Some Rough Edge Smoothin'

by Louisa Trent

  Dipping his jaw, he nuzzled her nipple, and their bond went from merely bearable to absolutely wonderful.

  He looked up from what he was doing and grinned. “I think you're ready to begin. But take it slow at first.”

  She didn't want slow, she wanted fast.

  Ignoring his dictate, she went at full throttle.

  And gasped.

  He spanked her bare bottom. “What I tell you? Get sore now, and the playground closes for fun later tonight.”

  After that, she heeded his instruction, finding a tempo that suited them both.

  But in this position, her climax was taking longer than usual-when he was in charge, usually her first one was achieved right at penetration. This time, though she was cresting, she couldn't quite get over to the other side.

  “Tomas,” she groaned, her body jerking up and down the length of his shaft, “I don't think I can...”

  “You can,” he crooned. “You're the wettest cunt I've ever had.” His palm cupped her pumping bottom.

  She started to come.

  “That's right, your cunt is so pretty, so wet. Feel me inside you. That's right, honey. Let go.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she screamed.

  “Christ! Sera,” he groaned as he came with her

  * * * *

  Dressed in a suit, her husband looked like the successful businessman he was, as he stood by her side at the bay window, watching the Connors to arrive.

  “Looks like they like the flowers we planted,” she whispered, peering out at the middle-aged couple as they made their way along the winding brick walk to the mansion's front door.

  “Sera, before the Connors get inside, I want to tell you something. I'm glad about the music school. The Southside needs a woman like you.”

  “Oh, Tomas. That means so much to me.”

  Sera's eyes were teary as she flung open the front door and greeted their dinner guests.

  “Please come in,” she said warmly, and kissing both her dear friends on the cheek. Then turning, she performed the introductions. “Helen, Fred, I'd like you to meet my husband, Tomas Ruiz.”

  Fred Connor pumped Tomas's hand. “Congratulations! I had no idea you two even knew one another, and now you're married.”

  “A month today.” Sera touched Tomas on the shoulder, then did the required honeymoon giggling. “It was love at first sight. You might even say Tomas swept me off my feet.” She then went on to relate the incident about the window cleaner incident...but leaving some of the details out.

  Fred looked around the house. “The old Monroe place looks great! Tomas, you've done an outstanding job. The neighborhood kids will love coming here to take lessons.”

  Seraphina smiled. “I can't wait for September. I've missed teaching so. And did I tell you, Fred, that Tomas is not only donating this mansion, he's personally funding all the required renovations?”

  Fred clapped Tomas on the back. “It seems you and I have a lot to talk about, son.”

  After dinner, while Helen and she chatted in the kitchen, the two men went outside. From the bay window, she could see them talking animatedly, and Sera was quite sure their discussion wasn't entirely about the school. She couldn't have been more pleased.

  But she was not a sentimental woman, and feeling pleased wasn't good enough; tomorrow she intended to follow up the dinner party with a phone call to Fred Connor about her husband's bid on the Riverfront Project.

  They were saying their goodnights at the front door, and Fred gave Tomas another clap on the back. “I want you to come sailing with me real soon.”

  When the door finally closed behind their dinner guests, Tomas turned to her. “What do I know about sailing? People who grow up on the Southside do not sail.”

  Sera could have cried at his self-defeating mentality. Every once in a while, her husband came out with these negative, stereotypical put-downs! When would Tomas realize that people who grew up on the Southside could do anything they set their minds to?

  “You seemed to have a lot to discuss with Fred Connor,” Sera said aloud as she loaded the new dishwasher Tomas insisted she have, expressing the thought she'd meant to keep to herself.

  He came up behind her. “Let's not talk about the Connors any more tonight,” Tomas said, adroitly changing the subject.

  Like all the clothing her husband had purchased for her, the raw silk dress she wore tonight was understated in style, both elegant and ladylike in its simplicity. The jewel shade of chartreuse pleased the eye of the observer, while the cloth felt pleasingly cool against the skin of wearer, especially if the wearer wore little underneath.

