Rain would be nice, because I was sweltering. I’m a desert girl, not used to this southeast moistness. It was the heat and the humidity, thank you very much. Rain would at least cool things down.
Why I’d chosen to cross the country to visit them at this time of year was anyone’s guess.
I’d already kicked off the covers, lying naked on the damp sheets, unable to sleep. If Amber hadn’t had to rush back home because her sister’s baby was making an early appearance, we’d be out on the porch now, sipping wine and giggling. But it was just Jon and me. I didn’t know him as well as I did Amber, and although we’d shared a pleasant evening, we’d drifted off to our respective rooms an hour ago.
I didn’t know Jon well, but…I felt a little guilty, sprawled here naked, my nipples beading at the thought of him. When I’d first met him, I’d dragged Amber aside and said, “Damn, he’s fine!” and he was; oh, he was. Not just looks, either. Not just that he clearly worshipped my best friend. No, it was the sly grin, the vaguely flirtatious comments, the way he could make anything sound sexy as hell.
It didn’t help that Amber had confided in me, as girls do, about how hot their sex life was. Jon was apparently solicitous and inventive in equal measure, as well as (according to Amber) sincerely aroused by her.
You know, in that “the way you touch me, I’ll die if I don’t come right now” kind of way.
Thunder growled again, a little louder.
I wasn’t jealous; I loved Amber and was thrilled she’d found her Mr. Right.
That didn’t stop me from fantasizing about her Mr. Right, unfortunately.
My brain warred with my conscience. I would never, ever hurt Amber. I’d been cheated on before. I knew what it felt like, and I loved her too much.
My skin was sticky in the heat, but my thighs felt stickiest of all. Was it cheating to just fantasize?
My body won out over my conscience. To assuage my guilt, I imagined a scenario where Amber and Jon had never dated, had become friends only.
Jon’s smoky blue eyes would have caught mine across the room, and I would’ve moved toward him, hooked and reeled in by the erotic promise in his gaze.
I rolled my nipples between my fingers. Flashes of desire matched the flashes of lightning outside.
No, flash forward. I didn’t want to go through the first-meeting crap—I wanted to fantasize about the sex.
I’d seen Jon without his shirt on; he had a fine dusting of dark hair along his chest. He wasn’t overly buff, but his upper arms were muscled just the way I liked them. If he were stretched out over me, those muscles would flex as he held himself there, dipping his head down to tease me with kisses. First light, then devouring, our tongues clashing and our teeth knocking until we had to pull apart just to breathe.
My hips shifted restlessly, and I wished I’d brought my vibrator on the trip, but I could do just fine with my fingers—fingers I let trail down my belly, across my hips, just as I’d want him to do with hands and mouth, caressing and licking and biting. The pressure built in my clit, my pussy lips now slick with moisture. When I dipped my fingers in, I could smell my arousal, sweet and musky. Jon, I thought, would lick me and then kiss me so I could taste myself, and I brought my fingers to my mouth.
The thought of Amber flitted across my mind, but I pushed it away. This was just a fantasy, even if it was one that made my cunt clench with the deliciousness of it.
The visions muddled and blurred as I stroked my swollen clit. Legs parted, knees bent, I flicked it and pretended it was Jon’s fingers doing so, Jon’s talented tongue (for I knew it had to be). Just flashes of images: looking down to see his glossy dark hair, messy from the way I’d clutched his head, as he licked and sucked between my thighs. Jon rearing back over me, ordering me in a lust-rasped voice to wrap my legs around him. Positioning his cock just so, slipping and sliding it through my wetness, teasing me while I squirmed and begged beneath him and his eyes darkened and glinted with amusement at my desperation…so close…just there….
The sharp knock at the door almost made me scream. My hips dropped against the bed. My clit pulsed in a faux orgasm, still on the brink, unfulfilled.
“Yeah?” I managed to say. My mouth was dry. I grabbed the sheet I’d kicked off, yanking it up over me, just in case.
