by Winston, Meg
Not that he was actually doing anything about it. Had her soaking and half-crazy to strip him down and explore, and all bright boy wanted to do was kiss her. Bastard.
She angled her pelvis then pushed it up, lifting her hips to grind against his cock through their clothes. If she had to settle for a dry hump until he'd gotten off his sexy ass, she'd do it. Just…God…if she could just get a little clit friction going on, she'd come right there on her couch, semi-clothed and kissing him. She wouldn't even feel bad about it. Sexy fucker.
* * * * He lifted his mouth off hers and half-slumped on her while he caught his breath. He thought maybe she'd kill him if they ever got naked.
Cat tried to wrap her arms around him, maybe prod a little. Possibly even start the getting-him-naked bit.
Rediscovered her tied-up-with-nowhere-to-go state and fumed all over again. "Uncuff me." He lifted his head, which took way too much energy. God, he could just lie on her for hours. Days. She was soft in all the right places and damn, but he wanted to savor.
Funny, that she hadn't gone searching for the safety releases yet. Smart cookie usually, which led to a few interesting possibilities. Either he'd worked her up so much she hadn't had time to consider it yet or— and this was the option he preferred—she knew they were there and chose to ignore them. If she had sense enough to argue with him, why wouldn't she have sense enough to check for a way out? Heady stuff, that she might want to be right there doing just that. "Ready to tell me what I want to hear?" Her mouth was all swollen, her face all flushed. He licked his lips and caught the sweet-and-sour taste of her all over again. Rubbed his denim-covered erection into her soft belly again in response. "Get off me, you dolt." A wicked grin curved his mouth, lifted one corner higher than the other. "Now, now, Catharine," he said low and taunting, his fingers playing with the neck of her hoodie. "Is that any way to talk to your best friend?" * * * * She held her breath as he tugged down her zipper. The rasp was so loud. How could one small bit of metal sound so loud? How could it be taking him this long to tug the zip from breastbone to waist? Christ on a cross, he was going slowly on purpose. Making her crazy, as promised. "Doesn't take ten years to get that thing off me, Benedict." "Getting impatient on me, honey?" "Andrew." Her eyes narrowed. Her pulse pounded, her heart beating so fast he could no doubt feel it through the grey cotton knit of her sweatshirt.
Drew licked his lips. Turned his attention back to dragging down her zipper.
She ground her teeth, a reflex to the frustration simmering low and consuming her. She knew what he didn't—precisely what he'd find under that grey cotton. She dreaded his reaction as much as she craved it.
In this, there would be no halfway. His reaction would either set the night off like fireworks or kill it flat.
So, heart lodged mid-throat, hands limp over her head and stomach sucked in as much as she could maintain, she waited for him to blow this. If he broke her rule again, they'd identify his body through dental records.
Instead, he swore. As he pulled the zipper apart and spread her hoodie to expose her torso, his expression slackened. She'd kill to see his eyes clearly. Wanted to read his reaction there, where he wouldn't be able to hold a lie.
He stared at her chest like he'd just found God and for all she wiggled under him to draw his attention back, he wouldn't budge.
"You're trying to make me nuts, aren't you?" So low, his voice. So quiet. And Christ, such reverence.
"It's just clothes," she said, aware of how strange it must seem, how much it gave away of herself that he'd found this part of her. Who else put on skanky underthings for a night at home alone? Why not just broadcast she'd had some quality time planned with her vibe?
"It's a corset." His eyes lifted to hers and the severity of the situation hit her then. He'd turned her on with a kiss. She'd blown his mind with a corset. She wanted to think that put them at equal, but she suspected he'd disagree.
"Just clothes," she repeated, praying he wouldn't touch her pants for a bit. God knew how he'd react if he did. "Expecting company?" "Yeah. The new boy toy. He'll be along momentarily to kick your
ass." He laughed then, but the sound strangled itself. "Christ, Wild Cat." He kissed her again, a brush of his mouth over hers that ended way too soon and contained not nearly enough sex in it for her taste. "Me," he said, dazed. "You were expecting me."
