“Kiss me?” she dared him.
Joe could resist no longer. He closed his mouth over hers and kissed her, delicately at first, but with increasing lust as she pressed her body harder against his. His hands found their way to her breasts, now contained only by a lacy bra, and his fingers stumbled around her nipples.
She broke off the kiss long enough to lose the bra, giving Joe a full view of her neat, perky breasts. He quickly discarded his T-shirt, and she reached for his belt buckle, dying to get those jeans off. As he stepped out of his trousers to reveal a promising bulge encased in trendy boxer shorts, she slid her skirt to the floor and stepped out of her high heels.
She was now completely naked but for a pair of tiny, lacy knickers.
Joe tucked his fingers into her waistband. “May I?”
Verity smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He slid the knickers reverently to the floor then knelt before her as if in offering. He trailed his tongue across her clit, and then proceeded to use those beautiful lips to suck on her as if his very life depended on it.
Verity’s eyelids fluttered in ecstasy. As he serviced her, she stroked his hair and looked out at the big, beautiful garden. She imagined she was the lady of the manor, getting a good seeing-to from her manservant. The fantasy was incredibly arousing and before she knew it, Verity found herself in the midst of an earth-shattering orgasm. Her cries echoed round the room, but she still wanted more.
“Please Joe,” she said, looking down at his beautiful face, “fuck me.” She was surprised and slightly alarmed at the note of desperation that had crept into her voice.
He eagerly removed his boxers and a thin, eager cock bounced free, protruding up from a patch of blond hair. He quickly retrieved a condom from his discarded jeans, and Verity barely had time to be impressed by his preparedness before he’d slipped it on and was nuzzling up to her, pushing her up against the wall, and then hoisting her up into his arms with surprising strength.
She wrapped her arms around him as he gently nudged his cock into her. Her resultant gasp was almost one of relief. It had been so long.
Joe began to thrust into her, and the fullness, the heat felt so good Verity thought she might cry. The sight of his broad shoulders, those lightly muscled arms and the look of concentration on his face were just too glorious.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, increasing his pace, “I don’t think I can last very long…”
“That’s okay,” she panted in return, turned on even more by his obvious enjoyment, “I can keep up.”
They smiled at each other.
As Joe’s pace got faster and faster, Verity’s fingers found her clit. Just as Joe was about to come, with a quick flick of her fingers she immersed herself in a full-body orgasm. The delicious tingling feeling was just starting to fade from her skin when Joe cried out with his own, and she shuddered happily once more. He loosened his grip on her then, and she collapsed into his arms, limp and happy.
After a couple of minutes, they broke away from each other.
Verity found that she immediately missed the warmth of his body. “Thank you, that was delicious,” she said, collecting her clothes and feeling as though every inch of her buzzed with happiness.
He smiled, suddenly looking bashful. “Sorry it wasn’t a bit…longer.”
“Nonsense,” said Verity, wrapping her arms around his bare body once again. “It was perfect.” And she meant it.
They shared another kiss.
“Oh, I have something for you. Wait here.”
He looked at her quizzically. She felt like a fairy godmother as she slipped her clothes back on and went to retrieve the gift from her car.
When she came back into the room, she noted with dismay that Joe was once again fully clothed, but couldn’t suppress an excited grin as she handed him the box, wrapped in a paper bag that bore the shop’s logo.
“Smithson’s? Verity, that place is expensive…” he said, his voice trailing off as he unwrapped the case and smoothed his hands lovingly over the wood. When he clicked it open, his eyes widened.
But he didn’t smile. “I can’t accept this.”
“What? Why ever not? Is it the wrong sort of paint? I could exchange it…”
“It’s not that,” he said, “it’s very generous of you, but I prefer to buy my own supplies. That’s why I work.”
“Don’t be silly, Joe,” Verity laughed. His resistance seemed ludicrous. “It would take you months to save up for something like this. Why deny yourself the pleasure of something beautiful when I can afford it so easily?”
At these words, Joe’s expression closed, becoming cold. “I might not have as much money as you, but I’m perfectly capable of making my own way thank you. And don’t worry, I won’t trouble you for a lift home.”
He marched to the front door. When he got there, he paused, making visible effort to compose himself before he turned back to face her. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said. Then he was gone.
Verity was left standing there in disbelief, holding her beautiful, rejected gift and feeling inexplicably sad.
For the remainder of the kitchen project, the workmen brought along another contractor instead of Joe. “He’s getting ready to go back to university,” explained George, unconvincingly.
Not able to bring herself to return it to the shop, Verity left the paint box in the corner of her bedroom where it made her frown every time it caught her eye.
At first, she struggled to understand his reaction; she’d only wanted to give him something nice. But when she put herself in his shoes, she realized how insensitive she’d been. Just like him, she’d always wanted to pay her own way in life.
As the days went by, Verity only thought about him more. It was quite unsettling. Usually, she forgot her conquests almost immediately. But she found that she couldn’t get his soulful blue eyes or beautiful body out of her head, couldn’t forget the sweetness with which he’d made her come or his endearing self-consciousness afterward. She wanted to sit down and talk to him, to apologize to him—and most of all, to kiss him again.
