Then a mouth was on me, ripping aside my panties, sucking, licking, nibbling. I wrapped my legs around the head, forgetting for a moment where I was. Then reality hit, and I pushed the head away, straightening up in my chair.
“Please,” my secretary, Amanda, begged. “I’ve been wanting…”
“You knew,” I gasped.
“Of course. I’ve been waiting for the right time. Why do you think I pointed Audrey’s office out to you?”
Her hands were on my breasts, her mouth seeking out mine. I lost control and grabbed her, pulling her onto the chair with me. It collapsed under our weight, and we fell to the floor laughing.
Ripping off our clothes we ravished each other, lying naked on the floor with perhaps all the occupants of the offices across the street looking on. I didn’t care. I could only concentrate on our lovemaking. I knew that from now on there would be no need for me to watch someone else. It was time others were watching me.
MELT MY HEART
Lila Brooks
I spent all day struggling with the chocolate, melting and coaxing it, thinking of pouring it all over Gina’s glistening body. Gina, my Gina, the maddening minx I’d fallen for three years ago. Our anniversary always falls right before Valentine’s Day, and there’s the temptation to let them just blend together, but I always insist that they’re two separate and distinct events. Especially this year, because Gina’s not even around. She had to go off on a business trip on the most romantic day of the year. I guess she could have gotten out of it—she could have quit. But she’s not a quitter. She’d apologized profusely, said she’d be back the next day, and promised to bring me a gift from L.A. But I wanted her, not some Hollywood sign snow globe. Instead of moping, I did what I always do when I’m upset: I bake and cook.
I’d found my old heart-shaped molds and was melting down the chocolate, watching it go from a solid, sweet treat to a liquidy warm goo, dabbing my finger into the pot occasionally to taste the mixture before ladling it out. I was making tiny little hearts that were somehow supposed to represent mine, and the torrent of feelings I had for my girl, even more so now than at the start, even more so though I’d yelled at her as she walked out the door, hurt I’d have to be alone on this special day. Single people are alone on Valentine’s Day, not couples. But after Gina had left, my words lingering in the air, echoing off the walls and back into my head, I wanted nothing more than to give her a final kiss, to tell her I was just upset because I would miss her. Instead I poured my heart out into the chocolates, and also into her favorite chocolate cake, measuring and mixing, pouring and stirring, until the entire apartment smelled like sugar and warmth and sweetness. I resisted taking too many bites, because the best part about my efforts in the kitchen is always sharing the results with her.
I checked the schedule to see what was on TV, figuring I’d go with some sappy Lifetime movie. I wanted to make sure the cake was perfect, the chocolates too; I imagined myself laying down a trail of red hearts from the front door to our room to greet her when she walked in. I was putting the finishing touches on the pink icing, swirling it until it appeared perfectly lush and creamy, when I heard a key in the door. I turned, startled, the long knife still in my hand. In walked Gina, all six feet of her tan, slim body, with a huge bouquet of roses. She wore a ravishing red dress that hugged every part of her. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” she sang, running across the floor and flinging herself into my arms. She wrapped those athletic arms around my waist, almost knocking me into the stove.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane?”
“Nope.”
Just “nope,” no explanation, no additional information about why my beloved had suddenly rearranged my entire lonely night, one I’d almost started looking forward to. I laughed, overwhelmed with joy that I’d gotten what I wanted on this most precious of nights. But then I stopped myself, forcing a stern look onto my face, even though on the inside I was doing a little dance of glee.
“Nope?” I said. “That’s all you have to say, after I’ve spent the whole day moping and baking and missing you? How long did you know you didn’t have to work? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
My voice was getting louder and louder, and I found myself getting more and more worked up, and more and more turned on. “While you were zipping around,” I told her, “I’ve been baking this cake and making chocolates for you. I think you need to get yourself in the bedroom right now and strip down to your underwear.” I’d never spoken to Gina like this before, and while we’d dabbled in role-playing, sometimes really getting into it, we’d never mixed up our real life and our sex life before. But suddenly I was overcome with the most urgent desire to spank her sweet little ass. I wasn’t mad at her really, but I felt the need to teach her some kind of lesson, and the truth is I love nothing more than giving her ass a nice, firm spanking.