She snorted, uncomfortable at his perception. "Full of yourself, aren't you?" "It's Devil's Night. Who else would it be?" "I told you, the boy toy." No need to tell him her vibe's name was
Andrew. He'd just get ideas. "Bull. Last toy you had was Idiot Luke." His eyes lifted to hers. His brow hiked. "Two months of celibacy, Wild Cat? A fucking crime, with tits like these." "You don't know that." God, how could he? He snorted again, so damned cocky she could have nailed him one, had she not been so anxious for him to get to the nailing himself. "Just because you haven't seen me doesn't mean I haven't been around, babe." His hands went to her hips, his fingers curling into the elastic waist of her sweatpants. "Dare I ask what you've got under these?" "Nothing." "I wish." He tugged. Pulled her pants over her hips, exposing her in all her pudgy glory. She sweated every inch of extra flesh, willed some trick of the light to make her skinny and attractive. God, she didn't want him pulling away. Not when he'd made her crazy as promised. He got as far as the joint where her leg met her hip before he stopped and lifted impossible-to-read eyes to hers. "Catharine, you've got to be fucking kidding me."
Chapter Three
Nothing. At first, that's all he saw. Was dimly aware cloth was involved to some degree, but the part that held his attention was the fold of her sex. The lack of anything around it to obstruct his view.
"I told you 'nothing'," she said, and he heard her back starting to rise. He cut that off quick. Didn't want her prickly, wanted her crazy. "Shut it, Catharine. Shut up and just let me look for a minute, could you?" How often did a man find his woman waiting in a corset and garters and fucking fishnets and nothing the hell else? How many times could he be lucky enough to stumble across something so erotic? Bloody unexpected, too. Totally out of character. The sweats had been standard Cat but this…This was a dozen wet dreams come true and no one, not even the woman herself, was fucking it up on him.
The line where her lips met held the bulk of his focus, the shine unmistakable even had he missed the distinctive scent of Cat's arousal. Her crease was delicate pink, a sweet contrast to the pale cream of her skin. He'd expected chocolate curls, found only vanilla flesh, and he felt it to the tip of his mushroom head.
No damned room in his jeans. His dick needed serious attention, felt deprived that she'd used that stellar mouth on his finger.
The longer he stared at her swollen lower lips, the more he became aware of the rest of her ensemble. The black garters stretched from corset to thigh high, cutting a dark line over each well-curved leg. The fishnets did amazing things. He didn't know what, just knew he had the impression of miles of dark curves leading away from that hot, wet, pouting crease.
A dozen fantasies rolled into one, bound for his pleasure. Surreal in all the right ways.
She needed to spread more. He needed to see more, every last inch of the hot, slick flesh he planned to use for their mutual pleasure. Didn't have it in him to ask nicely, thought she'd prickle if he asked un-nicely, and decided he'd do best with simple action.
Easy to lay his hands on the webbing over her knees and press down, prodding her to spread lewdly across the couch. One knee rested against the back cushion, the other nearly against the seat. If he could tilt her hips right, he'd have a decent angle to work with, though he suspected releasing her knees would give her a chance to close up on him again. No way in hell he'd risk that. "That bad, huh?" she asked. He tried to flick his gaze up to hers in response to the smug, slight mocking in her tone. Couldn't tear himself away from that fascinating slit long enough. * * * * The longer he stared, the more she was aware of her nudity. She'd dressed to seduce but hadn't anticipated anyone
else seeing it. She'd never dressed like this for anyone, ever. Judging by the non-response coming from Demon Drew, she'd do best to avoid it in future. Much as she'd made her peace with her size—and no one forced to shop in the plus-size section could do less than make tentative peace with their body—she'd never quite embraced it the way the counterculture suggested. She could work the curves to a point but she'd never been comfortable exposing them. Lights-out sex for sure.
Clearly, Drew had no intention of turning off lights. Not with the way he was staring. Didn't even have the balls to look her in the eye, just stared at her bared lower half like it was a train wreck he was rubbernecking.
She blew out a breath in lost irritation. He half-groaned, half grunted. Who knew what that meant? Probably Neanderthal for "flubby one here, abort mission." Fucker. "Hey, champ, none of this was my idea." She drew her knees in,
forced his hands out of position as she tried to recover some dignity. "You're naked," he said and he sounded strange. "No shit, Sherlock." Her complexion betrayed her, mottling her precisely as it had her whole life. The flush of embarrassment should clue him in, even if her knees moving hadn't.
