by Robin Gideon
The hand moved slowly from her throat, the fingertips grazing lightly over delicate skin that had just been warmed and cleaned by a hot shower and a brisk rubbing with a thick, terry towel. The forefinger traced the ridge of a collarbone briefly then slid downward, inch by inch, awakening nerve endings that had been slumbering, moving into the cleavage of rounded breasts that suddenly felt full, tight, swollen with an emotion Annika herself could not precisely name.
“Ohhh,” she sighed as the hand moved horizontally, the fingers splaying to support the under curve of a heavy breast, lifting slightly as though to weigh, measure, judge for sensitivity.
The forefinger and thumb, moving at a leisurely pace that simultaneously infuriated and heightened arousal, came together to pinch a pink nipple that was now distinctly erect.
“Oh, God,” Annika whispered, her mouth open slightly, her breath coming in uneven, little gulps as she watched forefinger and thumb pinch, then twist, a nipple that burned and throbbed with rapidly escalating feminine lust.
It came as a shock to Annika when she discovered that her other hand, with fingers splayed, was at her stomach. She looked into the mirror, wondering in the thoroughly disoriented way of a woman whose passion had taken on an otherworldly dimension, just where that hand would go, and what it would do.
Her gaze in the reflection went lower to the neatly-trimmed, triangular patch of light-brown hair above the cleanly-shaven, fleshy, pink lips of her pussy.
Only a slut would shave off all her pubic hair.
She knew that was a lie. The only reason she hadn’t shaved completely was because her ex had said he wanted her to, but she didn’t, and the slutty bitch he cheated on her with had waxed herself smooth as glass. Her ex made a cruel point of letting her know about those juicy, little details. So Annika didn’t get rid of it all, though she paid very close attention to herself, kept the labia smooth as velvet, and never let three straight days pass without taking out her little, gold scissors and making sure that the feminine triangle of hair was a quarter inch in length and not a fraction of an inch longer.
Annika suspected it was a very thin line that separated proper, feminine hygiene, and wanton, sluttish behavior. Or maybe she was just being neurotic, which was something else she worried about.
Or, just maybe, her perspective had been prejudiced by being the woman who had been dumped for another who waxed regularly. And the woman who had taken her place in her ex’s bed and life was younger. To twist the knife even further, her ex said his new lover didn’t just give head, she fucking loved to give head. That little tidbit of information, presumably, wasn’t supposed to turn a woman into a stark, raving lunatic. But if that wasn’t enough, then what was?
Stop thinking about him. That’s all in the past.
But what wasn’t in the past was her hand, the fingertips of which were just now sliding over silky-soft hair the color of which was somewhere between very dark blonde, and very light brunette. But a moment later, when a very experienced middle fingertip came in contact with a very appreciative clitoris, the color of the aforementioned public hair was the least of the clitoris owner’s concerns.
“Fuck,” she whispered, saying a word she almost never used unless she was alone. Then, after the fingertip began moving in tight circles, she added with more precision and less delicacy, “Fuck, that feels good.” After tantalizing the clitoris for several seconds, the fingertip slipped inside the silken slit, prompting the speaker to conclude in a breathy whisper, “Sooo fucking good.”
The hands flexed, though not in unison. First forefinger and thumb compressed a nipple that was achingly aroused, sending delicious tingles through nerve sensors fine-tuned for sexual response. Then a slender, feminine finger slipped out from between pink pussy lips, dallied briefly, then traveled northward to a clitoris that nearly sobbed with joy at being given attention. Feminine honey, slick, oily, and magnificently lubricating, prepared the welcoming vagina for penetration.
Across the surface of her mind, two hazy faces, distorted but recognizable like images in a mirage, drifted in and out of sight. One was Joshua’s face, and the other was Sven’s.
Unconsciously, Annika pressed her middle two fingers together, then thrust them, none too gently, between the folds of her slit, filling her cunt with the twin digits. At the exact same time, she pinched her nipple quite hard and gave it a twist that caused a lightning bolt of sensation to lance through her body.
