Seven Sinful Secrets

by 7 Author Anthology

  He repeated the exquisite torture on her other breast. The swirl of emotions she'd been feeling earlier compounded her arousal, her desire for this man who seemed to love her regardless of her sin. Making love was something to be enjoyed by partners, the way he loved her right now, not in isolation or secret.

  "And this."

  He trailed his lips down her stomach. Before she could protest, he hooked his fingers into her panties and ripped them off. Then his long digits thrust into her wet channel. She arched off the sofa at the same time as his mouth covered her mound. The orgasm that had been close by before he interrupted her came to the fore again like a tidal wave about to break.

  The oral assault on her senses drove her over the edge in record time, leaving her gasping for air. Juan lifted his head with a twinkle in his eyes.

  "The sound of you when you climax drives me crazy. Stand up."

  She stood on slightly wobbly legs.

  "Kneel over the sofa. I want to fuck you."

  She gasped softly as her heart thudded. She couldn’t believe how turned on she was that he'd used such a vulgar word. She met his gaze. The intensity of his dark eyes told her he meant to take her rough and hard. Cream dripped between her legs.

  She did as he instructed, holding on to the back of the sofa for support. His hands massaged her buttocks, parted her cheeks before seeking her entrance. She was already moist and tender from his fingers.

  His hands left her body, and she missed their roughness. The sound of his zipper sliding down caught her attention, and she knew that soon he would be filling her up.

  "Time to feel my cock inside you for real," he whispered into her ears, his warm still-clothed chest covering her back.

  With one hand holding her hip, the other guided the tip of his erection to her slit. In one push she was rammed full of cock.

  At last! She breathed in relief, glad to finally have her husband inside her as she'd wanted for days.

  For a moment, he held still, the only other movement or sound from their chests as they gulped in air. Then he started moving in strong, powerful thrusts. The only things that kept her legs upright were his hands holding onto her hips. The metal edges of his fly zipper dug into her backside with each thrust. The buckle of his belt made a muted clinking noise in rhythm with his movements.

  "This is what you've been craving, isn't it?" he asked in a raw, hoarse voice she barely recognized. His stubbly cheek rubbed against her neck as he leaned over her.

  "Yes … this … you." She could barely string together a coherent sentence, her mind mainly focused on the overwhelming sensations he elicited from her.

  He moved his right hand to her clit, pressing it from the front as his hips pistoned his cock into her from behind.

  Her pleasure rocketed, fever spreading from her toes upwards.

  "I bet you'd like others to watch me fucking you."

  Her orgasm exploded inside her like fireworks, leaving her shuddering and trembling. He wasn't far behind. Three more deep grunts and powerful thrusts later, he came inside her.

  They collapsed onto the sofa, Juan scooping her on top of him. Despite the rough way he'd taken her, he was still gentle and mindful of crushing her with his hard weight. His irregular breathing told he was as exhausted as she was, their bodies slick and slippery from sweat.

  Her head on his chest, she listened to his heart rate return to its regular pattern. Hers fell in tune with his. Just like she hoped their relationship was back on track.

  "Juan." Biting her bottom lip at the corner, she lifted her head. "Are we okay?"

  They'd just had the most mind-blowing sex they'd ever had. But she still wanted to know that she hadn't traded great sex at the expense of their marriage.

  "Sure, we're okay." He stared at her through hooded eyes. "Why do you ask?"

  "It's just that your demeanor changed. You've never spoken to me like that before."

  "Did you like me talking dirty?" he asked simply.

  "I actually did." She smiled, realizing it was somehow liberating that they were not holding back from each other.

  "Well, that's the answer." He massaged her plump backside. "Catching you with that sex tape made me realize that you need a lot more than the occasional doggy style to spice up our sex life."

  He lifted her so that she was sitting on his waist, his semi-erect shaft between her legs.

  "I've been taking it easy on you because I didn't want to overwhelm you with sexual demands."

