Slow Hand Curves (Big Girls Next Door Erotica)

by Christa Wick

  His smiling gaze turned impish. “When you’re in the tub, the water all warm and bubbly…don’t you have any music playing?”

  I blushed, embarrassed that I was incapable of even taking a bath like a normal woman. “Hymns, mostly.”

  Sam’s chuckle went straight to my thighs, jolting my swollen flesh like a hard smack. “That’s a waste of a bubble bath, Hollywood. How about I line us up some Etta James?”

  “Okay.” Trying not to seem like a complete square, I gave him a tentative smile. “Is she new?”

  “New? Etta James?” His voice suddenly grew stern, only the playful tilt of his head and the twinkle of his bright green eyes stopped me from panicking. “Miss Rice, you put that robe on and prepare to be schooled.”

  He left me to change, my expression wide-eyed and slack-jawed as I wondered if he had any idea why I was there.

  *****

  I was sitting on the edge of the table-chair thingie when Sam returned, my legs demurely crossed at the ankles. I was too short for the table’s height. Even pointed down, my toes were still half a foot from the floor.

  My hands fisting the lapels of the robe, I forced a blush down as he approached. “There wasn’t a sash.”

  Watching me from the corner of his eyes, he plugged an iPod into a docking station. Just enough of his grin was visible to make me forget about the sash and meekly obey him when he told me to lie down on my belly.

  His hands dipped between my chest and the cushioned surface, catching the edge of the lapels and lifting the top half of the robe off my shoulders and down my arms. “I couldn’t do that if there was a sash, could I?”

  “No, I guess not.” I lifted my head as he slid a pillow under it.

  His fingers darted out and smoothed my curls to the side as a woman’s sultry voice started playing over the docking station’s speakers. She sang like pure sex and I wondered why I’d never heard of her.

  Oh, yeah -- she sang like pure sex. Despite being twenty-six and living in my own home, I still worried about my mother examining the contents of my iPod during one of her unannounced visits. She most definitely would not approve of this woman with the deep purring voice.

  To make things even cozier, Sam grabbed the remote and brought the lights lower, their color taking on a deep blue. Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out a small hand-sized machine and plugged it into the wall.

  He pushed a few small glass bottles around before looking at me over his shoulder. “Tension headaches, right?”

  “Yes.” Melinda had been telling the truth in that respect. I had the worst headaches. They went on for days, but a lot of high-priced doctors kept saying it was nothing. “That’s why I’m here.”

  That last bit was a lie and I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him as my blush started all over again.

  I heard Sam fiddle with the small machine for a few seconds and then the scent of almonds and chamomile started to drift through the room. A few more seconds passed before I felt the brush of his fingertips along the back of my neck.

  He moved the bit of hair covering my neck to the side. His big hands gripped my shoulders and took a tentative squeeze. The woman was moaning as she sang, a deep throbbing cello coiling around her voice and sparking a sudden urge within me to moan right along with her.

  Sam’s hands moved down my back, the fingers spreading like a butterfly’s wings to whisper along the sides of my torso. His thumbs pressed gently at my vertebrae, testing for any sensitivity. “Where does all this tension come from?”

  He murmured the words. Feeling each one as a little puff of air between my shoulder blades, I realized he was leaning very close to me. I bit down on the whimper threatening to escape and managed a short response.

  “Spreadsheets.”

  “Okay.” He chuckled again, the air tickling my flesh and causing my shoulders to twitch. “What goes into the spreadsheets?”

  “Numbers.” Stifling a groan, I closed my eyes. I sounded like a real Rhodes scholar -- not! Admittedly, I was pleased I had managed any answer while he was touching me. His chest hovered so close to my back I could feel his body heat. I swallowed and gave my throat a little clearing before I elaborated. “I’m an actuarian.”

  I didn’t bother mentioning that I worked at the insurance firm my father’s grandfather had founded. Like my brother Beau, I was learning the business from the ground up so I could help run it one day.

  “Ah, I’m terrible with math,” Sam confessed. “But great with my hands.”

