by Bebe Balocca
Jamie swallowed. “Sure nobody’s coming in?”
Peter smiled and shimmied out of his shorts and boxers. “Definitely not.” He sat up, abdominal muscles bunching, and ran his fingers through the back of her hair. Jamie bit her lower lip. He no longer looked like a rumpled undergrad on his way to the gym. He looked intent, powerful and maybe just a little bit dangerous. Don’t overthink. She tightened her grip around his shaft and saw his eyes darken in response. A romance with Marcus Paul’s hot personal assistant could be just what Madame Callais had in mind… She gasped when he kissed her suddenly, plunging his tongue in her mouth as if he’d been hungering for her for years.
Her body, primed by the stretches, went on auto-pilot, and Jamie threw caution to the wind. The barest hint of stubble on his face scrubbed against her lips. I’m gonna totally get beard-burn from this, but it’ll be worth it. She sucked the tip of his tongue and stroked his erection faster.
He pulled his tongue free and smiled devilishly. “You like to suck on stuff, huh?” He glanced down at his lap then back up at her. “I got something for you to suck.”
Jamie couldn’t have kept her eyes away if she’d tried. His cock pointed up at her, shiny and thick, from a soft nest of brown curls. She ran the pad of her thumb across the tip and spread a clear drop of pre-cum over the rounded knob. “Oh, god,” she whispered. “I came here to teach a yoga class…” She lowered her head to his crotch and licked her lips.
“Wait!” he said sharply. “Would you mind getting out of your clothes first? I’ve got a feeling I’m going to want access to some places that Spandex is covering.”
“Think we could lock the doors?” she asked. “I know you’re not expecting anyone, but it’s sort of distracting me.”
“Okay. You get naked and I’ll lock the doors. It’s a deal.” He rose to turn the latch on the front door, then walked to the side door to secure it as well. After he returned to his yoga mats in the centre of the room, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and stood in front of her in his naked, muscular, fully aroused glory. “Okay, your turn, Jamie.”
This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy! Jamie thought as she slipped out of her tank top and yoga pants and pulled the elastic from her ponytail. Yoga had given her many things, including improved stamina, flexibility and concentration, and at the same time it had stripped her of self-consciousness. While she felt that all healthy bodies were beautiful, she knew that men appreciated her own. She was toned, tanned, lithe and slender, and she loved to be admired.
“Hot damn.” Peter chuckled. “You look much better naked, you know.” He lay back down on his mat and gripped his erection. “Where were we?”
Jamie grabbed her own yoga mat and folded it into thirds, then placed it beneath her knees. She knelt at his ribs and looked down at him. Her dark blonde hair fell in a curtain over her face and she tossed it over her shoulder. He bent one arm behind his head as a pillow and the muscles of his upper arm bulged gorgeously.
He waited, watching her, and ran his shaft through his fist.
When she covered his cock with her mouth, he groaned and tensed. “Ah, fuck,” he murmured. She swirled her tongue over the tip, tasting him, then slid him to the back of her mouth. He found one nipple and pinched it, tugging and rolling it between his fingers. The sensitive folds between her legs grew slippery and she twisted her hips with impatience. Peter tugged her pelvis closer to his head and ran his hand up the inside of one thigh.
“I’m glad you got out of your pants,” he whispered, “because now I can touch you here…” He slid his fingers over the swollen edges of her labia, tracing a path between them and found her entrance with one fingertip. “And here…” She moaned around a mouthful of cock when he penetrated her with one slim digit. “You’re wet, you know that?” He added a second finger and began a steady in-and-out rhythm, then tugged her hips closer to his head. Jamie tensed, swallowed around his shaft and bucked against his hand.
“Do the splits,” he suggested.
Jamie let his erection slide from her mouth and looked down at him, confused.
“On my face,” he clarified.
Jamie stifled a giggle. Men and their gymnastics fantasies. She straddled his face and spread her feet out on the wooden floor, holding her pelvis up with her toes so that she didn’t squash him with her body. “How’s that?”
