"Teasing?" I ran my tongue over my bottom lip, stroking his denim-covered length underneath the table. "I never tease. I make promises."
"Promises. I'll bet." He squirmed in his seat, fully erect now. "We're in the middle of a restaurant. How're you going to keep this promise?"
I smirked at him, mimicking his tipping of one side of his mouth. "I didn't say when I would keep my promise, just that I would. And I will."
"Well I call that teasing." Jeff's eyes twinkled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled, worth more than an outright laugh from any other, more verbose, kind of man. "And two can play that game."
We were done with dinner, sopping up the last of the pink vodka sauce from our plates with focaccia bread; our server came by with a tray of desserts.
"Did you save room for dessert?" Our server was a young man with a faux-hawk and a carefully-trimmed goatee.
At that very moment, when the server approached and directed his question at me, Jeff slipped his fingers under my dress, between my thighs, and into me, all in one sudden motion. My eyes flew wide and I gasped. Jeff's face remained impassive as he fingered my clit in slow strokes.
"Ma'am? Are you alright?" The server's brow furrowed in worry; my gasp had been sharp, a surprised intake of breath.
"Yeah...I just...oh...stubbed my toe on the—the table leg." Fortunately for my excuse, there was a central bar holding the table up.
"Are you alright?"
I stifled another gasp as Jeff sped his finger's attention to my wet, sensitive nub. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine."
"So, dessert?" He pointed at the various items on the dessert tray: New York-style cheesecake, lemon cookies, apple crostada, crème brûlée, tiramisu and spumoni...
I stopped listening when he got to spumoni, although to be honest, I only heard half of what he said. My brain was scrambled by Jeff's strong, relentless finger circling my clit, by the need to stifle my usually-vocal reaction to my rising climax. I was so close, my thighs were trembling and I was using every shred of my self-control to not undulate my hips into his hand.
"Ma'am? Would you like to make a dessert selection?" The server was getting antsy and confused by my vacant, distracted behavior.
"Order what you want, Anna," Jeff said. "I'll eat whatever."
And now he's making pussy-eating jokes. Bastard.
"I'll have...ahem—" I was reaching climax now, and speech was nearly impossible. "Crem brulee, please." I wasn't sure I liked crème brûlée, couldn't remember ever having it; my mouth spouted an answer having completely bypassed my brain.
"Very good, ma'am," The server said, and then was gone, thank goodness.
I slumped down in the booth, breathing through my nose in long, controlled huffs, fists clenched tight, nails digging into my palms, fire pooling in my belly and crashing through my body...
...and then Jeff stopped, withdrew his hand and left it on my thigh.
"Goddamn it, Jeff!" I spoke through gritted teeth, wanting to scream in frustration. "Not fair!"
"Turnabout's fair play." The humor was in Jeff's voice, in the subtle softening of the corners of his mouth, the almost imperceptible lift of one eyebrow.
"Well that's not cliché."
"I wasn't teasing, Anna. I was making a promise."
"Oh, you bastard."
"Don't tease me, I won't tease you." His finger brushed between my thighs again, and they split open on their own, with alacrity. "But, if you ask nicely, I may finish what I started."
I grabbed his hand and tugged it higher, toward my wet, aching opening. "Please, Jeff?" I used my tiniest, most innocent voice. "I'm sorry. I won't ever tease you again."
Jeff smiled, both sides of his mouth lifting this time; a real, bonafide grin. I felt victorious, having wrested a full-fledged smile from a man as taciturn as Jeff Cartwright.
"I'm not sure you'll keep that promise, but I'll go easy on you this time." His finger brushed the fabric of my thong aside and delved into me. "But you have to be quiet. I wouldn't want to be embarrassed."
I gasped and fluttered my eyes. Of course, the server came up with my crème brûlée at that very moment. He only eyed me this time, frowning in puzzlement.
"Will there be anything else?" The server asked. He had our dessert in one hand, and the tray in another, presumably to show another table.
"I think I'd like to take a look at the desserts, actually, now that I've seen Anna's," Jeff says.