  He started to fold the robe a little further down my backside. I clutched at the fabric, a small gasp escaping me and making my cheeks heat with embarrassment. Making no comment, he skipped over the robe and down to the back of my knees. A hand on each calf, he started to knead the flesh.

  It wasn’t so much that my tension went away -- it just sort of moved someplace else. Bits of it drew at my chest, making my breath come quicker. Other bits swam in my gut, the ripples so palpable it was if he already had started stroking me down there.

  With Sam’s firm hands continuing to mold my muscles, I lost track of my own fingers. They slipped inside the robe’s pocket to brush against the hundred dollar bill I’d tucked inside after changing. My fingers were still acting of their own accord when they pulled the bill out and started to line old Benny boy up along the edge of my pillow.

  Sam’s hands froze. “Put that away.”

  If I had thought his voice sounded stern earlier, I now knew the difference. I reached for the bill, my hand shaking and fumbling in an attempt to pick it up. “I’m sorry…I…”

  I was fast approaching a record level of mortification -- even for me. Clutching at my robe, I tried to sit up, handfuls of my overgenerous flesh escaping the fabric. I managed to get myself upright, my feet dangling and Sam’s big body blocking me from jumping down.

  “I misunderstood -- I’ll leave -- please don’t call security.” The words came out faster than I’d ever spoken before. My eyes were wet, leaving me one blink away from crying. “It’s all a mistake.”

  Sam plucked the hundred from my fingers, his gaze narrowing as he held it up. “You mistakenly folded a hundred dollar bill into a triangle with just Franklin’s face showing?”

  “No,” I whispered. “Someone else folded it for me. Please, just let me go. You can keep the money for my troubling you.”

  “Well, you have been bothering me since you stepped into my room.”

  I felt a stinging pinch in my nose as I held back fresh tears. I hadn’t meant any of it as an insult. I looked at him, blinked once and felt the hot splash of tears on my cheeks. “You don’t have to be cruel. I said I was going.”

  “Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Hollywood.” Sam tucked the hundred back into the robe’s pocket. Then he steered me until my back was against the table’s cushion, my stomach and tits up. “Neither are you paying for what I’m about to do to you.”

  “What you’re about--”

  He stopped the question with his lips against mine. Like his hands, they exerted the perfect amount of pressure, pushing and spreading at the same time until my mouth opened. His tongue slid in, curling to hook against my top lip and tug. He pushed the robe’s lapels apart, the fabric slipping like water through my fingertips.

  Still kissing me, Sam palmed my bare breast. The contact instantly evoked a shuddering moan from me. His tongue probed deeper, exploring along the inside of my top lip before licking the bottom one.

  Oh, Jesus. I’d never been kissed before, not in any way that counted, most certainly not like this or by a man like Sam. Another moan shook loose from me. His thumb and two fingers zeroed in on my swollen nipple, rolling the sensitive tip back and forth while he sucked at the corner of my mouth.

  I didn’t need any prior experience to know he was an insanely good kisser. No, he was a great kisser. He mixed just the right amount of force with a little nip or lick, leaving no question who was in charge of the kiss. I pressed my palms against his shoulder, t
oo timid to clutch at him no matter how much I wanted to.

  “This is what you came for, right?” His voice had mellowed to rough silk. His lips brushed along my jaw line before returning for another kiss.

  “I’m n-not sure,” I confessed. There had been no mention of kissing, or that Sam would touch my breasts or anywhere other than down there.

  “You want me to continue.”

  No questioning lilt marked the end of his sentence. He was telling me I wanted him to continue. He was right. I couldn’t bring myself to admit it -- not with words. Slowly I nodded, the motion precise so that there would be no mistake between the vertical lift of yes and the horizontal slide of no.

  A smile played along one side of his face. The hand teasing my breast moved lower. His fingertips slid beneath my panties. The fabric was a light satin pink trimmed with lace. I had purchased them and a matching bra the night before.

  The pads of his fingers gently raked the soft blonde fur covering my sex. He sucked at my earlobe, whispering and taking small bites that made me moan. His fingers started a light dance against the seam of my swollen folds. I squirmed, wanting to lift my hips but without the boldness to do so.

