if she didn’t. “I can’t believe you work here and have that sort of twisted perception of sex.”
She couldn’t miss the obvious tremble in his hands as they dangled at his sides. Looking closely, his whole being seemed to shiver slightly. Had she caused this?
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me,” she replied in as soothing a tone as she could muster, “make me understand what’s going through your head. A few moments ago, I witnessed a passionate man who enjoyed sex. And now…” She took a breath then added, “I’m not sure what triggered this turnaround, but I’d like to help you through this little dilemma. I’ve got a feeling there’s a sexual dynamo residing in your soul I’d love the opportunity to explore.”
His shoulders lifted and a dark shadow seemed to shade his face, giving him an eerie appearance. But she didn’t back down. Instead she stood her ground and remained vigilant in her effort to help him, until he spoke.
“It’s more like an insatiable sexual demon resides within my soul and trust me,” he said on a heated breath as he leaned in close to her face, “it could get you killed.”