Jeff was circling my clit now, wringing a climax from me in record time. I forced myself to hold still, to keep my ass planted in the seat and my mouth shut. Miniscule whimpers kept escaping me, though, and the server was giving me increasingly perplexed glances as he pointed out and described each dessert.
"And what's in the tiramisu?" Jeff asked.
My teeth were grinding so hard my jaw ached, my fingernails were digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood, and I was exploding from the inside out, tongues of fire blossoming from my sex up through my belly and into my thighs and chest and down to my toes, curling them in my strappy platform sandals. If I were in a bedroom, I would be shrieking, moaning, clutching to Jeff for dear life as I rode the wave of ecstasy. Instead, I sat, still and silent, pitiful whimpers drifting from my lips at intervals as Jeff listened to the server patiently described ladyfinger pasties soaked in espresso, layered with blah blah blah OH GOD help me he wasn't stopping, surely he felt my muscles clenching around the fingers he'd slipped in and up to my G-spot, surely he knew I was coming, dying, but no, he kept stroking, kept pushing me higher.
A wave rocked through me, and I couldn't stop the gasp from escaping. To cover, and to mollify the server's concerned expression, I faked a cough. Which then turned into a real cough, and now Jeff and the server were looking at me in concern. I took a sip from one of the glasses of ice water, the ice now melted and the glass covered in dripping sweat. I put the glass to my lips, and a took generous mouthful of lukewarm water. What did Jeff do? He slipped his finger out of me and explored backward, past the stretch of skin and pressed onto my second, tighter opening.
I spewed water all over the server. I mean I sprayed it all over the front of his apron, his shirt and tie, his order book...everywhere. How humiliating.
Jeff actually, factually chuckled. A real laugh. At my expense, sure, but a laugh. It was almost worth the embarrassment. He stifled the chuckle with a sip of wine.
When I could breathe again, I muttered an apology. "Sorry, it went down the wrong pipe."
The server looked disgusted, swiping ineffectually at himself with a napkin that had been dangling from his back pocket. He turned and walked away without so much as glancing at me or Jeff, still trying to dry himself off. When he was gone, I rounded on Jeff, my eyes blazing.
"What the hell was that?" I demanded.
Jeff just smirked at me. "I didn't want to leave you hanging."
Not like I had him, was the implication.
"But did you have to do it with the server there?" I squirmed in my seat, still feeling the aftershocks, and the surprise of his finger in my asshole. "And you really didn't have to put your finger there."
Jeff retained his innocently blank expression. "Where?"
"You know where." I leaned close, feeling more shy than I'd ever been; I'm not a shy girl. "You stuck your finger in my ass. That's why I spat water all over that poor server."
"I did? Gee, Anna, I'm sorry." Jeff's tone belied his words. He was all but laughing out loud. He knew exactly what he'd done. "Didn't you like it? You seemed like you did. I would never do anything you didn't like." That last sentence was delivered with an intense sincerity, all joking put aside.
"No, I did like it, honestly. It just surprised me. I've never been touched there." I kissed his jaw and whispered in his ear. "I wouldn't mind if you did it again, in private."
Jeff nodded, as if filing the information away for later. "Your crème brûlée is getting cold."
I giggled. "I just said the first thing that came to mind. I
don't even know if I'll like it. I was a little...distracted."
It turned out I did like crème brûlée, and so did Jeff. Jeff paid the bill—ignoring my attempts to help pay it—and we left.
* * *
We got to Jeff's house, and I discovered he lived not far from me. Sexual tension filled the car, the smell of my arousal musky and intense. I wanted to touch Jeff, to feel him fill my hand, but he wouldn't let me. He held my hand in a firm grip on his thigh, a safe distance away from his crotch.
"I'd rather wait until we can do things right," was all he'd say.
I managed to wait until we were inside and Jeff was kicking off his shoes before I attacked him. I sidled up behind him and pulled at the buckle of his belt and then worked my way down the button-fly of his jeans. He slipped his shoes aside and straightened, putting his hands behind him on my hips. His head tipped back as I pushed his pants and boxers down to let his still-rising erection free. I wrapped eager fingers around him, the other hand cupping his sack and stroking the skin behind it.