  "Is that why you've never allowed me to give you a blow job?"

  He nodded. "You realize tonight is the first time I've seen you masturbating."

  Her skin flushed with heat as she remembered his expression when he'd arrived home. She looked away with embarrassment.

  "Don't feel embarrassed. It was so hot watching you. And now that I know you're a closet voyeur as well, we can have some fun and games."

  She turned around to find him grinning wolfishly. She swatted his chest.

  "Oh, is that what you think? Am I a voyeur?"

  "You are … and you wouldn't mind others watching you as well." He stated it as if he was certain.

  Her heart thumped in her chest. When she thought about it, she couldn’t rebuff his words. He was correct. The idea of someone catching her in the act excited her. Was this why she'd been masturbating on the sofa beside the unfettered sliding doors leading to the balcony, instead of in the bedroom with windows covered by a curtain?

  She nodded. Her husband knew her well.

  "But you know I'll never let another man touch you like this." The tone of his voice changed.

  "You belong to me, body—" He brushed the pad of his forefinger against her clit. She shivered as delicious heat pooled in her spine.

  He trailed his finger pad to her left nipple, rolled it between his finger and thumb until it hardened to point, and she let out a gasp, before he placed the palm of his hand above her ribcage.

  "Heart."

  His finger continued its path upward, tracing along her collarbone, patting the now throbbing pulse at the base of her neck before reaching her lips. His touch was feather-light on her mouth making her ache for his lips to possess hers again.

  Gripping the back of her nape, he leaned up. "And soul."

  His lips covered hers, and he kissed her as if sealing his vow and imprinting it in her mind for eternity. When he lifted his head, she didn't want him to stop, although she was left breathless again.

  "Now, get to the bathroom." He spanked her bottom, the effect playful rather than painful. "I have a few things to teach you before this night is over."

  Her exhaustion dissipating, she swung her leg over and stood beside the sofa. "Is that so?" she asked, hands on hips, feigning indignation.

  "And don't you even think you can get out of this one." He sat up. "I can't have you thinking you can get away with indiscretions like that."

  "In that case, you'll have to catch me first." She swerved out of the way as he reached out for her.

  When he stood up, she raced towards the hallway. The sound of his low chuckle had warmth and excitement filling her veins.

  "I'm so going to enjoy this." She heard the amusement and desire in his voice.

  "So am I," Noni muttered under her breath as she laughed and ran to the bedroom, glad that Juan had discovered her secret after all.

  The End

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  Tassels

  Copyright © 2013

  Alannah Harte

  Harrington Brady slipped from the bridal bed and shut the bathroom door silently behind him. Some Über-famous rapper had once stayed in this suite, and Harry got a kick out of peeing in the billionaire's wet room. Italian marble, pristine white ceramic fixtures, and French couture toiletries dimmed in importance compared to that little gem of information.

  He slid the Japanese shoji apart and crept across the thick carpet to t
he raised king sized bed. Penny, his wife of thirteen hours, was curled in a ball on one side of the bed. Her gentle breathing had maintained a steady rhythm for over an hour. The wedding had been amazing, but the bridal bed had yet to be put to any interesting use. They were both exhausted and more than a little strung out on expensive champagne. Harrington didn't mind. He slipped beneath a five thousand count cotton sheet and drew his beautiful bride into his arms. They had a lifetime of interesting bedtime activity ahead of them. It didn't have to start tonight.

  A fortnight later he woke up. Sunlight was streaming in through the wall to wall windows, on the far side of the bed, in the room at the top of their new terraced house. They had been home from honeymoon forty-eight hours, and he was alone. The only evidence of his new wife was the gentle impression of her head on the feather pillow. Harrington shucked the bedclothes aside and padded out of the bedroom into the upstairs living room. Penny wasn't there. He checked the guest toilet and found an empty room and scratched his head in bemusement. Where could she be? At the last second he felt the sharp cold of the early spring breeze swirling around his bare toes. He shivered and curled his feet against the hard wood floor. Instinctively he moved to the sliding doors and saw Penny sitting on the roof-top terrace at a wrought iron patio table.