“Nice view,” he noted.
She sighed when his lips made contact with her skin. He placed his hands on her inner thighs, deepening her stretch and supporting her before slipping his tongue into her entrance.
She squeezed her eyes shut, melting into his touch, then opened them. His cock was inches from her face. When she pulled his shaft between her lips, the vibrations from his groan rumbled through her flesh. He scooted his palms down her thighs, closer to her core, and pressed his thumbs against her centre. He kissed her and nipped her skin lightly, and pressed the tips of his thumbs into her pussy. She stiffened.
“Try to enjoy the stretch,” he told her, pushing both thick digits in to the knuckle.
“Oh, god,” Jamie gasped. She was full—beyond full—and he pushed her thighs apart to deepen her split. She kissed the head of his shaft and pushed it into her mouth again.
“Just take it slow, okay?” Peter fucked her deeper, pushing his way to the second knuckle. “Relish the stretch. It may be hard now…” He forced his joined thumbs in to the hilt. “But it’ll all be worth it.”
Jamie’s face was on fire and she felt slippery dampness between her legs. “I’m holding you up,” he murmured, “so don’t worry about that. Just suck me.” She drew him in and swallowed around his girth. “And fuck me.” Jamie, her thighs trembling, bucked her hips against his hands.
The tingling closeness of an orgasm thrummed through her body, from her mouth down to the toes of her spread-eagled legs. She braced her chest up off the floor with one hand and fed him between her lips with the other. The veins on his shaft grew more defined and she tasted the faint flavour of his cum.
“Faster,” he urged. He bit her inner thigh again, hard, and she cried out in protest, but then the wet heat of his lips and tongue covered the bite, soothing and sucking. Jamie thrust against his hands, his thumbs wedged completely inside her cunt. The surge of his climax surprised her, spurting against the roof of her mouth, but it was his throaty, animal groan that pushed her over the edge.
Her body took over, bucking wildly, and she swallowed his semen as her own orgasm washed over her.
She held him inside her until her climax lessened, then let his softening shaft slide free. He released her thighs and eased her onto her side, withdrawing his thumbs from her pussy in the process. Jamie exhaled and twisted her hips and shoulders in opposite directions, first one way, then the other. “That was amazing.” She grinned. “And I got a good stretch in, too.” She sent a silent thank you to Madame Callais for yet another spot-on prophecy.
He knelt over her and kissed her nipples—first one, then the other. “I’d say you had a couple of good stretches, wouldn’t you?”
Jamie’s cheeks warmed and her inner muscles clenched involuntarily. She chuckled, but his mouth on hers silenced her. “Fabulous,” he murmured, flicking his tongue over the seam of her lips. He cupped her breast in his hand and rolled her nipple beneath his thumb. “Best yoga lesson I’ve never taken.” He nuzzled her neck and bit the skin of her throat gently.
Rap-rap-rap.
“Mr Paul? Are you in there, Mr Paul?” a man asked from outside the door. The locked doorknob jiggled. “Is everything quite all right, sir? I was under the impression that you were gone from the property, sir, and am now receiving conflicting reports of your whereabouts.”
Peter froze, his eyes widening in alarm. He lifted one finger to his lips and shook his head.
“W-what’s going…” Jamie stuttered.
“Shhh!” he whispered. “No one can know I’m here!”
Jamie gaped at him. “What the hell are you talking about?�
� she whispered back. “You said Mr Paul wanted his assistant to—”
He raked his hands through his hair so that it stood wildly on end. “I’m not Mr Paul’s assistant.”
Jamie scooted away from him and jumped to her feet. The blackest lie…
“Well, not anymore.”
Chapter Three
She backed away from him with palms up in the air. “Then what the hell is this all about?” she asked as she snatched up her clothes and hurriedly dressed. Peter followed suit, silently stepping into his shorts and putting on his shirt.
Boom-boom-boom. The door rattled in its frame.
“Mr Paul? Should I notify security, sir? Are you in need of assistance?” The man sounded concerned.