Her climax was instantaneous and explosive. The hand between her legs was an undulating blur as she finger-fucked herself into one, then two, and finally three quick, sharp, harsh climaxes.
When the spasms and orgasmic contractions at last came to a conclusion, Annika found herself on her knees, a breast in one hand, two fingers of the other stuffed up her pussy with her palm pressed tightly against her clitoris. She was breathing deeply, her chin on her chest, her golden-blonde hair falling down the sides of her face.
She lifted her chin from her chest and looked into the mirror. When she gazed into her own eyes, she quickly turned her face away.
Chapter Two
“When in Rome…” Sven murmured as he looked at the whiskey-and-ice in the lowball glass that Joshua had just handed him.
“I’ve got a pretty well-stocked bar,” Joshua said, playing the host. “Name your poison and there’s a good chance I can pour it.”
“No, no,” Sven said quickly. “This is fine.” He smiled. “Do not worry. You are a very attentive host.” They were standing near the unlit fireplace, each with an elbow up on the mantle. Sven clinked his lowball glass against Joshua’s. “My English, you can understand?”
Joshua nodded. “Very easily. Miss Annika might not have been necessary.”
“Perhaps no. But I trust her judgment, and sometimes I am not so good with my English words.” An arched eyebrow lifted above an ice-blue eye. “She is nice to have around, no?”
“She is nice to have around, yes.” This time it was Joshua’s turn to tap his cocktail glass against his guest’s. “And competent?”
“Degree from the University of Oslo in hydro-engineering. With honors. And she is never late and does not miss work.” Sven smiled with professional appreciation. “I never have to ask her to stay late, though sometimes I do have to insist that she goes home. At first I just thought I needed someone to speak English for me, but I find myself…” His words faded, and his brow furrowed. “How you say?” He tapped his head with a forefinger and made a kicking motion.
“You found yourself kicking over ideas with her?”
Sven’s smile was open and expansive, and he nodded vigorously. Though he couldn’t say why, this openness made Joshua trust the big Norwegian just a little more than he had earlier.
The door opened, and Joshua turned toward it. When Annika stepped into the room, he felt a sudden tightening in his chest, and the breath caught in his throat for a moment. She had changed from her skirt-suit into a pair of black slacks with a white blouse over black pumps with slender heels. The ivory hair comb had been removed, and Annika’s golden-blonde hair now cascaded loosely over her shoulders.
“Am I late?” Annika asked.
Joshua noticed that she looked directly at Sven when she spoke. There was no doubting who held the power between them. She was solely concerned with Sven’s opinion of her, it seemed.
“It is common knowledge the world over that women do not change as quickly as men,” Sven said, a faint smile still curling his lips. “You are not late at all. Besides, this has given me a few minutes to speak to Joshua man to man and get to know him.” He turned to Joshua. “That is how you say it? Man to man?”
“That is exactly how you say it. Man to man.” Again, the two men touched lowball glasses. Then Joshua turned to Annika and asked, “Can I get you something to drink? Supper won’t be for another forty-five minutes, or so.”
Annika seemed hesitant and even cast a quick glance in Sven’s direction as though looking for approval. But Sven had turned h
is attention to the brickwork in the fireplace and was not looking. After a moment, she looked at Joshua and asked, “What are you drinking?”
“Sven and I are having whiskey on ice. It’s a rather nice Tennessee sipping whiskey.”
Annika wrinkled her nose. “That’s a little harsh for me.”
“Then how about a gin and tonic? I’m told I make one of the world’s finest gin and tonics.”
“Now that,” Annika said, smiling as she looked him in the eyes, “sounds delicious.”
But I am absolutely certain that you’re much more delicious.
As Joshua headed toward the liquor cart, he vowed to banish all such thoughts of Annika from his mind forever. But as he put ice cubes into a highball glass, then added a slice of lime, his thoughts weren’t entirely on the cocktail he was making.