  "Well, wife..." His smile was warm and loving. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and his touch drifted down her arm.

  "Well, husband...." She dropped a kiss on the back of his hand where it rested on her upper arm.

  Harrington drew out a wrought iron chair and sat down beside her.

  "We need to collect the remainder of your belongings today." He let his hand drift south and settling it on her bare knee.

  Penny let her legs fall away giving him access to her inner thigh. He was happy to roam a searching hand along the smooth skin beneath his fingers stopping short of placing his digits where he knew his wife would like them. Leaning forward he kissed her gently. He was determined not to be distracted today. There were boxes and heavy-duty black plastic bags piled high in a storage unit way across town, and every day they sat there in that dark, locked container cost them money. Reluctantly pulling away he tapped her thigh and stood up.

  "Come on, babes, we can get brunch while we are out."

  "Killjoy!" she muttered following him inside. He pulled her swiftly into his embrace and nuzzled at her slender neck.

  "You have a one track mind, wife."

  Penny smiled that perfect smile of hers that lit up his soul every time she directed it at him.

  "I like my man."

  "Two hours. Two hours tops and you can show me just how much you like me."

  Harrington slapped her backside gently and pushed her into their bedroom to dress. He watched greedily as she threw off her toweling robe and walked out of his line of vision, her naked behind teasing him and tempting him to forget about her damn belongings.

  Harrington was a happy man. Happy enough. He frowned at that sudden thought. He was happy! Amazingly so! He had married his best friend. She was a gorgeous woman, with an even prettier personality. They laughed together, fought together, and had so much in common that he wondered sometimes if the universe had made her just for him. He loved her. Everything was perfect.

  Sex was vanilla.

  Shush! He told himself crossly.

  Harrington sighed and distracted himself by lacing up his shoes, shoving his car keys in his trouser pocket and shucking on a light jacket. He loved making love to Penny. She was generous and responsive and gentle. It wasn't wild and untamed the way he sometimes felt when he removed her clothing and laid her down on their bed. He was restraining himself when they made love, anxious that his rampant desires would disgust her. So sex was vanilla. Everyone loved vanilla. Harrington huffed and shook his head. Sure everyone loved vanilla when it was ice cream, but surely more than most wanted hot, sticky, and intense sex. Who wouldn't? He listened to his good wife humming happily in the next room and told himself to behave. He had nothing to complain about. Sex was still special even if it wasn't out of control. It wasn't the end of the world.

  That afternoon Harry lugged the last of his wife's belongs up the two flights of stairs to the attic storage space. Penny was weighed down by a black sack of clothing. Gripping it with her two hands she kicked the base over each narrow wooden step into the room under the roof. She was panting as she pushed it over the top step and shoved it over the bare untreated hard-wood floor. Harrington heard the rip of plastic behind him and looked over his shoulder at Penny's expression of dismay as the bag’s contents spread across the floor. The plastic had torn on an exposed nail head, and he looked down at the detritus of clothing at his feet.

  He frowned at it all.

  His frown grew deeper.

  What on earth was this stuff?

  Harry beneath down and grabbed a garment.

  "Don't, Harry," Penny began to say, but her husband was taking another piece of clothing from the pile.

  "What on earth are these?" He was careful to keep his voice neutral because Harrington didn't know how he should be feeling right now with a wealth of corsets, frilly knickers, suspenders, and brassieres at his feet. He was holding crotch-less panties and a cornet shaped bra in his hand. Harrington stared up at his wife and slowly drew up to his full height.

  "Penny, why do you have these things? Who owns them?" he asked, this time his voice betraying the confusion he was feeling.

  His wife blushed a deep shade of crimson, and she hurriedly snatched the underwear from his lazy grip. His eyes narrowed as she balled them up in her hand.