Still cradling his balls in one hand, I caressed his length as lightly as I could, focusing my ministrations on his tip until the first pearls of moisture began to leak from him. I smeared my palm along his tip, and felt his knees buckle as I did so.
I circled around in front of him, pushed him backward to the couch until his knees hit and he sat down. I knelt in front of him and pulled his jeans and boxers off, and then settled between his knees.
"Anna, you don't have to, just because I—"
"I want to," I cut in. "I want to taste you. I want to feel you come like this."
He didn't argue. I took him in both hands, pushing my hands down on him in a hand-over-hand cycle. When his breath started to come in gasps and his hips to move, I leaned forward and fit him into my mouth. I had to stretch my jaw as wide as it would go to take him. He smelled and tasted clean and of male musk. His skin was salty and slick and smooth. I started a slow bob of my head, careful not to graze him with my teeth. He leaned his head back against the couch and tangled his fingers in my hair, not pulling or tugging, merely holding. One hand pumping him at the base, I slipped my hand underneath him and put my middle to his the stretch of skin behind his balls and pushed, gently, as he began to move his hips. He was struggling to keep still, I could tell. I lowered my head to take him deeper until he brushed the back of my throat, feeling him throb harder against my lips. His body tensed as I drew him out and wrapped my lips around his head, working him with my hand and sucking hard. My cheeks hollowed and he gasped a shuddering breath, arched his back, and tightened his grip on my hair.
"I'm...I'm coming, oh god..." His warning accompanied the jet of viscous, salty come against the back of my throat.
As soon as I felt him tense and climax, I put a second finger to his taint and massaged in circles, lips on his head, hand pumping in a blur. He shot a second time, and then a third, his back arched in a rigid curve.
When he finally went limp, I let him go and sat on the couch next to him, resting my hand on his belly.
"God, you come a lot," I said.
"Sorry," he said.
I laughed. "It's not a bad thing," I said. "I don't mind."
"Thank you," Jeff said. "That was...incredible. It's been a long time since I've—never mind."
"What?" I put my head on his shoulder and looked up at him. "A long time since what?"
"Since I've had that done to me."
"Do you like it?"
"Well, yeah, obviously. Like I said, it was amazing. But now it's your turn."
He stood and pulled me to my feet, drawing me into his bedroom. He kissed me as he unzipped my dress and let it fall to the ground around my feet, and we got lost there for a few minutes, clinging to each other and kissing.
"I could kiss you forever," Jeff said. He unhooked my bra, kissing my shoulder as he slipped the straps off.
He nudged me onto the bed, stripping my panties off as he did so, and then he was kneeling above me, staring down at me with an expression on his face that told me more clearly than any words how beautiful he thought I was. I wanted him, right then. I wanted to feel him fill me and hold me down with his weight as we came together. He wasn't ready yet, though, and he lowered his lips to my breasts first.
Each kiss of his lips to my skin was a slow, reverent, moist caress, moving with agonizing slowness over my body. With each kiss, my body turned hotter, my skin prickling in anticipation of his next kiss. My nipples puckered and stiffened as he pinched one and licked the other. I was dripping from between my thighs, wanting, needing to feel his mouth move there next, but he didn't, even when he kissed his way down my belly to my pubis and hipbones. I spread my legs apart, willing him to put tongue inside me, but he licked my inner thigh instead, just outside my labia, then across my belly and down the other thigh.
I tugged a pillow from the head of the bed and stuck it under my back, elevating my hips to make it easier for him. He kissed my calf and behind my knees instead, then the soles of my feet. He ran his hands up my legs ahead of his kisses, touching his lips to my quad muscles, and then my hipbones again, and finally, at last, to my core. It was a kiss, at first, just his lips stroking my entrance, then a single shallow lap of his tongue.
Oh, lord, I thought, he's really drawing this out. His slow and methodical pace, his mouth and hands' detailed attention to every inch of my body brought my desire into furious life, making me desperate for him to lick me, to be hard and ready to push into me.