Are all Scandinavian women that melt-in-your-mouth gorgeous?
* * * *
My God, they’re handsome.
Annika stopped dead in her tracks, looked down at the floor for a breath-held moment in a desperate attempt to gather tight rein on her emotions and promised herself that she’d never again harbor for even a second a thought regarding the aesthetics of either Sven or Joshua. Despite the fact that they were both the most drop-dead handsome, even drop-panties gorgeous, men she’d seen in years, she wouldn’t allow herself so much as a fleeting thought regarding the possible pleasures of even a short-term affair.
Stop it! Stop it! Are you trying to commit professional suicide? One’s your employer and the other is a possible client, which means both of them are permanently on your do-not-have-sex-with list.
She crossed the large room, trying not to notice, but noticing just the same, the ostentatiously masculine wood-and-leather furniture, the aroma of pine and cedar, and the comfortable “this is a man’s place” ambience. She half-wondered whether she should apologize for entering such a shrine to manly comforts.
“I’ve made it standard,” Joshua said as he dipped the long-handled, slender silver spoon into the glass and swirled the contents around, mixing it properly. “Not too strong and not too weak. Let me know your druthers, and I’ll custom-make the next one to your preferences.”
She caught a whiff of his cologne. It was unfamiliar to her but very pleasing. She sniffed again, but this time the act was noticed by Joshua. Annika felt herself blush a little.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend. That’s very nice cologne you’re wearing.” She tilted her head up to gaze into his eyes, hoping desperately that she neither sounded nor looked as interested as she actually was. “Might I inquire as to what it is?”
Joshua shrugged his broad shoulders. “It might be unusual where you come from, but not here. It’s called Old Spice. Nothing fancy.”
“Perhaps not,” she replied, “but it fits you in a very nice way.”
She felt the immediate rush this time, an embarrassed heat that went through her veins in an instant. She turned away from Joshua, hoping against the odds that he hadn’t seen her discomfort, wishing for the impossible in that maybe he hadn’t heard or understood the subtle intimacy in what she’d just said.
She walked all the way across the room to the windows and looked out, feeling her skin tingling as it cooled after the explosive heat of embarrassment that had surged through her veins. She sipped her cocktail, thought its flavor to be just slightly better than heavenly, then took a second and third sip. When she looked in the window, she saw in the reflection of Joshua and Sven standing behind her, the two of them now close together near the fireplace, each with one elbow resting jauntily up on the mantle.
They’re like lions in their prime.
The thought prompted a smile from Annika. Yes, she decided, young lions full of strength, courage, and virility. But that also meant that they had a pride of beautiful, young lionesses to satisfy their sexual urges. Annika knew that Sven had more than a few women who were all too willing to meet him anytime, anyplace, without any expectations of obligation or permanence. Unconditional sex and a few laughs were all that Sven wanted in a woman, and that just wasn’t enough for Annika. She refused to be any man’s occasional lover, just as she refused to have casual sex with men no matter how gorgeous, wealthy, and charming they might be. She’d seen too many women supplicate themselves to powerful men, and Annika was surrounded by powerful men on a daily basis.
The door opened, and an elderly man in his seventies stepped into the room. He wore the standard livery of domestic help, though he had the gnarled hands of a man who’d spend the bulk of his long life astride a horse with a lariat in his hands.
“Mr. Joshua, sir, your dinner is ready,” the butler said.
“Thank you, Monty,” Joshua replied. Then, to Annika, he said, “Can I freshen your drink before we go to the dining room?”
Annika shook her head. Her body was too receptive to the seductive charms of Joshua and Sven, and she didn’t want the inhibition-reducing effects of alcohol making her any more vulnerable than she already felt.
The dining room table could easily seat twenty people. Annika was pleased that rather than having the two men seated at the table’s ends, they were all placed in the middle, with two chairs pulled out on one side, and one chair pulled out on the other, so they wouldn’t be yards and yards apart. An elderly woman, also in livery though with a somewhat soiled apron tied around her ample middle, stood beside one chair and indicated that Annika was to sit there.