“Everything okay?” Jon’s voice came through the door.
Now I swallowed laughter. No, it wasn’t okay. I’d just brought myself to near-ecstasy while thinking of him, and my groin ached from the denial of release.
“Um, fine, yeah. Why?”
“The storm’s knocked out the power. Wanted to give you a flashlight.”
I grabbed my robe from the tangled sheets at the foot of the bed. Belting it, I realized just how short and skimpy it was—I hadn’t thought I’d need it except for dashes to the bathroom. I wiped my hand on the sheets and smoothed down my hair as best I could before I opened the door.
Oh, god. My stomach clenched and my thighs felt weak. Jon’s hair was mussed, just like I’d fantasized, just as if I’d been pulling his head down to mine, my fingers tangled in the glossy black strands. As if I’d been riding him and his head tossed back and forth on the pillow in ecstasy.
He held out the flashlight. I grabbed it, trying to cover the fact that my hand shook.
“I’m sorry,” he said with his half grin that furrowed the dimple in his cheek. “Air-conditioning’s knocked out, too. You must be sweltering.”
It really was as if my fantasy had come to life, because Jon was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose running shorts, midnight blue like his eyes. His chest showed a sheen of sweat.
“It is a bit warm,” I admitted, then wondered why he’d said it. Did I look disgustingly sweaty? Did I smell sweaty? Worse, did I smell like sex?
“I could use some lemonade,” he went on, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Want some? It’s cooler out on the porch.”
My mental panic continued. Hanging out on the porch with Jon, both of us nearly naked, would certainly help fuel my fantasies. But did my fantasies need any more fueling? Was this skirting the line of betraying Amber? Not to mention I was still aching with the need to come.
“Sure,” I said finally. “Sounds great.”
He lit candles, then disappeared inside for the drinks. It took me a few moments to arrange myself on the cushioned wicker chair in such a way that I didn’t flash Jon when he returned with the lemonade. He was right: it was cooler here, with the barest hint of a breeze floating in on the electricity-charged air.
“I’m not used to this kind of weather,” I commented, desperate for conversation. “Humidity, storms.”
“It’s always an adventure,” he said. “It’ll hit us before long, and the temperature will really drop. Keep your window open tonight; it’ll help.”
“When do you think we’ll have power again?” The candles were too romantic, too perfect in the way they cast knife-edge shadows off his cheekbones.
“Probably be back on by the time we wake up,” he said, and then I was thinking about waking up with him, spooned together, his hand over my breast and his morning cock thick against the crack of my ass, and…
Jon cleared his throat, and I jolted back to the present and realized why. My lemonade glass was sweating in the heat, dripping condensation onto my robe. A fraction of a second later I felt the chill as the water soaked in.
Of course, the drops were on the slope of my breasts. I glanced at him, but he was looking away now, intent on the candle flame. But he’d been watching.
I tried to diffuse the moment. “Feels good, actually.”
Oh. That did the opposite. Plus it really did feel good. My nipples hardened, needy again, and I thought about taking my drink back to my room and putting the ice cubes to better use.
“Lea,” Jon said suddenly. “This is…awkward.”
“I’ll go.” I stood, grabbing the front of my robe when it threatened to slide open.
“No, it’s okay,” he said, also s
tanding. “Look, you’re a gorgeous woman, and I love that you and Amber are so close. I’d never do anything to affect that.”
“I should hope not,” I said, defensive and guilty in equal measure.
I’d told him, semi-drunkenly, at the reception that if he ever hurt Amber, I’d cut off his dick with a rusty spoon. I’d forgotten about that until now. Too busy having other thoughts about his dick, I guess.
“I just thought…no, it’s stupid.” He sat back down.
“What?” I mirrored his action, carefully, like before.
“I’d never cheat on Amber,” he said, not looking at me. “But there’s nothing wrong with a fantasy, is there?”
In the flickering candlelight, my cheeks flamed. “No,” I said, wondering desperately if he knew.