He refused to rush, though, and when he at long last dipped his tongue against my clit, I moaned out loud and pulled his head shamelessly against me. He rewarded me with a swift circle of my clit and a finger striking into me, curling in to stroke my walls and find my G-spot. After one swift circle, he resumed his unhurried bottom-to-top licks, focusing the apex of each swipe on my aching nub.
I'd come already, and hard, and I was anticipating another body-shivering explosion.
I wasn't disappointed.
He never increased his pace, even when he had to know by my breathing and moaning and desperate undulation of my hips that I was close. He paused once to spit into his hand, smearing the saliva against my asshole. His other finger was deep inside me and stroking slowly, his tongue gliding in lazy circles around my clit.
He touched a finger to my tightest hole, paused and looked at me for approval.
"Do it," I breathed. "Gently."
He didn't answer, just pushed his finger against me, not trying to shove in but to coax the opening to stretch. His tongue and other finger had slowed to almost stillness, but not quite. And then he was inside, just his pinky finger. I gasped and drew my knees up, trying to relax the muscles. He left his finger there, letting me acclimatize to his presence, and then moved deeper with his characteristic gentle, unhurried pace.
His tongue began to move again, flicking my clit, and his finger slipped in to stroke the rough patch of my G-spot, and now the fire and pressure began to burgeon. My breathing was a long-drawn, high-pitched moan, rising into a panting whimper as the climax rose to frenzied peak, his pinky working its way ever deeper until I felt his knuckles against me. I clawed my fingers into the bed and didn't even try to dampen my scream of climax, feeling ecstatic detonations rip through me, and now my inner muscles clenched around his fingers and my asshole clamped around his pinky and he was moving both hands in tandem, his pinky more slowly and shallowly, and I was blind and deaf and mute, every muscle, every fiber, every synapse of my being on fire and in twisting paroxysms of delight, and he did not relent.
When finally he removed his fingers from me, I went limp, nearly with ripples of pleasure.
Jeff brushed his lips against my ear and whispered, "I'll be right back."
I couldn't have moved if I wanted to, and right then, all I wanted was to lay and bask in the glow of a glorious orgasm.
He came back, put his hand in mine and helped me sit up. "Come on," he said to me, pulling me to my feet.
&nbs
p; "Where are we going?"
"You'll see." He nipped my throat with a kiss and led me to his living room and out onto his back porch.
I hesitated on the threshold of the door-wall. "Outside? But...I'm naked."
"So am I," Jeff said. "There's a privacy fence, for one thing, and I only have neighbors on one side, for another, and for a third, I've got a wall around the hot tub."
Hot tub? Hell yes. I perked up at that. I loved hot tubs, but rarely got to use one.
I let him pull me outside, and sure enough, he had a ten-foot tall fence between his backyard and the neighbors. In addition to the privacy fence, he had built a three-sided wall around the hot tub.
The night was pitch black, and the tub glowed with submerged yellow light. A small, round, three-legged table stood to one side, a massive, four-wick white candle flickering merrily, and a bottle of wine. It was a small touch, just a table, a candle and a bottle, but it was enough to show he'd made an effort. It wasn't just sex, for Jeff.
Oh, shit. The thought was a flash through my head, but enough to make me wonder what I'd gotten myself into. And then Jeff's arms were around my bare waist and pulling me into a breath-defying kiss and all thoughts and worries were gone.
We broke apart long enough to step into the hot tub. It was scalding, and I wasn't ready to sink down into it yet. I held to Jeff, one arm around his neck, the other toying with his manhood, testing his readiness for round two. Oh, he was ready.
He grew rigid under my hand, standing upright, unfolding, uncoiling. I put on foot up on the side of the tub and lifted up onto my toes, a gush of wetness spreading through me in eager hunger to feel him spear into me, fill me past-full. Jeff rumbled deep in his chest as he probed me with his tip. I sank down from my tip-toes, plunging him up into me. He spread me apart, pushing into me and rising up on his toes until he was hilt-deep.
He sat down, easing us into the water. I put my legs on either side of his hips and he braced himself with his feet on the far edge of the tub, his hands supporting his weight and mine on the seats.
Big Girls Do It Boxed Set Page 8