Peter dropped his face into his hands. “Fuck!” he muttered. “I’m so screwed, Jamie. I’m not even supposed to be on the grounds.” He looked up suddenly and grabbed her hands. “Let’s get out of here!” He yanked her towards the side door. Jamie pulled away from him. “Listen, you might be in trouble, but I’ve got permission to be here. I had an appointment, remember? I had a background check and everything. I’m legit!”
He shook his head miserably. “Not exactly. I sent permission to the guard on behalf of Mr Paul, but unfortunately that was after he had fired me.”
“You forged a letter from your ex-employer to get me in here?” Jamie’s mouth fell open. “You are a piece of work, bub! But that’s not my problem, is it?”
“Look, you don’t know how crazy this guy is about trespassers. Trust me—he’s a nutcase, and the guards are trained to follow orders without question. Ever been hit by a rubber bullet, pinned down by a Doberman and then tasered? You wouldn’t like it, pretty lady.”
Jamie bit her lip and glanced back towards the door.
Boom-boom-boom-boom!
“Come on!” Peter led her to the side door, unlocked it and looked around. He tilted his head to beckon her—this way—and pulled her along after him.
Jamie hustled to keep up with him as he darted around bushes and hid behind trees. She locked eyes with a startled brown bunny for a split-second before they both dashed away for cover in the foliage. I feel your pain, buddy, she commiserated. She and Peter paused, panting, at the corner of the mansion beneath a huge old magnolia. From the guest house, the pounding and shouting had escalated, and she now heard the shrill whine of sirens as golf carts bumped over the lawn and penned in her compact SUV. “Are you kidding me? Cops in Club Cars?”
Peter shrugged. “They charge up in the shed, they’re quiet and they don’t tear up the lawn. I actually suggested them to Mr Paul. He’s got a couple for personal use, too.”
The door to the guest house opened and a stream of people poured in, some with guns pointed up to the sky. “Oh, god,” Jamie mumbled. “This is insane! Where’s your car? Let’s just break through the gate!”
“I…uh…climbed the fence,” he admitted.
“What?” Jamie snapped.
He scanned the landscape for movement. “After I disabled a couple of the cameras.”
Peter grabbed her around the ribs and ushered her around the back of the house. “Who in the hell are you?” Jamie demanded. Vigorous, bloodthirsty-sounding barks moved rapidly towards them. “And are you trying to get me killed?”
Peter fumbled for keys in his pocket, unlocked the back door of the mansion and pushed her inside. “Trust me,” he muttered.
“Trust you?” she said. “You’re a psychopath!” She wrenched her arm free and tried to squeeze past him.
“Look, if you go back there, the guards will lock you up in a little room until they decide to believe your reason for being here. Sometimes they’re a little hard to convince. Are you up for a week’s stay in a prison cell?”
“That’s totally illegal!” she shot back. “You can’t just lock people up if they trespass. This is America, dammit!”
The barking dogs grew closer. “Tell that to them,” he insisted. “And tell it to Mr Paul, who just happens to hold all of the judges around here in his pocket and isn’t afraid of pesky little things like personal rights.”
Jamie threw her hands up in the air. “Fine, fine, show me the way out of here then, just be quick about it, okay?”
He raced with her through room after room, each more beautifully decorated than the last. Jamie wished that she could have a better tour of the place—it looked like something out of a magazine. She caught glimpses of cloisonné urns, heavy silk drapes and pots of lilies as they sprinted through the hall. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead and exotic sculptures gleamed on the shelves. She was dying to catch her breath and explore Marcus Paul’s treasures—but then she thought of a guard’s meaty hands on her shoulders and a dog’s slavering jaws on her calf. Jamie hurried to keep up with her guide.
He led her down to the basement level, past a gleaming oak bar, entertainment room and kitchen, then stopped in front of a floor length mirror. “Huh?” Jamie asked. “Want to make sure we look good before we get chewed by the Dobermans? I thought you knew a way out of here.”