  Tonight, she wore only a garter belt and silk stockings underneath, both items hand-selected by her husband.

  The door to the dishwasher was closed, she was turned to face him, her dress was raised, a large hand slipped between her eagerly opening thighs.

  “You drive me wild,” he growled, entwining his fingers in her pubic curls.

  Her vulva was sampled with a long finger. “Your pussy is already damp.”

  Actually, she was more than damp; she was drenched in her own excitement. Her anticipation was compounded by the fact that she hadn't made love to her husband since early that morning.

  Tomas, realizing that she couldn't go through an entire day without him, had made a habit of sneaking home for a ‘quickie’ at noon. Today, though, he'd telephoned to say he couldn't make their date, as he was tied up in a business meeting.

  No midday love play meant she was dying for him now.

  “Why didn't you use the vibrator I got you?” he asked, separating her labia and beginning to stroke her; his thumb found and rubbed her clitoris.

  “It's not the same when I do it without you,” she gasped, her hips rolling.

  “From now on, if I can't be here, you masturbate.”

  “Tomas, I'd rather wait for you.”

  His hand went behind her; her bared bottom was spanked. “Do what I say, wife.”

  Saying the word ‘wife’ like that, in that dominant tone, was enough to trigger orgasm. When combined with the sharp spank on her bottom, it was just too much. She wailed out her climax on a shrill note of pleasure.

  “You must have been uncomfortable all day. If I can't come home at lunch to do you, from now on, use the damn toy,” he said leading her by the hand to their bedroom.

  “Yes. All right,” she said when she could.

  Tomas thought she'd only missed the sex today. But it was him. She'd missed Tomas. Her husband. The man she loved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Tomas was floundering.

  After the ten-course meal—everything from soup to nuts and some stuff in between he couldn't identify but ate anyway so as not to appear rude-all he wanted to do was take Sera back home to their bedroom.

  It was nice that Fred Connor was throwing them a big fancy wedding reception at his home and all. And since anyone who was anyone in Fenton was in attendance, the party was a great public relations opportunity for his company. Too bad the big to-do was wasted on him; getting Sera naked was the only thing on his mind.

  First, was the cocktail hour; next came the dinner; followed by hours of post dessert chit-chat with coffee. Tomas was just idling ‘til bedtime.

  Some hotshot bank president pal of Fred Connor's had stolen Sera after the meal. Then, she was introduced to an orchestral conductor whose name Tomas couldn't pronounce. After that, an out-of-state, real estate developer had monopolized her. Clean out of clever dinner talk, Tomas started looking around for places to hide.

  He found a dark spot outside on the patio. Every so often, he'd re-emerge from his hidey-hole, ditch the moping expression, plaster on a phony party smile, and take a spin around the room to check on Sera, see how she was doing.

  How Sera was doing, was just fine. Every time he checked, his bride was talking and laughing, looking completely at ease and breathtakingly beautiful. Invariably, she'd look up and see him, and she'd wander back his way, some int
eresting party guest in tow. Linking her slender arm through his, she'd prompt him to contribute to whatever scintillating discussion they'd been having.

  Tomas could've cared less about scintillating; there was a king-sized mattress waiting for them at home.

  So, he'd just stand there and nod, his smile muscles aching, hoping he looked interested, and all the while just a little too aware that Sera fit into Fred Connor's circle of acquaintances in a way he never would.

  By midnight, the party was gnawing at his nerve endings. But Sera was having a good time, so for her sake, Tomas nodded, and smiled, and nodded some more, his eyes darting for his escape route.

  His bride eventually found his hiding spot outside on the patio.

  “There you are,” Sera called through the bushes. “What are you doing out here all by yourself? We all missed you!”

  Tomas laughed dryly. “Yeah. Right.”

  “No, we did, honestly. The Dilmont's are discussing the charity auction they're hosting next year. Maybe you could give us some ideas.”

  He laughed some more. “You gotta be kidding!”