The worst of it was that he'd seen her half-naked. Dressed like this, the way she'd always secretly wanted to be. She'd dressed like this and imagined herself sexy, her curves pin-up instead of plump. Somehow, the most appropriate way to spend her first Drew-free Devil's Night involved a little lube, a lot of fantasy, and some quality time with the battery-powered toy that bore his name.
Her little secret, tonight, so she'd let herself go unrestrained. The corset, the garters, the fucking fishnets, all three straight from her if-Iwere-a-slut-I'd-wear list. She'd even shaved her dark curls, stripped them with a few minutes' work down and dirty with a handful of cream. Imagined how it might be to have a man there to do it for her, his fingers spreading her lips to coat her with foam, holding her sensitive flesh taut for the blade's edge. Patting her dry with a towel, rubbing her soft with lotion, checking to see that she was as smooth as possible. Playing just because, his fingers oiling her clit.
Even as she'd imagined it, she'd known there was only one man she'd trust to take a razor to such a vital area. Not that he'd ever do it. Not in a million years. Twenty years of friendship and he'd never shown the slightest interest in her quim. Until tonight.
He had to know how wet she was. The corset did well enough to hide her extra pounds but the stretch of material gave away the tightness of her nipples. The pose he'd put her in left her defenseless to his nervewracking study. Left her only wiggling her hips to regain a little lost dignity. Too little too late, perhaps, but better than nothing.
She'd wished herself thin before, but never like this. Never wanted to be beautiful more than this moment.
"Christ, Cat," he said again like it was the only thing he could say, and she realized she'd been wrong. The worst wasn't that he'd seen this.
The worst was that he'd seen it and hadn't been inspired by it at all. The sexiest she'd ever been before a man and the only man she'd been seriously interested in couldn't do any more than stare and swear. Definitely not good.
She brought her knees in, tried to close them as best she could. If she couldn't help how she was dressed or how she was built, she could at least control how much more he saw. At first, he simply let his palms rest on her knees as she drew them together, narrowing the angle and twisting so the long, lace-covered length of thunder thigh blocked all but the scent of her arousal.
Just as she thought she was making progress, he snapped out of his daze. Moved his hands down her thighs, his warm, rough palms teasing her as they moved over the open weave of her fishnets to settle where elastic, rubber, and garter clip held the stockings in place.
Then he pushed her legs apart again. Made it clear he wouldn't let her close up on him.
His eyes lifted from her crotch, met hers, and narrowed with something she couldn't name. She'd never seen anything that stark on his face before. Never seen him this intense, this far removed from his everready grin.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, one brow lifting. So sardonic. "Funny, I don't remember saying you could move." "I don't remember giving you a say." "The cuffs say different." His thumbs brushed over her inner thighs, so damned close to her slick sex she was sure he'd start spreading her juices over her legs in a second. Oh, God. Wet as she was, angled as she was, no doubt she'd be dripping onto his hands in a minute. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing for death.
* * * * Exquisite. Almost too much too soon, because where the hell did he start on this luscious body? Much as experience said women liked a little foreplay before a guy went headlong into their crotch, he couldn't stop staring. Or thinking. Or picturing how she'd look spread properly for him.
What the hell? She was tied up anyway. Not like she could bolt if she objected. He sniffed again, nearly tasted her on his tongue when he moved in closer to get better acquainted with the sweet musk of her.
He had all the time in the world to get to her fantastic breasts and play in that stellar cleavage. Hadn't really had a plan when he'd slapped the cuffs on her, just assumed he'd go by gut. And if the gut said he should be nose-deep in her juice by now, well, he'd let it play out.
So he did. Moved his hands up her thighs, enjoying the contrast of garter against skin, how the silky softness of Cat made the garters feel rough. If her legs were this damned smooth, her cunt was going to be like satin.
His thumb traced the crease of her kitty, spreading the honey there, painting it so it covered that bare flesh. Fuck. Cat, smooth as a baby's ass, wet as a whore's mouth. Nothing better in the world.