Gina loves it too, which is why she dutifully scampered to the bedroom, and by the time I’d turned off the oven and set my chocolates to mold, she was facedown on the bed, naked save for a thin strip of ruffled red thong bisecting her perfectly curved ass. The sight of her nearly naked across our bed—so eager, so docile, so sexy—made my heart race and my pussy throb. I rubbed my hands in anticipation before joining her. I snapped her thong, taking a peek at her puckered hole before the fabric fell back into place. Then I squeezed her luscious asscheeks, which always brings out my desire to give them a few smacks. For some reason I find that her butt looks better when it’s a little bit red, and Gina certainly agrees.
I settled her across my lap, the better to feel her squirm, and doled out her much-deserved spanking. Actually, she didn’t totally deserve it, but we both love to grapple with each other, and I genuinely had been crestfallen at the idea of spending Valentine’s night alone, with only my cooking to keep me company. I summoned every bit of resentment I’d felt, as her heart-shaped ass turned a lovely shade of red.
“Gina,” I moaned, overcome with the pleasure of feeling her round cheeks warm beneath my touch and her body squirming with pleasure. It was probably a toss-up as to which of us was wetter, though when I kept one hand firmly on her ass and plied her slippery folds with the other, she seemed to be winning that particular race. “Baby,” I said, needing to enter her. I got up and fumbled for our favorite dildo, quickly getting it out of its hiding spot under the bed.
As soon as the toy slid inside her, I saw the change in my girl. Her body tensed, then relaxed, then tensed in a whole new way, accepting this welcome invasion and craving more. I was no longer punishing her for anything, but rather celebrating our love, our connection, and her gorgeous body, which never fails to turn me on, even when I’m angry with her. She always manages to make my anger melt away, until my insides are nothing more than a puddle, a liquid mess that only makes sense when she’s near. Now, wielding the dildo with one hand, I spanked her with all the force I could muster, lifting my free arm and bringing it down with a passion I can only conjure for those who undo me in a vital, visceral way, for those I need so desperately I’ll forgive them anything.
As I pressed the cock into Gina’s pussy, watching her spasm around it, drawing it farther inside, I let my smacks roam, dipping down to her upper thighs, veering to the very edges of her asscheeks, taking her for as thorough a ride as possible. When she was right on the verge, I slid out the cock, hearing her whimper at the loss. I replaced it with my fingers and frantically thrust them into her. I moved so I could straddle her leg, pumping myself against it while holding her down. As I worked my fingers into her, I tweaked my own clit with my other hand. Feeling both of us so wet, so needy, and so desperate for each other was everything I could have asked for and more.
I silently urged her on, thrilled when I felt her pussy tighten around my fingers, clamping down so much they were squeezed together. I lay down next to her so I could look at her face while she came. Gina rolled over so we lay on our sides, face to face.
S
he kissed me while I sank my fingers over and over into her glorious wetness while continuing to probe my own. Touching myself is so much hotter when she’s here to share it, and I cried out at how my night had almost turned out—alone, with me frosting a cake and molding chocolate into fake hearts while my real one ached for my true love. And here she was, coming in a series of spasms that left her gasping for breath, burrowing her head into my shoulder, pushing to get as close to me as she could. Her fingers snaked down to join mine, pushing inside my dripping wetness while I pinched and pulled and rubbed my clit. With our teamwork I came quickly, shuddering against her.
It was a long while before we got up and went back to the kitchen. Gina bounded forward, pouring my carefully made hearts out of their molds and back into the pot, then turning on the heat. “I worked hard on those. What are you doing?” I said, trying not to whine, and trying even harder not to pick a fight on this particular night.
“Baby, you’ve melted my heart so many times since I walked through the door, it’s only fair that I melt yours, too,” Gina said.
I didn’t tell her she already had. I just let her boil down the rich, sweet candy until it swirled around the pot, small bubbles forming on the surface. She let it cool just enough, then dipped her finger in and began to feed me the most delicious meal I’ve ever tasted. We feasted on melted chocolate, cake, and each other for the rest of the night, and long into the weekend.