Peter glanced at her, amusement flickering in the corner of his mouth, and took out his keys once more. He held up a notched metal rod and pressed it into the side of the mirror’s gold frame. Click. The mirror swung forward and revealed a hidden passageway. “Nobody knows about this except for me and Mr Paul,” he informed her, “and Mr Paul’s incommunicado right now.”
He stepped through the narrow opening then offered his hand to Jamie.
“Nice!” she breathed as he pulled the mirror door shut behind them and bolted it. They were enfolded by darkness. “I’ve gotta say, Mr Paul has a nice place, but for somebody so uptight about security, he wasn’t very careful when he fired you. I can’t believe he didn’t get his keys back from you.”
Peter pressed a switch on the wall and warm light glowed from a series of wall sconces. A thickly carpeted hallway stretched before them and bent out of sight. “Nobody’s perfect,” he told her, “as Mr Paul would be the first to admit. He did take my set of keys from me, of course—”
“But you made copies,” Jamie finished. She shook her head. “Look, I enjoyed myself very much back there, but I don’t know you, and what I’m learning is making me more than a little nervous.” Peter strode off down the hallway and Jamie, with one last baleful look at the door, followed him. “Why were you fired, for starters? Did you do something that you shouldn’t have? Steal money? Run a gambling ring? Have a shopping spree on the Home Shopping Network with one of his credit cards?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve always deserved Mr Paul’s trust.” The hall took a sharp right turn and angled downward at a steep slope. “Well, until now, I suppose,” he said, chuckling. Jamie humphed. “I stumbled upon some personal information, and I suppose Mr Paul didn’t want me around anymore after that. He gave me an impressive severance package and a sparkling referral letter, then showed me to the door.”
“And you just happened to have a spare set of keys handy?” Jamie asked. She noticed a rushing sound ahead of them.
“Mm-hm. Purely as a security measure, of course. Just in case mine got lost or stolen.” The noise grew louder, thunderous even.
The hallway opened up abruptly into a stone-walled room and the source of the sound was revealed—a waterfall splashed down into an oval pool.
Peter smiled. “Gorgeous, huh? It’s from a natural spring that feeds into the grotto pool up top, which also has a waterfall, by the way. Mr Paul wanted a private pool in addition to the large guest pool, so the designer had the water flow from the upper pool down here, over the waterfall and into this pool. There’s a diverter that Mr Paul can close off if he wants it quiet. Then the water just flows through the upper pool and down the Twisted Fork creek and there’s no waterfall at all down here.” He pointed to brass tubes at the far end of the chamber. “When the diverter’s open, the water enters through the lower waterfall, then gets sucked up through those pipes and goes back up to rejoin the creek.
Guests at the estate have no idea that this place even exists, and why would they? All they see is his beautiful above-ground pool, fed by a spring, with water that runs off down the Twisted Fork through his property.”
“I see.” Jamie walked around the chamber. The flagstone floor felt warm on her bare feet—heated, she surmised. Eight padded wicker chaises, each double the width of a regular chair, were evenly spaced along the two long sides of the pool. Peter walked to one end of the room and slid a Japanese screen to reveal a hidden kitchen. Pale green glass tiles formed the wall over a granite counter top, and a tidy array of appliances and cupboards, all gleaming with polished steel fronts, fit into the compact space.
“Bathroom’s over here, by the way.” Peter motioned to a door next to the mini-kitchen.
Jamie cleared her throat. “Look, this is nice and all, but what exactly is the plan? We can’t stay down here forever, you know.”
He opened a wine refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of pinot grigio. “Obviously.” He uncorked it with a pop that echoed in the chamber. “But, we can be comfortable for a day or so, which will give the guards time to assume the intruders escaped over the fence.” He poured the pale wine into two stemless goblets. “Mr Paul ought to be back by this time tomorrow and I know I can talk my way out of this then, but we can hang out down here for an extra night just to be sure.”
“It’ll also give the guards time to tow away my car,” Jamie grumbled. “What the hell am I going to do about that?” She accepted a glass of wine from him and took a long drink.