“Would you be offended if I said I’d fantasized about you?”
What could I say to that but “I’d be flattered?” Then, clearing my throat, I added “Uh, the feeling’s mutual, you know.”
That grin again, glinting and gone. “Thanks. Glad to hear it.”
Lightning flashed, and my skin seemed to hum with electricity.
“How about this,” I said suddenly, crazily. “We’ll go back to our rooms—separate rooms. Fantasize, masturbate. Knowing the other person is doing it.”
“Are you sure…?”
“No talking about it, no telling each other what we’re thinking about. That’s going too far.”
Of course, I wanted to know how he thought of us together. What positions, what acts went through his mind as he pulled on his cock. But at the same time, I didn’t want to know—and imagining what he was thinking was kind of hot, too.
Plus I wasn’t just toeing the line, I was kicking it off to one side.
Now it was his turn for his hand to shake; the ice rattled as he set his glass down. His shorts, I noticed, were tented, and I pressed my knees together against the sudden tremor in my groin.
“You’re on,” he said.
We seemed to press against opposite sides of the hallway as we made our way back to the bedrooms. As I turned to slip into mine, though, he swung close and whispered, “Leave your door open.” Then he was gone.
The bedroom doors weren’t within line of sight, but it still made sense; with the window and door open, I might catch a faint cross breeze.
I thought I knew, though, why he’d suggested it. It removed another barrier, even one we’d still never go past.
Before I turned off the flashlight, I fished a piece of ice from my near-empty glass of lemonade and, nestled against the pillows, did what I’d thought about on the porch.
My skin prickled as I circled the cold cube around my nipple, feeling it peak harder, tighter. I tweaked it with my fingers while I toyed the cube around my other nipple. Streaks of hot lightning tugged at my groin. I wished Jon were teasing me with the ice, making my nipples hard with the cold and then soothing them with the warmth of his mouth before biting down, throwing me off guard with pleasure and near pain.
When the fragment was almost melted, I dropped it between my breasts. It slid slowly down, nothing more than a tiny rivulet of water by the time it reached my navel.
What was he doing in his room? Did he toy with his own nipples, think of me sucking on them? Or had he gone straight for his cock, already hard? Did he imagine me sucking on him, licking him, cradling his balls in my hand, my hair spilling over and tickling his belly?
I scrabbled through the dark for the glass again, catching it just before it tipped and fell, and grabbed another piece of ice.
I spread my legs wide, tilted my hips and let the icy water drip, drip, drip onto my clit, each drop bringing me closer to the edge without letting me tip over. There was no reason to tease myself except to prolong my fantasy of Jon, as I imagined his hand wrapped around the purpling head of his cock, his fingers and shaft slick with lube and precome. His thighs straining, his head thrown back and the cords of his neck standing out as he…
That was it. I was done with teasing. I plunged my free hand down, found my throbbing clit, stroked. Heat and light bloomed in my belly as the contractions overtook me. I moaned, louder than I’d planned, and followed it with a grit-teethed “Fuck, yes,” as I milked my orgasm just a few seconds longer.
From the other room I heard a hoarse cry, and realized my own sounds of passion had triggered his release. The knowledge sent my clit pulsing into a second climax.
That’s why he’d wanted the doors open, I thought hazily, right before thunder boomed close by and the rain finally began to fall.
I woke the next morning to the smell of bacon. I hit a quick shower, still sticky from dried sweat and lemonade and come, and threw on a sundress that was deliberately long and loose.
“Morning,” Jon said, handing me a plate of omelet and bacon and fruit. “Power’s back on; hope it didn’t bother you last night. Want to eat on the porch? It’s a beautiful day.”
I peered at him sideways as I poured myself some coffee. He sounded so casual, so ordinarily cheerful. I felt unbalanced, unsteady. Had I dreamed last night?