LONELY TOWN
Radclyffe
There’s nothing quite as lonely as a Saturday night in a strange town on the far side of midnight. In the last twenty-four hours, I’d crossed more than just time zones and thousands of miles—I’d shed one reality for another, let my ordinary life slip away like an unneeded cloak until I arrived halfway around the world a different person. No one knew me other than as the persona I allowed them to see. No one met me at the airport, because I wasn’t scheduled to appear until the next morning. Until then, I was only a name on a program and a face on a flyer.
Too tired to sleep and too restless to read, I decided to go for a walk, ignoring the concerned expression on the night clerk’s face as I crossed the lobby and stepped out into the dark. As was true in so many cities in the middle of the night, traffic was sparse and pedestrians rare. Nevertheless, the sidewalks were well lit by a combination of streetlamps, neon reflections from store signs, and a surprisingly bright gibbous moon.
I walked in the direction the cars were headed, the steady thud of my booted feet on the empty pavement a welcome accompaniment, like the beating of another heart in a darkened room. As soon as I turned the corner, I saw the bold, black letters of the stark white marquee a block away: GRAND HOTEL. Why not? What better way to spend my last hours of anonymity than with the woman who was famous for her secretiveness and seclusion? As I approached the theater, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see a woman crossing the street at an angle, her path on an intercept with mine. With the lights behind her and her body shrouded in a long military-style coat that came to just below her knees, I could see little of her face and nothing of her body. I knew without doubt, though, that she was a woman—I could tell by the singularly fluid grace of her movements. She drew near with a purposeful stride, as if she were late to meet me and eager to catch up. I slowed to wait, as though our rendezvous were prearranged.
“Are you going to the theater?”
Her voice was husky, with a lilting accent that tinged her English with a hint of Scandinavia. Closer now, I saw she was indeed blonde, her eyes blue or green, too muted in the half-light for me to be certain. Her coat billowed with each step, exposing long legs in pale denim and a shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal that she wore nothing under it.
“Yes. Do think I’m too late?”
“No,” she replied, extending her hand. “I think we’re just in time.”
I took her hand as if I had a hundred times before.
Her fingers were long, slender, and cool. Her palm was soft but with a faint ridge at the base of each finger suggesting that she worked with her hands. I stole another glance at her face, thinking that with her arched cheekbones and full jaw she might have been a model. But there was nothing studied or posed about her. She was at ease in her body in a way that those who made a living with theirs were not.
“Have you seen this before?” I asked.
Her full mouth curved into a secret smile. “Many times.”
She moved even closer as we walked, until her shoulder and thigh touched mine, the way a lover’s would, with familiarity and possession. I struggled not to close my fingers tightly around hers as a surge of desire caught me unawares and made me stumble.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Perfect,” I replied, only then realizing it was true. At the first touch of her hand, I’d forgotten the disquieting sensation of being halfway around the world and a stranger to everyone, even myself. The parts of myself I’d left behind slowly reappeared, sliding into the empty places effortlessly until I remembered who I was and why I had come.
“Two, please,” she announced as she passed several oddly colored notes through the semicircular hole in the Plexiglas to the bored-looking young man in the booth.
“Oh, no,” I protested, belatedly realizing we had reached the theater while I had been lost somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow. “You must let me pay.”
She laughed softly. “It is, as you would say, my treat.”
I blushed furiously, not at all certain that she meant it the way I took it, but her words brought another flood of arousal from my depths. She cocked an eyebrow at me then swept her fingers lightly over my cheek and down my neck until her hand cupped my throat. She leaned close, there in the bright lights of the ticket booth, and skimmed her mouth over mine. “We should go in.”
“Yes,” I breathed, wanting nothing more than more of her mouth.
The lights went down just as we stepped into the theater, and she guided me through the blackness into the back row, to the far corner seats. There was no one in front of us or to the side. In fact, the other figures in the room were merely faint reminders that we were not alone. Distant images of Garbo and Barrymore flickered on the screen, their words a faint hum beneath the roaring in my ears.