She felt her chances slipping away as summer drew to a close, but spent as much time as possible at the house on the off chance that he’d stop by. As a result, progress with the decorating moved quickly. The house’s potential had finally been realized, and she was falling more and more in love with it. This house was going to be difficult to let go.
On an evening that contained a mere whisper of autumn chill, Verity had just finished wallpapering the living room when she heard a knock on the front door. Could it possibly be him?
She rushed to the door and her heart thudded. It was. She tried to concentrate on his words and the things she wanted to say rather than the contours of the body hidden beneath his football shirt and tantalizingly tight jeans. And there was something in his face, a firmness to his jaw, or perhaps the directness of his gaze that set my pulse hammering faster.
“Hi,” he said, “can I come in?”
“Of course.” She showed him into the living room and they both sat down on the newly delivered sofa, side by side.
“I just wanted to clear the air between us before I go back to university. I realize you were only trying to do something nice and I overreacted. I’m sorry.”
Relief poured through her. A second chance—to apologize, to make things right between them. “No, no. I’m the one who should be sorry. And just so you know, I admire the way you want to support yourself. In fact, you remind me of me at your age.”
“Thanks.” He looked endearingly embarrassed at the compliment. “It was a beautiful set. A good choice.”
“I still have it, you know…” she said, smiling softly, not insisting but letting him know in a subtle way, she’d never given up on him.
“I can’t accept it as a gift, but I think I just might have a solution.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps there could be some way for me to…earn it?”
Detecting a hint of misch
ief in his words, Verity sidled a bit nearer to him, her heart beating faster. “Oh, yes?”
He moved closer as well. “Maybe I could start by painting a picture of you…” He nuzzled his lips against her ear. “Naked.”
“You,” she said, climbing onto his lap, “are a wicked boy.”
As their hands reached to liberate each other’s clothes, one dizzying thought loomed large in Verity’s mind: he wants to see me again.
“This really is a beautiful house,” said Joe suddenly, looking round the room and taking in her recent handiwork.
“You know what?” replied Verity, her fingers trailing slowly down his chest, “I was thinking that I might just keep this one for myself.”
Then they pressed their lips together and were once again lost in each other in the fading summer light.
Game Night
Anne Lange
All bets were off. Samantha Rowan focused on the smoldering look coming from one of the most delicious men she’d ever laid eyes on, and as the owner of one of the top modeling agencies in Los Angeles, she’d seen plenty.
Sitting in the corner of the small club, his back to the wall, the man owned the room, exuding strength and power from every pore. The routine hadn’t varied. Locals stopped to say hello, and no doubt commented on the team’s success before offering advice on his pitching technique. All gazes of the female persuasion struggled not to stray, too often, in his direction. A daring few found opportunities to stroll past and take a gander up close and personal. Samantha wondered at the variety of propositions he fielded.
Little did they know they waged a losing battle. Tonight his attention would be on her, and her alone. Almost every night for the past week, they’d observed each other, tempted each other with little smirks, heated stares and teasing body language. Tonight she made her move, sending a drink to his table.
She sipped from her glass, the amber liquid smooth and rich as it slid over her tongue and down her parched throat. Each night had been the same—dry in the mouth, wet in the panties. When she wore them.
Hooking her left stiletto over the rung on the stool, she crossed her right knee over her left, allowing her already short black skirt to hike up another couple of inches. She had direct line of sight. His eyes widened, flames danced in those dark orbs. She undid a button on her white silk blouse. And then another, until the red scalloped edge of her bra peeked from beneath. Zeroing in on his mouth she licked her lips when he licked his. Her gaze lifted to tangle with his, and she gifted him with a quirk of her brow and a slight nod of her head.
He rose from his chair. Excitement made her blood sing and her skin tingle as she watched him stride across the room, navigating through the gyrating bodies on the minuscule dance floor, a head taller than most, including those in heels. He moved with athletic grace, each step sensual but decisive. Tomorrow, the team played in Boston. Tonight, she’d have hometown advantage.
When he stopped in front of her, his impressive bulge brushed her kneecap. She tamped down her initial response and forced her roving gaze to travel higher, taking in his trim waist and broad, muscled shoulders, showcased in a tight black polo shirt. Her fingers itched to caress his strong chin. She fantasized about dipping her tongue in the tiny cleft. By the time she reached his slate-blue eyes, they sparkled with arousal and a hint of mischief. She breathed him in, the scent of soap and light male cologne sweeping through her body, arousing her senses. The noise dimmed around them.
“I owe you for the drink. Do you mind if I join you?” His deep sexy timbre reached out and stroked her, sending all her girl parts into standby mode.
“Please do.” With a wave of her hand, she indicated the empty bar stool to her right.