  His hand dipped down, discovering me wet, my thighs clenching. Hooking a finger, he trailed it back up, separating my lower lips to find the hard pearl they concealed.

  “Such a thick, swollen clit, Hollywood.” Sam nuzzled my neck. “Is it sensitive?”

  “Oh, yes.” Most definitely. I swore I could feel the ridges of his thumbprint as he moved down to stroke the length of that hard ridge of flesh. A thrust escaped my control and I closed my eyes in shame.

  “Shhhh…Amber.” His fingers moved back down, reaching my hole and tracing its edge. The muscles contracted at his touch. “Very reactive pussy. Is that word familiar to you?”

  “N-not really.” Another swirling, tracing sweep of his fingers around the throbbing tissue brought my knees jerking up, my thighs spreading ever so slightly.

  “Does it offend you?”

  I shook my head. The word didn’t sound bad the way his mouth shaped it. Naughty, yes. Very, very naughty, but not the least bit offensive.

  “Good. It’s a hot, sweet pussy. I’ll make it purr.”

  My eyes rolled up, lashes fluttering. He might not be able to hear it, but I was purring already. Moisture leaked from me, wetting the smooth strip of skin that ran down to my other hole. Contractions squeezed at both openings, the intervals between each pulse growing shorter and shorter.

  His thumb rubbing at my clit, Sam pressed two fingers against the opening to my pussy. Sensing his intention, I tensed and gave out a little cry.

  He couldn’t know.

  Neither could I warn him.

  “Amber, unless you tell me…” His throat caught at the words. He swallowed hard, the first sign of uncertainty since I’d met him. “Unless you tell me you’re a virgin, I’m going to stroke inside you.”

  My hands had never left his shoulders. I fisted the fabric of his shirt. I was afraid to have him enter me, to lose my virginity in a therapy room with a near stranger. But I was more afraid that he’d stop cold and send me packing if I admitted I had never been with a man.

  “Baby, answer me before I go too far.”

  I closed my eyes and bit at my bottom lip. I was still breathing through my nose, but fast and very deep, my chest rising and falling faster than the beats of my heart. I had to trust he would go only so far as was right.

  I heard a soft growl and then his lips swept down, landing for a second on my collarbone before his mouth took possession of my nipple. His hand swiveled between my legs so that the heel of his palm pressed against my opening while his center three fingers moonwalked up and down my clit.

  He pulled the nipple taut, hooking and holding my gaze when I finally opened my eyes to watch him. He was so damn beautiful. The green of his irises had darkened to a deep forest, while the thick dark brows and lashes made the remaining pale green embers smolder.

  Releasing the nipple with a wet pop, his mouth traveled lower, following the contours of my stomach and hip as he moved around the table. He peeled my wet panties off, pocketing them with a devilish smile before his hands and thick forearms slid under my bottom and dragged me to the edge of the table.

  He wasn’t…really, not…

  Those green eyes flashed and I realized he really was going to do it -- he was going to kiss me down there, to part my folds with his tongue the same way he had with his fingers. He was going to lick and suck and--

  Oh, sweet heaven! His mouth made contact. My back instantly arched, pushing my breasts high, their tips hard and aching from the absence of his lips. Long strokes started with the tip of his tongue teasing the entrance to my pussy and ended at the top split of my labia. Just when I thought my bones were going to crawl out of my skin, his lips settled on the most sensitive part of my sex -- that hard little nodule tucked within the hood of my clit. He worked its edges, circling, attacking.

  Unable to stop myself, I grabbed two fistfuls of his luxurious dark hair. He wouldn’t let me hold him where I wanted -- desperately needed -- him to be. He pulled my hands from his hair, his mouth abandoning the throbbing focus of my entire being to kiss my fingertips.

  “You’re having dinner with me, tonight.”

  Dinner? He’d stopped to ask me out -- really? Didn’t he know how close I was or that I had never…

  “Tonight, Amber.” He blew a cold line of air against that small kernel of need.