  "They're mine," Penny whispered and hid her face as she got down on her knees and started gathering up the clothing. She tried to shove them back into the torn plastic bag, but it was futile as more and more erotic underwear appeared in front of him as her trembling hands tossed the clothing upside down.

  "Stop!" Harrington was on his knees, too, clasping his wife's shoulders and pushing her back on her heels. "Stop it, Penny. Tell me what's going on." He forced her to look at him, lifting her chin up with the back of his fingers. "I want an explanation."

  Tears welled in Penny's eyes, and he began to panic. What on earth was she hiding from him? Could he deal with it? Be gentle. Let her talk. He waited and waited.

  "Penny!" he growled in frustration.

  "They're my clothes. They're costumes."

  "Costumes for what?"

  "I—"

  "Jesus Christ, Pen! Tell me what they are for? What are you caught up in?"

  Penny let out a strangled sob and unknowingly held a bra with holes cut out where the nipples should be to her breast. Harrington glared at the garish fabric.

  "I'm not involved in anything. It was something I used to do a long time ago. Years before I knew you." A rush of breathy tension escaped her lips. "I never planned to tell you. I didn't want you to know."

  "I still don't know, damn it." Harrington shoved a rough hand through his short hair and sat back from her on the floor.

  Penny looked him square in the eye and quietly told him, "I was a burlesque dancer." She gulped. "I danced at weekends Thursday through Saturday in college to pay rent, for books, and for food."

  "You were a stripper?" His head was swimming. His quiet, tame, vanilla-coated wife had stripped her clothes off for other men? Could that be even possible?

  Penny shook her head violently. "No, it's not stripping. It was a tease."

  "You took your clothes off," he said.

  "Not all of them."

  "Down to your pants and nipple ringed bras?"

  "I wore tassels underneath," she said as if it would make it all sound more palatable.

  Harrington arched an eyebrow. Glancing down at the silk, lace, and gossamer lingerie he felt a tightening in his groin. He wanted to be angry, but he only felt this overwhelming urge to have seen it. To have seen her, Penny, his good girl wife, doing a bad, bad thing.

  "Show me," he said, his voice hoarse on the word
s as his erection grew in his pants. The very idea of his wife stripping for him was turning him rock solid.

  "Harry—I can't. I haven't done it in years. I can't do it for you."

  "But you could do it for strangers? For all those dirty fuckers who paid dollars to see your naked rear end gyrating under a feather boa? I want to see it! I want to know what they saw. Did you get off on them watching you?" He saw the cruelty of his words, the crudeness, make impact on her face, but he didn't much care. He was jealous and feeling a little violent towards all those men who had gotten to see spicy Penny.

  "Harrington, please don't be like this! Please! This isn't about us. It was so long ago before I knew there would be an us. That I would ever be part of an 'us'."

  "I want to see. I want to see how my pure as snow, submissive wife really behaves."

  Harrington shoved a hand into the pile of clothes and yanked out the first thing his fingers snagged on. "I'm tired of vanilla sex. I want a different flavor. Put it on."

  He could see the paleness of her complexion, and he didn't care. He watched her lips tremble and her shoulders tense. He didn't care. Damn it! She never once took clothes off for him. He always removed every item she wore revealing her gorgeous body one garment at a time. He enjoyed it. He liked having his hands on her, but it wasn't what he wanted now. He wanted to see this strip tease. He wanted to know how kinky his precious Penny could be.

  Harrington got to his feet.

  "Put it on. Put it all on. Come downstairs to the bedroom and show me how you did it," he muttered and didn't wait for her to protest. He stomped down the narrow staircase from the attic with his big feet slipping on the tiny steps. Harrington gripped the walls as he descended. He wouldn't crack his neck before his wife danced for him in her underwear.

  Twenty minutes passed, thirty, then forty. He didn't give into the need to storm upstairs to hurry Penny up. He sat on their bed and suffered in silence, flicked through one of her women's magazines, and read his horoscope by a pair of astrological twins.