  “Well, I thought maybe you could-”

  Drawing her into the bushes with him, he hushed her lips with a kiss. “I don't belong in there, baby. You do, but I'm like a fish out of water.”

  After the kiss, then another, he nodded to the door. “You go back in. I need to breathe some fresh air.”

  “It is rather aromatic in there. All those clashing fragrances.” She whispered. “Let's sneak out early, shall we?”

  “Baby, I like how you think.” His eyes hooded and heated, his interest falling on Sera's plain black dress.

  He'd picked out the cocktail dress because he thought Sera would like the style. The dress looked simple enough, but upon closer inspection-and he was very closely inspecting it-there was nothing simple about a dress that managed to reveal a woman's delicate curves while maintaining her lady-like dignity.

  Tomas wrapped his lady up in his arms and took her mouth again, but this time in a hot and demanding kiss.

  He was breathing hard, feeling reckless, when he broke it off. His voice tightening, he said, “I can't wait to get you home, lady. The things I'm gonna do to you tonight-”

  “Why wait?” she said, presenting him with her back. “This little corner is dark and private.”

  “Here?” he asked, but his hand was already pulling on her back zipper. “What if someone comes out here for some air too?”

  Her green eyes twinkled wickedly. “The risk of getting caught is half the fun.”

  “You know-you're an exhibitionist.” He eyed her fine ass with real appreciation.

  “And you're a voyeur,” she threw back over her shoulder.

  “I am not!” he heatedly disagreed.

  “You watch me. Only last week, I caught you staring at me through a crack in the door when I was bathing in the tub.”

  “I knew you knew I was watching, so that doesn't count. And you put on quite the little show for me, my little exhibitionist wife, with your new bath toy dildo.”

  She laughed. “I did, didn't I?”

  “Next time, don't put it on HIGH. The friction is too much.” He cradled her mons. “This is my pussy, and I don't want it getting bruised.”

  “An exhibitionist and a voyeur.” She twittered. “Goodness! We're the perfect match.” She turned and faced him; her tricky hands went to the zipper on his tux. “Now let's get this show on the road.”

  He swatted at her groping hands. “Sera, what if someone hears? You know you're a screamer.”

  She shimmied out of the little black number and let it fall to the patio, standing as pale and white as a marble statue in the moonlight. “The band will cover it,” she said.

  He loved his wife's breasts and told her so. In Spanish.

  “What did you say?” she asked, shyly.

  “Loosely translated, it means your womanliness brings me to my knees with longing, and that I want to suckle at your nipples.”

  “Why, thank you, sir. There's nothing that pleasures a lady more than an ode to her bosoms.” She fanned her hand back and forth in front of her face like a southern belle, then grinned. “Unless, of course, it's an extended bout of raunchy sex in the bushes at a cocktail party.” When she fluttered her lashes at him, he swore he could smell mint juleps in the air. “I do believe, Mr. Ruiz, you can use your poetic license on me any time you so desire.”

  He finished doing what she'd started. Once the bulge in his tuxedo trousers was released, he took a condom out of his pocket, and sheathed himself. Then, two hands at Sera's waist-his wife was such a tiny slip of a thing—he picked her feet off the blue stone patio floor.

  “Hook your legs around my hips,” he growled as she kicked free of her stilettos.

  With a flex of his knees he was up and in, moving before her high heels fell to the ground.

  “Mmm,” she purred, meeting his thrusts with thrusts of her own.

  “That's right, baby, that's right. So good,” he soothed, his big palms shelving her lush bottom.

  When he fingered her anus, she started, eyes wide and fluttering. “Tomas?” she questioned.

  “Shh, pretty baby, it's all right,” he said.

  It was the first time he had ever touched so deeply in the groove between her buttocks. He didn't know why he'd decided to do it then, unless it was to prove to himself that she belonged to him, that she was his, whether she was too good for him or not.

  While she held herself still for him, he rubbed her back opening possessively. Taking her mouth, his pinkie finger pressed against the ring, then entered the delicate dimple.

  Sera was his. Not Matt's. His! She'd loved her husband but she belonged to him now. She screamed for him.

