by Lavinia Kent
And wasn’t that a thought.
Before he could reply, her hand slipped into her panties, down between her legs. He could see her rub herself, see the pleasure she took even before the moan left her lips. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks—maybe since the first time I saw you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so wet in my life.”
She pulled her hand up, and her fingers glistened.
He needed to taste her, to taste her now.
She rubbed the moisture across her belly.
He wanted to lean forward to lick her clean, to…
Her bra hit the floor between them. His eyes followed it down then quickly lifted again. Her nipples were deep and pink—although there was an almost coral tinge. The color of the inside of the conch shells that sometimes washed up on the beach.
Again, she cupped her breasts with her hands, lifting them, stretching them—and then pinching those puckered nipples. Their color deepened, and a flush began to cover her entire chest, rising up to her face.
If this went on for much longer, he was taking over. A man could only take so much, and she was pushing his limits, pushing them hard. He looked back at her face. And she knew it. She knew how hard she was pushing him, teasing him.
Staring hard into his eyes, she let her hands trail down her sides until they reached her panties again. A quick shimmy and the panties, too, were on the floor.
Naked and proud, she turned from him and her high, round ass taunted him. She stood next to the table and, turning, hoisted herself onto the edge, then slid back and let her arms take her weight as she stretched to lying, spreading herself in offering across the shiny dark wood.
He stayed where he was, his mind stalled for a moment.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” her husky voice asked.
And then he was moving, grabbing the chair she’d previously sat upon, pulling it to the end of the table and taking his place between her spread legs. No need to tell him a second time.
And then she was before him, pink and shiny, dripping for him. The thin trail of dark hair on her lower belly leading to everything he’d dreamed of.
He pulled in a deep breath of her scent.
And then he bent his head to begin.
* * *
—
Veronica was more nervous than she’d let herself appear. She might be confident in her curves, in her rounded hips and full breasts, but there was always that moment when she was first naked before a partner that all she could think of was her imperfections, the extra five pounds, the few stretch marks on her thighs, the…
His mouth came down on her, first only his lips, nibbling against her, sucking lightly as they formed a circle all about her—and then his tongue hit her clit, hit it perfectly. The man knew what he was doing. There was probably some luck involved, but he clearly knew female anatomy.
Light suction—and that tongue.
She closed her eyes and gave in to sensation, letting herself experience how good she could feel. His fingers joined his mouth, tracing her labia, opening them wide. When the tip of a single finger penetrated, her hips rose from the table, but his strong hands held her in place, imprisoning her. The finger swirled in and out and all about. His tongue lapped. His beard tickled. His teeth nibbled. She tensed nervously. She’d never wanted teeth down there—but damn, he knew what he was doing.
She forced herself to calm, worked at relaxing her muscles. She wanted this to last.
His tongue pressed harder as his fingers slid farther in, stretching her, pressing against the front wall of her vag, feeling for that spot—and finding it.
And just like that, she was gone.
Her back arched. Her muscles spasmed. And the orgasm took her.
Fuck, that was good.
She relaxed onto the table.
But he didn’t stop. That tongue again found her over-sensitized clit—her hips lifted again. It was too much, too soon.
She tried to shut her knees, but he was having none of it. Those large hands held her open—and that tongue devoured. The finger pushed harder, farther, reaching, stretching.
“Enough. Too much,” she gasped.
His voice was low and gruff. “You told me to eat you until you screamed, and you haven’t screamed yet. And I promised I was going to take you further than that, and I will.”
Her brain tried to find words as that evil, evil tongue began again.
Her legs pushed against his hands, longing to close, but he held firm, not giving in.
“I thought I was in charge. You were the slave,” she managed while still trying to pull herself from him.
“Things change,” he mumbled, and lowered his head.
And her body took over. It was too much. It literally was too much.
Her whole body was raw sensation—delicious sensation, but still far more than she could handle.
“Please,” she moaned, her back arching up again as his teeth scraped against her.
He didn’t answer other than to run his tongue her full length.
And then again.
And again.
The pattern was rhythmic, perfectly in time with the deeper press of his fingers.
Her hands curled in his hair, pulling.
He paid it no mind, relentless at his task.
The waves of pleasure rose again, roaring through her.
Her whole body rose now, straining. She couldn’t take more. She couldn’t. She really, really couldn’t.
A second finger joined the first, truly stretching her, but with the same pinpoint accuracy of pressing right where—
The storm hit, harder and more furious than she could ever remember.
And scream she did.
“That’s my girl,” she heard him whisper into her core.