  “Yes, yes…tonight…please…” My hips gave an impatient roll. My hands flexed and twitched inside his like a spider on angel dust. “Just…finish, Samuel…please.”

  Slow to restart, he seemed intent on driving me crazy all over again, pushing me back from the abyss of my first ever climax just so he could teasingly reel me in once more. The side of his puckered mouth brushed the inner flesh of one plump lip as he continued to blow cold air on my achy little clit. He repeated the motion, this time along the other thick, swollen lip of my pussy. His mouth hovered, the cold air replaced by warm and humid breath.

  “Such a sweet tasting pussy.” His words whispered against my skin, made me whimper with my need. “Are you going to let me eat it again?”

  “Oh, yes.” My eyelids fluttered. As far as I was concerned, we could spend eternity in that room. The contractions that had gripped my pussy spread their way along my clit. I could feel the skin pulling taut, imagined it dancing upwards before the contraction ended.

  Sam watched the motion repeat, kissing the center each time the muscle relaxed. The interval between kisses lengthened. The kisses became shorter -- the contractions stacking hard and nearly unrelenting. His tongue rejoined the dance, made fast little flicks against that dangle of flesh. The pads of his thumbs teased my opening, threatening but never venturing inside.

  I had lost all track of the music, but I caught the thread of the woman’s voice, the rumbling melody reaching its crescendo. I lifted my hips, pushing, grinding, gasping…

  “Oh!” My hips jerked. My mouth opened in another gaping oh and then my expression froze. I was coming, my climax rolling through me like a freight train across an open field. No x-ray would show it, but my bones fractured, splintering into a million pieces if only for a few exquisite moments.

  My lower body twitching with the aftershocks of my release, Sam eased me back onto the table. He stepped around to my side, one hand quickly reclaiming possession of my pussy while the other cleared the wild fall of curls from my face. Gripping my forehead and my pussy, he bent down and kissed me. My juices were still on his lips and tongue, the scent and flavor mingling with his.

  “Address on your sheet the right one?” His gaze studied me as if wary of a lie.

  I nodded. I’d been too naïve to think of listing a false address.

  “Good, I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.” He paused as a fresh smile surfaced across his handsome face. “It would make me very happy if you wore a skirt or dress.
Will you do that?”

  *****

  Sam didn’t give me my panties back. I sort of asked him, but his mischievous grin told me I would have to do more than sort of ask for their return. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him keeping them as a trophy. That was half the problem -- were they a trophy or a memento? When I considered them as a memento, my heart started skipping happily and a silly grin occupied half my face. But I didn’t want him to be the kind of man who took trophies.

  I decided to ignore the question and buy new panties because, damn it, Bree had been one-hundred-percent correct when she joked about my granny panties. Every last pair was one of three colors: white, black or beige. They were all cotton and all plus size. Yep, I’m a real wild child.

  Browsing the lingerie section, I had no idea what Sam had in mind for the night, knew even less what I wanted him to have in mind. Still, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with silky ice blue panties and a matching bustier that would make my mother faint if she ever laid eyes on it.

  Sam didn’t mention where we were going for dinner. Whether it was fancy or casual didn’t really matter when it came to my closet. The few dresses and skirts it held were either for church or work. So I stopped at the dress shop on my way home. Normally I keep my arms covered up, but I picked a sleeveless dress with a draped criss-crossing bodice and belted waist. Top and bottom, the free flowing fabric was draped. A deep turquoise, the dress had a full, circle skirt that fell a few inches past my knees to preserve my modesty while showing off a little bit of leg. Surprising, I know, but I like my legs -- at least the parts below the knees. They look like they belong to a much thinner woman. I’m certain somewhere there is a really skinny girl pissed off because somehow she got my legs and I got hers.

  Still smiling at the thought, I met Sam at my front door. I had finished my outfit with a white tatted shawl around my shoulders, pearl white pumps and a matching clutch. He had changed into a slim-fit, button-down, collared-shirt in a dark charcoal that had the thinnest of pinstripes. He wore the bottom out over dress slacks of the deepest gray. He presented a mouthwatering sight. Too mouthwatering, actually, for him to take me on a date or anything like it.