"You're incredible," he said. Found her clit, hard and peeking from its hood, and rolled it under his fingertips until her hips shifted again. "You're insane." He flicked her clit. Smiled to himself at the small noise she made in
response. "I'm crazy," he said. Grinned. "So are you." He sunk a finger into the wet tunnel. Wiggled it, probing, and withdrew to trace the delicate pink petals of flesh that guarded her. She gasped. Swore. Wiggled back like she could make him hit all the right buttons to make her come.
Like he wasn't expecting her to fight him on it. Silly Wild Cat, he thought on a wave of fresh affection. "Drew, please." "Please what?" He knew. Oh yeah, he knew. She wanted him sliding in, pulling out. Wanted him to fuck her with that finger, let her come on it.
"You like this, don't you, Catharine? My finger in your pussy, opening you up."
"Drew." She'd squeezed her eyes shut, damn it. If she was trying to block him out, he'd get seriously pissed. How could any woman as fucking hot for it be so stubborn?
Screw that. He was stubborn, too. No hiding her response to him, though she was clearly trying to shut him out. Like he was some fucking toy she could ignore.
"I own you, Cat. I could do anything to you right now and you'd just have to take it, wouldn't you?" She moaned. Good girl. "If I want to suck your clit'til the trick-or-treaters come, there's not a damned thing you can do about it. And if I want to put every finger I've got in this pretty cunt of yours, there's nothing you can do to stop me."
As he said it, the image formed in his mind's eye. His hand, buried to the knuckles in her tight pussy. She didn't feel overly tight at the moment, not with a single finger in her snatch, but from the way she tried to clamp down on that finger, he thought he'd start stretching her fast if he tried. Experience said tight as she was, he'd have a fair bit of stretching to do before he could move beyond fingers, anyway.
"I could put my whole fist up here and you'd let me." For once, it wasn't a question. She grasped at his finger at the thought, proof positive she absolutely would let him put a hand inside her glove. The thought of pushing her limits, teaching her body how far she could go, was irresistible.
The second finger went in easy, a near-perfect fit. As he sunk in to the base, things got almost snug, the smooth wet of her insides clamping down on him. She'd feel like warm, wet heaven on his dick.
Not
enough, though, not even when he scissored his fingers inside her. Three went better. Made her noises louder, more needy, as he tucked his middle finger over the other two and sucked hard on her clit.
Her hips bucked. For a heartbeat, he thought she was trying to shake him off her and he lifted his head, worried he'd misread something somewhere. The needy little whimpers said he hadn't, and when her soft, heavy hips lifted up from the couch again to bump his chin with her slick lips, he couldn't help his grin.
He licked at her clit. Lapped at her sex, his tongue parting her lips with his steady, broad sweep.
No trouble at all to lift her thighs and hook her knees over his shoulders, spreading her further and burying his face in fragile, fragrant folds. God Almighty, he never wanted to leave them. She tasted so good. Sweet and salty, like a peach tequila body shot. Went down as smooth, burned just as sweet. "Damn it, Drew. Make me come." He stopped then. Lifted his head and stared, waiting. She made him
wait, which pissed him off. "Say it, Wild Cat." She glared like he was being purposely obtuse, which entertained him. Of the two of them, she had obtuse locked. "You know what."
She did her best to gnash her teeth in irritation. "I want you, you bastard," she snarled, too pissed to be placating. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I want you inside me. Now." She rattled her wrists again. He was starting to seriously love that sound as metal clinked against enamel. "For fuck's sakes, uncuff me already. I want to touch you."
He considered her for a second, relishing the flush consuming her, the angry heat flaring off her from every direction. "What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?" He chuckled. "The rest." "Andrew." Her pissy tone said she'd said all she planned to, so he nodded and ceded her the win, such as it was. Dug into his pocket for the key to her handcuffs, then leaned over her to free one wrist. No point showing her the escape clause, so he drew both her hands away from the table, pulled them to his mouth, and brushed kisses over both sets of knuckles. She relaxed, closing her eyes and smiling victoriously. Her smile died when he snapped the cuffs back on.