Bright color. A moment of blackness.
She had no bones. Not a single one.
It was too much work to even think about opening her eyes.
But at least he was done, at least she could rest.
And then she felt his tongue begin again.
* * *
—
He knew he should let her go, but he also knew she had one more in her. Brian lapped slowly, softly. This one would be nothing like the last, this one would be the soft sweet kiss at the end of the evening. Although, it would be far from the end of the evening, at least if he had anything to do with it.
He licked her slowly, avoiding her hard, swollen clit. Just working about the folds, about her slit. He’d pulled his fingers out after her last orgasm, but now he slid one in, not thrust, but sliding, moving to press against her puffy G-spot in a firm, steady manner.
Her head lifted from the table, stared down at him. He knew the effort it must have cost her.
He raised his head enough to meet her gaze. Dark, tired eyes. Lips swollen. The light sheen of sweat.
Her head fell back down, exhausted.
He kept at his task, enjoying each quiver of her body, even as his cock cried for its turn. He slid his free hand down, squeezing hard at the base, urging it to be patient. Good things came to those who waited.
Slowly, softly, lick by lick.
He felt her begin to move again, felt as her muscles tightened slightly and then released.
He moved slightly, tongued her clit again. Waited. Again.
Her legs clenched—and then relaxed.
He started to move the finger inside her, feeling her squeeze and release, hearing the soft moans upon her lips—the quiet “please.” And this time she was not asking him to stop.
Damn, he loved women, loved their bodies, their sweetness, their every response.
Her movements grew more frantic, not violent like the last time, but he could sense the moment coming. He nipped her softly with his teeth, pressed har
d with his tongue—and plunged his fingers hard, once, twice—and she broke, tightening about him again and again as he brought her home.
And this time he let her be, trailing soft kisses across the damp, dark curls and the smooth skin of her belly as she lay limp on the table.
He gave her a moment, letting her enjoy and recuperate as he had not before.
When her breath began to even out, he stretched to the side, snagging his shorts with one finger and sliding them close until he could pull a foil packet from his pocket. Then, rising with care, he slowly slid her down the table, pulling her until her feet reached the floor, before turning and bending her until firm ass cheeks surrounded him. He stood still for a moment, giving her a chance to understand what was happening before easing forward slightly to enjoy the feel of her smooth skin about his bare dick. He closed his eyes and held still, enjoying the moment of pleasure.
He pulled back. The rip of foil. The glide of lubricated latex. He was ready.
He looked down at her, the long, arched back, the perfect globes of her ass. Placing a hand on each cheek, he eased them apart, eased himself forward—one soft thrust. Fuck, that was good.
He took a deep breath. He longed to pound into her, but this was far from the time.
In.
Out.
In. Her muscles tightened about him.
Out.
In. Ahhh, that was good.
Out—slow, soft, very slow.
She was moving with him, but barely. He had left her exhausted.
In. Deeper. Deeper.
Fuck. He couldn’t hold it back. He’d waited too long already.
He pulled out once more, thrust in harder than he had before.
His head fell back and he gave in—completely, letting the orgasm take him in a fast, blinding flash.
* * *
—
Veronica felt him collapse over her. His head coming to rest on her shoulder as his damp chest settled on her back. She should say something, should move, but it was all too much. She was spent.
His arms came about her, hugged her once.
And then neither of them moved.
After a few moments, he whispered against her ear. “Where’s your bed?”
“Upstairs, but I’m not moving for a couple of hours at least.”
“I’d carry you, but I think my knee is done for the day. The couch?”
“Only if you want to give a show to the older women across the street. I can promise you they’d appreciate it.”
“I don’t think so,” he answered. “And the floor is too damn cold—and hard—hence the knee issue. I should have known better than to kneel.”
She hadn’t even thought of that. “Is it bad?” She raised her head and tried to turn to look at him, but his weight held her in place.
“Some, but it hurts some most nights.”
“It will have to be the bed, then. Can you walk?” She should have considered his knee when she began her silly game, but he seemed so capable, so strong.
His hands came down on either side of her arms and he pushed himself up, pulling himself from her, releasing her. She missed his heat instantly.
With great effort she pushed herself to standing. It was almost impossible to move.
His arm came about her, holding her tight, and together they managed the stairs up to her room, stumbling to the bed in the dark.
* * *
—
The sun was so bright. So bright. Veronica opened her eyes with a small squint. Every muscle she had ached—as well as some she wasn’t aware she had. The man had been thorough. More than thorough.
She rolled slightly, feeling the weight beside her in the bed shift.