The feeling stayed with me when I saw that Jon’s lemonade glass and the candles were gone from the porch. We’d promised not to talk last night, and it made sense to continue that into today (and, of course, beyond), but still…
Maybe it all had been a storm-induced fantasy. I hid my smile behind my steaming mug as we discussed my flight time that afternoon. If so, it had been a damn good one.
By the time I got home that night after a long, tiring flight, I had myself convinced it was nothing more than a fantastic hallucination. And I was able to coast on that thought through the next day’s jet lag—until Amber called me.
Guilt churned in my gut as she apologized again for having to leave and told me about her new nephew. We were just about to hang up when she added, “By the way, I don’t know what went on here, but I have to thank you. Jon’s been a dynamo in bed since I got home tonight. I barely got away to call you.”
“Nothing happened,” I squeaked.
“Oh, I know you two didn’t do anything,” she said, laughing. “But Jon told me ages ago that he has fantasies about you. Must’ve been that skimpy robe of yours…and, I might add, he’s right—you look smoking in it. So, thanks for the inspiration. Can’t wait ’til you visit again!”
Before I could comment, she’d said good-bye and ended the call.
I stared at the phone for a long moment then reached for my vibrator.
Fantasies about Jon? Been there, enjoyed that. Fantasies about Jon and Amber?
Oh, I was just getting started with those.
PLEASE COME AGAIN
Tenille Brown
At night at the Misty Blue, Simone liked to prop the front doors of the hotel open and let the salty breeze from the ocean float in.
It was refreshing, and a lovely view, but it also kept her awake on the night shift because her coworker Henry was such a bore. That and the small radio she kept on the counter. But this time of night, all they played mostly were love songs, which didn’t do Simone much good at all. If she’d had a man, this job certainly wouldn’t have been conducive to maintaining the relationship.
Simone didn’t live on the island. She rode the bus in for work. Ten to seven, that was her shift. She preferred it that way, because she was never one for crowds.
It wasn’t a hard job, working the front desk. Simone mainly witnessed other people in their various stages of fucking: the anticipation, the noisy midst and the dreamy afterglow when they floated off the elevator hand in hand and checked out.
The residents didn’t pass through much on the night shift unless they were going for a night swim, and some of them did, but Simone was sure that wasn’t all they were going to do.
Here on the tiny island, there were plenty of vacation hookups, but there were those other times when couples booked a room for a weekend or an overnight getaway.
Business was slow this time of year and it was getting cold, w
hich was how Simone had met Randall. She’d seen him lingering around out front, and one night, on a break, she stepped outside and offered him a smoke.
Randall started coming around pretty regularly after that, and while Henry was on break, Simone would let him in.
The man was a stranger, this was true. He had no home, Simone knew this, too. But he was a pretty nice guy, if you got to know him. And Simone had gotten to know him quite well.
One night after their smoke, Randall had asked for a bar of soap. Simone had given it to him, no questions asked. She even offered him the lobby restroom to wash up.
Simone soon discovered she appreciated the company at night. Randall would sit in a lobby chair when business was slow and they would talk and laugh about the patrons at the hotel, and his buddies that roamed the streets like he did.
Simone gave Randall clothes that customers sometimes left behind. She’d even given him a beard trimmer and a small bottle of cologne.
Then she started letting him spend nights in the extra rooms upstairs. She would slip him in after Henry nodded off and out in the morning while Henry was making coffee.
Randall would be upstairs fast asleep by now.
Then, like lightning, it hit her. Simone hadn’t given him his towels.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to Henry as she grabbed a stack and headed toward the elevator.
On the other side of the door, Simone could hear the shower. She used her master key card and let herself in.
The plan was to just leave the towels on the chair so Randall would have a fresh and dry one when he was done, and to leave just as quietly as she had come.
But Simone took a minute to take in the elegance of the room. It was nice. She tried to give him one of the nicer ones when she could. The bed in this one was king-sized and covered in white sheets. The carpet was beige plush. There was a sitting area and a flat-screen television. There was a coffeemaker with single-serve gourmet coffee.
Suite Encounters Page 14