Her coat fanned out behind her as she shrugged it from her shoulders, and when she extended her arm along the seat behind my back, the tips of her fingers grazed my shoulder. Each fleshy circle was a burning coal that penetrated the cotton to my skin. I leaned against her, and when my breast pressed to her side, my nipple tightened into a pebble of tingling nerves. She curled her arm and drew me closer, shifting to put her mouth against my ear.
“No one can see.”
It wasn’t true, but the illusion of invisibility beneath the otherworldly light in the cavernous space was enough. I tugged the shirt from her jeans and rested my hand on her belly. Her stomach tensed as I slowly rubbed my palm over the soft skin, pressing harder as the moments passed, my eyes on the screen but every sense tuned to her. The muscles beneath my fingers quivered and grew rigid, and with a faint moan, she shifted in her seat and spread her legs wide, her knee brushing mine. I knew she would be naked under the denim. The fingers that curved around my upper arm trembled. I could stop, but what would be the point? From the instant she’d taken my hand and I’d let her, our destination had been clear.
It was my turn to skim my lips over her ear, my breath a teasing kiss. “Are you hard already? Can you feel the seam brush against your clit, just like my lips caressing the tip?”
“Yes,” I said, urgent and low.
My hand moved up, pushing fabric aside to cup her breast, grasping a nipple—already standing up, hard and sensitive, waiting. I squeezed gently. Once more. And again, harder, twisting a little until her body stiffened and another soft gasp escaped her. Her hips lifted, her heart skittering beneath my palm. I lowered my mouth to the other breast, biting through the soft cotton to tug on tender flesh. The gasp became a
moan—hers or mine, I wasn’t certain. My clit jerked insistently, keeping time with her racing pulse, and I finally dropped my free hand to my crotch and rubbed the stiff prominence through my pants.
“Open your jeans,” I murmured against her neck as I drew my tongue along the curve of that beautiful jaw. Her breath, shallow and fast, drowned out the sound of Crawford’s haughty inflections. I glanced down, saw her rip at the button and zipper, and squeezed the fabric between my thighs hard around my own aching need. My clit twitched, my vision blurred, and I had to ease off or come. I tortured her nipple a little more with my teeth to take my mind off the pressure in my clit.
Her eyes, suddenly bright and clear in the murky light, held mine.
“Please.”
I stopped touching myself and pushed my fingers down the front of her pants as she rocked her hips, urging my fingers to find her. God, I wanted to take her fast—to make her come on my fingers, in my hand. I rested my fingertips just above the base of her clitoris, pressing down ever more firmly while circling up and down the stiff length, making it throb as the blood built inside. I knew how it felt, how it hurt in a way that could only be pleasure. Then, one hand stroking through that liquid heat below, I grasped her neck with my free hand and turned her face to mine. I worked my tongue into her mouth, the way I wanted to be working inside her. Turning in the seat, I threw one leg over hers. Clit pounding as I rode her leg, I sucked on her tongue the way I wanted her sucking on me. She bucked on my hand and moaned into my mouth and I forgot why I was waiting. Her need and mine conspired to undo me, and I surrendered willingly.
I pushed my hand deeper into her pants, my wrist tenting the denim until the zipper bit into my skin. Unmindful of the pain, I slid my fingers into her and angled my arm to get higher, crushing her clit, wet and hard, into my palm. Half laying on her now, my tongue in her mouth, my fingers buried inside, I took her hard and fast, beating her clit with the heel of my hand on each thrust. She pulled away from the kiss and closed her teeth on my neck when she started to come, muffling her cries with my flesh. She clamped down around my fingers as her hips jerked up, her rigid body barely touching the seat, and I felt a breathless, heart-stopping wonder as she came. I was ready to come, needed desperately to come, but in that moment, the only thing that I knew was her pleasure. Only when she slumped back into the seat with a last, long moan did the fury of my desire overtake me. I closed my hand around her still-pulsing sex and lowered my forehead to her chest. Dimly I was aware of her holding me as I shuddered and thrust against her tensed thigh. I choked on my own sobs of pleasure as a dam burst inside me and every barrier dissolved. I came in the arms of a stranger who knew me more intimately in that moment than anyone else in my life.
After Midnight Page 4