He was still here. She hadn’t wanted him to be, but she couldn’t say she was truly sorry.
She opened one eye more fully against the glare.
Baxter.
The hound sprawled beside her, spreading his bulk diagonally.
She opened the other eye, looked about, listened.
Brian was nowhere to be seen. The room, the apartment, felt very empty.
No, she would not miss him. This was what she’d wanted.
Coffee.
That was what she needed, needed desperately.
With care she eased herself to standing. Her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti. Spaghetti that hurt when it moved. It had been far too long since she’d had a night like that.
Not that she’d ever had a night like that. The man had unbelievable endurance and vast recuperative skills. He might complain about that knee, but it sure didn’t slow him down.
Another step. Grabbing a robe, she looked over her shoulder. Only the tip of Baxter’s tail was moving. That was unusual, but she wasn’t going to complain. A few extra minutes before she had to take him out would be a welcome miracle this morning.
Step by step, she made her way down—and met the scent of coffee.
Was he still here?
It didn’t feel like it. She walked into her kitchen, saw the full pot with a cup beside it.
Last night’s clothing lay folded in a neat pile on the table. She looked away, not quite ready to think about the table, to remember the details of what had happened.
She stumbled to the pot, poured, grabbed some cream and then took that first magical morning sip. Relished it, thinking of nothing except the wonder of bitterness and caffeine, mellowed by cream.
Humanity began to return—and with it came memories, far, far too many memories.
The things they’d done.
The things she’d let him do.
Now she turned and stared at the table. She should be mad that he’d forced her further than she’d been prepared for, that second violent climax had not been something she’d been looking for. He should have given her a break, given her a chance to come down before he’d pushed her—
Damn, it had been good though, fucking, fucking good.
She didn’t think she’d ever been more physically satisfied.
And emotionally?
She let the thought hang, took a few more sips of coffee.
There was a slip of paper on top of her clothes. She walked over, picked up the note.
Hey, Beautiful,
I overslept a little and didn’t leave until just before dawn. Hope you don’t mind. I took Baxter out and set the coffeepot to brew at nine. Hope that works for you.
I’ll lock the door when I leave.
See you soon,
Your one-time slave (next time it’s your turn)
Her thighs tightened, something she would have thought impossible a moment ago. If she ended up feeling this way when he was her slave, what would the reverse be like?
And how long did she have to wait?
Could she text him about tonight? It was Saturday.
Was she ready to admit she had no plans on a Saturday night?
And would she sound desperate?
* * *
—
Brian stared down at his phone, longing to text Veronica. He’d been gone five hours and every other thought was of her. Every thought would have been, but he was a practical man and had to think about coffee and food and walking and—and Veronica. Fine, every third or fourth thought was about something besides her.
He stretched to full length, his fingers tapping the ceiling of Aunt Mols’s kitchen.
His arms came down and he stared at his phone again.
Could he ask to see her tonight? Normally, he was great at playing it cool, but if he was going to spend all of his time thinking about her, why not see her? Why not…
He’d just about rubbed the skin off his dick and he was getting aroused again at the vaguest thought of—
He pushed the thought away, slidi
ng his phone into the pocket of his shorts. He’d promised Aunt Mols that he’d walk the neighbor’s labs. There were three of them, all under two years. It would be a hectic hour, leaving little time for thought. Well—he glanced at the clock—there was no putting it off. He grabbed his keys and headed for the door.
His phone buzzed.
Veronica?
It was. A short, simple message.
Thanks for the coffee. Do you have the same pot? How did you set the timer? I’ve never figured it out.
He typed back, No. I looked it up on my phone. And you’re welcome.
Really? Wow. You’ll have to show me how.
He liked the sound of that. Sure. When?
A long, long pause. Had he pushed too far?
And then another buzz. How about this evening? We could order a pizza.
A smile spread across his face. There were times he might have played hard to get. This was not one of them. He glanced again at the clock. Six?
Make it seven.
That he could handle. Fine.
Chapter 11
She’d actually just done that—invited him over. Veronica slipped her phone into her pocket, experiencing a brief moment of doubt. She’d been trained to make a man wait. Then she shoved it away. Why shouldn’t she go for what she wanted? And after last night, how could she not want Brian?
She opened the door to her car and let Baxter jump in. Her legs protested as she bent to give him a shove. Okay, there was that. It might have been wiser to wait a few days before seeing him again. Her body might be longing for a repeat, but she wasn’t sure she was quite up for it.
Her lips quirked. She’d have to manage somehow.