As he settled next to her, she twisted around, thinking to face the bar, but he stopped her midway and adjusted his legs to cage hers. Then, he had the audacity to feel her up, a hand gliding over her knee. He nodded to the waiting bartender. “I’ll have what the lady’s having. And she’ll have a fresh one.”
“Right away, sir.” The man faded away.
“So, what’s your name, beautiful?”
“Samantha.”
“Samantha…what?”
“Just Samantha.” She leaned in to whisper. “But if you’re a good boy, I may let you call me Sam.”
His throaty chuckle made her grin, though she fought to hide it by tipping her glass to her lips.
“Are you here alone…Sam?”
Cheeky devil. “If I weren’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here with your hand on my thigh and your fingers playing under the hem of my skirt.” She pointedly glanced at his hand.
“Would you like me to remove it?”
“Ah, perfect, you already know how to ask for permission.” She caught herself before laughing at the element of surprise in his expression. “You may leave it there…for now.”
“Scotch, neat.” The handsome barkeep deposited their drinks and turned to a young couple at the end of the bar who had eyes only for each other—newlyweds if she had to guess.
“What do you do, Samantha?”
“For work or for fun?”
He grinned. “Let’s start with work.”
She offered him her professional smile. “I own a modeling agency.”
A look of intrigue crossed his face. “That must be interesting. Runway or ad?”
“Ad. I work with a number of magazines.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Interested in becoming a cover model? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Thomas. But you can call me Tom.”
“Ever consider posing in front of a camera, Thomas?”
His eyes sparkled and his voice deepened to a husky sexiness, sending each nerve ending in her body dancing in delight.
“Well now, that depends on who’s behind the lens, and if it would include nudity or not.”
Now she’d find out how open he’d be to playing her game. “I would be the one taking the pictures.”
“Are you nude while you’re doing it?”
The hope in his gaze caught her off guard. A laugh she couldn’t stop erupted. He smiled. A few people near them turned, casting a querying look in their direction. “No, honey. That would be you.”
He gave her an “aw shucks” look, but interestingly enough, didn’t appear put off by the idea.
“Where would we take these photos?”
“My studio.”
He gave her a questioning glance before he picked up his drink, which he downed in two swallows and slammed the empty glass on the bar. “I’m game. Let’s go.”
She struggled not to stutter. “You’re definitely easy.”
He snorted. “You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m not in town long. Besides, it’s just pictures, right?”
He stood and signaled the bartender. Sam let him pay the tab while she finished her drink. Taking her small hand in his large calloused one, he helped her off the stool, then guided her through the crowd. The solid touch at her lower back felt both sensual and comforting at the same time. Her body hummed in anticipation. She couldn’t wait to have him in front of her camera.
They managed to work their way to the exit, leaving the thumping music behind, making their way out into the hot L.A. night. A constant stream of cars entered and left the parking lot, while a crowd of people waited to gain entrance.
Thomas raised his voice to be heard over the roar of a motorcycle speeding by. “My car or yours?”
“My studio is just around the corner and a couple of miles down on the right. But I prefer to drive myself. You can follow me.”
“As the lady wishes.”
They separated, going to their respective vehicles. Sam strolled to her small red Mazda and turned to watch him climb into a black Challenger. Excellent pick. She liked muscle cars and muscled men. Unlocking her door, she slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Backing out of her space she sighed as he pulled up behind her, acknowledged the slight wave he offered, the
n hit the gas and rolled out onto the street.
When she pulled into her spot at the agency a few minutes later, he rolled to a stop right next to her, cut the engine and climbed from his car. He glanced around the six-car parking lot, taking in the small home that housed her business. “Nice place. Do you have somebody who keeps it up for you, or are you a hands-on kind of gal?”
With a sharp eye, she surveyed the space around her. The darkness pushed the flower beds into the shadows, but obvious care had gone into the landscaping and upkeep of the property. She loved roses, and the scent of them filled her nose. “Oh, I’m definitely hands-on, however, I do have somebody who helps out now and then, when the mood strikes and he’s available.”
She turned to move toward the door, gasping when he pulled her up short, his heavy breathing reverberating through her back, which she found suddenly molded to his front. Strong arms wrapped around her waist; the evidence of his arousal, long and hard, rested snug against her ass. She wiggled. He groaned.
When he dropped his lips to her neck, she ducked her head, extricated herself from his arms and spun around, back stepping up the flagstone path to her front door. “Down boy. You’re here for a photo shoot.”
He smirked. “A nude photographer shoot?”
She rolled her eyes.
Sam opened the door and turned off the alarm as she ushered him inside, shutting and locking up behind him, but leaving them in the dark. “This way.” She led him through a reception area decorated in a modern leather motif, back to where she had removed the wall between two rooms to create a large open space for her studio.
“No lights?”
“Nope. Don’t need to advertise we’re here.” The streetlight outside provided enough illumination to guide her path as she moved with ease through the room and hallway, brushing aside a black curtain to pass through an archway into another, smaller room. Here she flipped on a floor lamp. “You can head behind that screen over there and get undressed. I’ll set up everything out here.”
Sex Objects Page 15