  When would Sera want him, freely want him, not out of a damn sense of obligation, not because he was acting as a substitute for a dead man? When would Sera want him for something other than sex?

  Never.

  Sera would never want him in any other way, for anything more than sex, because she didn't love him.

  Then, dammit, if all they had going on between them was sex, he would at least own her body, every inch of her body.

  With a groan, he moved his finger in and out her anus, taking it slow but insistent, as his cock moved fast in her pussy and his tongue penetrated her mouth to the throat, all three orifices were under his possession at the same time.

  * * * *

  Tomas had only just finished helping Sera back into her dress, when their host called out their names: “Seraphina? Tomas? Are you out there on the patio?”

  His bride jumped out of his embrace where he'd been calming her post-climactic tremors. “Over here, Fred. Tomas and I are...uh...looking at the moon.”

  Tomas ground his teeth in frustration. When would this night be over? When was he gonna get his wife all to himself? He fuckin’ hated sharing her!

  “I've been searching all over for you. If Tomas wouldn't mind, Seraphina, we'd love to have you sing.”

  Tomas nodded, but reluctantly; there was that bed to consider.

  “Since Tomas agrees, I'd love to,” Sera replied. “Do you still have your Steinway, Fred?”

  “If I didn't, I'd be on the phone this very instant to have one delivered. It's in the living room,” Fred said and led Sera away.

  Tomas followed.

  A hush fell over the walnut paneled room as Sera introduced her first song.

  “When I was a little girl, every Sunday I'd sing hymns in church. The songs I loved best were the ones about joy and love and hope. If you don't mind, I'd like to play some old-fashioned romantic music tonight. I'm in that kind of mood.”

  “Seraphina is quite a woman,” Fred said, joining Tomas where he stood at the back of the room. “She'll be an asset to you in your climb to the top. I hope you appreciate the diamond you have there, son.”

  “I do,” Tomas said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Tomas appreciated all too well th
at Sera was with him, a poor kid from a bad background, without Fred Connor having to tell him. And as Sera bedazzled her audience of overdressed guests with her straight-from-the-heart love songs, Tomas Ruiz was telling himself all over again that he didn't deserve her.

  The fact didn't keep him from holding her eyes when she searched out his face in her crowd of admirers.

  Sera was forever calling him charming and poetic, which he supposed was a nice way of saying he was being insincere, but there was nothing at all charming about the urgency in his loins. There was nothing poetic about his need to have Sera. It was pretty basic.

  Sex was the only weapon he had to fight for her affection.

  Sera had loved Matt. She still loved Matt. But her husband was dead and gone, while he, on the other hand, was strong and healthy and lusty; he could give Sera exactly what she needed, as often as she needed it.

  Sex was what she wanted from him, and sex was all he really had to offer a lady like her, anyway. And he didn't want anything to blow what they had going, not even the good news he'd gotten about his bid on the Riverfront Project.

  It was funny that Sera never once asked what he and Fred Connor had to discuss. She seemed to accept that they were just talking about the music school. He'd have to tell her eventually about the Riverfront Project. But not now. Not yet. Not when everything was going so well between them, not when he was out of his head with wanting her-

  As Sera moved on to a song about family love, an image of a baby crept into his head. Tomas blinked and the image flashed forward a few years, and the baby turned into a little girl practicing scales on a piano. She was such a pretty little thing

  Shit! Where the hell had that come from?

  Damned perverse is what it was. He was in a relationship with a woman, a relationship based only on mutual expediency, on sex, and he was thinking about stuff that had nothing to do with sex. What did babies have to do with what a man and woman did together in bed?

  Not much these days.

  He should have his head examined. Sera was still grieving for her husband, and here he was thinking about a future neither of them wanted. Stupid daydreams.

  Only, they didn't seem stupid. They didn't seem like daydreams either. Not any more. Like a lightening bolt it hit him. He wanted children. With Sera. There was nothing he'd like more than to see his son cradled against Sera's beautiful breasts. She'd make a wonderful mother.