“After your trip I thought you might have an appetite, so I made good, hearty fare for you,” the old woman said. “It’s simple but solid and sticks to the bones.”
“I’m sure it will be wonderful,” Annika replied.
When the maid had left the room, Joshua said, “That’s Monty and Emma Johnson. Monty rode with my father for the better part of fifty years. He didn’t want to retire, but I couldn’t keep sending him out with the cattle, so he and his wife just sort of became help around the house. Can’t imagine what I’d do around here without them.”
Moments later the Johnsons returned to the dining room pushing a cart with three plates, each with a steaming pound-and-a-half T-bone steak, a baked potato roughly the size of a football, and a mound of green peas slathered in butter and redolent with fresh garlic.
“Good lord,” Annika said in a kind of awed exclamation, looking at the steak on her plate, “that’s what my father would buy to feed our whole family.”
Sven chuckled softly and added, “You are a generous man, Joshua. I will say that for you.”
“This is cattle country,” Joshua replied. “Some of the finest steaks in the world come from here. That’s prime Charolais on your plate. I took the liberty of having them cooked medium-rare. I hope that’s to your liking.” He smiled. “I had to make a few assumptions because of time restrictions.”
Annika nodded, and Sven said, “Yes. Exactly as I like.” He cut a slice of the steak, chewed the meat slowly, swallowed, then sighed. “My English is not good enough to say how delicious this is.”
When Annika tried the steak, her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and she felt her mouth water. Never in her life had she tasted a more flavorful, tender, juicy steak.
“This is incredible,” Annika said truthfully. “I’ll have to watch my waistline when I’m in Elk’s Crossing.”
“When you’re here, why not splurge a little?” Joshua said, the timbre of his voice low and pleasing to Annika in ways she was a little uncomfortable with. “Let me indulge you.”
Annika looked at her host then quickly looked down again at her plate. She tried to tell herself that Joshua’s comment had been innocent enough, but the blue gleam in his eyes made her wonder whether he was flirting with her. And there was something so lascivious about the word “indulge,” whether he meant it lewdly or not, that was like a secret caress to Annika.
“Your waistline has nothing to worry about,” Sven said then frowned. “I am not sure I said that right.”
“Your English was fine. I�
�m just not entirely certain the statement was valid. I have to watch what I eat.”
Annika munched on steak slowly to savor all the flavor that was possible. As a child, she had weighed more than she had wanted, and though she wasn’t overweight as an adult, she was endlessly conscious of her weight and leery of gaining any more.
Forty-five minutes later, as the meal was winding down, Annika very nearly brought up a business-related question before silencing herself. This wasn’t the time to talk business, she told herself. If business was an appropriate topic of conversation, then the men would surely have spoken of it before now.
“This is the best meal I have had in a long time,” Sven said, setting down his knife and fork. Only a bone and some remnants of a baked potato remained on his plate. He patted his stomach then tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.
“You should call it a night,” Annika suggested. “You worked through most of the flights and didn’t get a wink of sleep the whole way.”
Sven smiled and gave her a slight nod. “I am tired, it is true. You are not tired?”
“I slept on the plane, remember? I’m fine.”
He glanced at Joshua then looked back at Annika. “You will be all right?”
“Yes. I think I’ll have a nightcap with Joshua then I’ll call it a night, too.”
Joshua pushed his chair back. “Shall I walk you to your room?”
“Unnecessary. Stay and keep Annika company. You are a gracious host, and I appreciate that very much.” He smiled. “Take care of Annika for me. She means everything to my company.”
Joshua hesitated only a moment before asking, “And to you?”
Annika held her breath, waiting for the answer, but the big Norwegian said nothing before exiting the room.
* * * *
The gin and tonic was the ideal after-dinner drink, but Annika warned herself to only have one. She hardly trusted herself to be alone with Joshua stone sober, so to have the inhibition-relaxing effects of alcohol going through her system would make her especially vulnerable to seduction.
