“Remember, you can stop me any time. If there’s something you don’t like or . . .”
“Shh.” I put my fingers over her lips. “I’m nervous, that’s all. I want so much to please you, and I don’t know how.”
“A good lover listens to her partner’s body. That’s how she knows what her partner wants. Right now I’m listening to yours.”
I could smell the sweetness of her breath, the intoxicating scent of her perfume mixing with another, equally intoxicating scent.
“Tonight is all about you, sweetheart,” she continued. “I want to please you in every way you can imagine. I want to make your dreams come true. If you’re sure . . .”
I nodded. God, am I.
“Tell me what you want,” she breathed, her mouth inches from mine.
I couldn’t speak. She lowered herself just far enough to brush her lips gently over mine, before kissing me full on the mouth. My limbs went weak. She nibbled at my lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. I sighed with pleasure. She urged my lips open, exploring my mouth with her tongue, challenging me, capturing me in the rapture of the perfect kiss.
As our tongues danced together, I felt her hands begin their own exploration. Her fingertips caressed my skin everywhere— shoulders, collarbones, arms, belly, sides. My body was awash in sensation. My breasts ached for her touch, but she did not go there.
“Is this okay?” she breathed against my mouth.
I understood. She didn’t want to scare me. “Wonderful,” I answered honestly.
“Do you want to go further?”
“God, yes. I want you so much.”
“Tell me what you want,” she commanded. “Tell me how you want me to make love to you.”
I closed my eyes tightly. I’d been dreaming of this moment since the first time we corresponded. Now that it was here, I had no idea where to tell her to begin.
She must’ve known that. She kissed my center through the satin of my panties. I levitated off the bed, my very being on fire. Carefully, she removed the barrier as she brushed her fingers over my sensitive skin.
Her mouth hovered over mine again. She sucked my lower lip into her mouth once more, making me shiver. She kissed and licked her way down my body, pausing to nibble on a collarbone, nip at a pulse point and press her tongue into the dimple on my chin.
“That’s incredibly sexy, you know.”
“My dimple?” I managed to wheeze out.
“Yes,” she said. Her voice flowed over me like honey.
I’d never felt sexy before, or attractive, but she made me feel as if I was the most beautiful woman in the world.
Her fingers grazed my breasts, and my body arched off the bed.
“So soft,” she murmured, as she rubbed her cheek against the side of my left breast. Her tongue reached out and flicked my nipple; I gasped as it contracted painfully. Slowly, she lifted my shirt off. “May I?”
“Yes,” I breathed, astounded at the care she was taking with me. I’d told her once in an e-mail that I was shy about my body. My love for her grew even more.
“You’re very beautiful, you know.”
“No,” I managed to whisper, as she drew my nipple into her mouth, her teeth closing gently over the tip.
“You’re wrong,” she said with her mouth full. “Gorgeous, in fact, and I’m going to show you just how gorgeous.”
She kissed her way down my body, finding sensitive points all along the way. I felt as though I was in a dream, every inch of my skin was on fire, every nerve ending ablaze yearning for her. “Marina,” I moaned, “take me, please.”
“Oh, I intend to,” she answered. “Tell me what you want, love.” When I didn’t answer her, she lowered her mouth and ran her tongue up the length of my clit. “Do you want this?” She did it again.
I felt a ripple spread through my body, beginning at the base of my toes and working its way upward.
Hearing no audible response, at least not an intelligible one, she continued her slow torture. “Or do you want this?” I felt her fingertips brush against my clit, dipping into my center.
“Mmm.”
“That’s not an answer,” she said. “This.” She stroked me again with her tongue. “Or this.” She squeezed my clit with her fingers, then pressed them into my center.
I was incapable of speech. My body was singing with a desire it had never known.
“Well, since you can’t seem to decide . . .” She began exploring my folds with her tongue, licking, sucking, teasing.
My hips rose off the bed in supplication. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I wanted it with a passion.
“Does that feel good, baby?”
“God, yes,” I said, as I felt the universe tilt.
“Or perhaps that’s not enough?” Gently, she massaged the base of my clit with two fingers as her tongue continued its dance.
“Yes.” I moaned, although it sounded more like a shout to my ears.
“Is this what you want?” she asked, as she sucked my clit into her mouth.
I hovered on the edge of the stratosphere.
She dipped two fingers into my center, matching the rhythm of her tongue, and I was lost. Or maybe I was found. I felt my body explode, a billion bright lights burned behind my eyes. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before and like everything I’d ever dreamed of.
She held me, stroking my arms, my hair, my breasts, my pelvis. She cooed gentle words, her voice soft and low. When my breathing had returned to normal, she asked, “Are you all right, baby?”
“Fantastic,” I answered, barely able to speak.
“Was it everything you wanted?”
“Almost.” I rolled on top of her.
“Almost?”
“I want you,” I said plainly, trying to convey my desire in my eyes.
“That’s okay, honey. Tonight was about you, not me.”
“No, I want you. I want to make love to you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t. Please, baby. Please let me touch you.” I could see her resolution wavering. I kissed her mouth, tasting myself there. It was a heady sensation. I felt my belly tighten all over again. “Please.”
She lay back on the pillows in invitation. With shaking fingers, I undid the buttons on her top, stopping to kiss each exposed bit of flesh. She was exquisite—even more beautiful than I had imagined.
“I’m not sure what to do.” I hesitated, nerves finally getting the best of me.
“Listen to what my body’s telling you and follow your heart. It’ll never lead you astray.”
I closed my eyes, breathing in her scent. I ran my palms over her hardened nipples. It wasn’t enough. I feasted with my mouth and felt her hips seek mine. I lowered my hand between us and found her center, stroking her. I felt her body tense. Listen to her body. It was telling me she wanted something else.
I looked into her face. “I want to taste you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know—I want to. Please.” I knew oral sex was something women enjoyed having done to them. Certainly, I’d loved it when she’d just done it to me. I didn’t expect to like the taste, but I wanted desperately to bring her pleasure. My mouth hovered over her center. “Please,” I said.
“If it’s what you want.”
I didn’t wait for any further invitation. I breathed in her unique scent, nuzzled her clit with my nose and trailed my tongue through her wetness. She tasted like the nectar of the gods. “You taste delicious.”
“You don’t have to.”
I lowered my mouth to her again. I was intoxicated by her. I wanted to explore everywhere. With each stroke of my tongue, I felt her draw closer to orgasm. Her clit swelled in my mouth and I thought I would melt. Her wetness soaked my cheeks and I was elated. I felt her lift off the bed and begin to tremble. I knew a feeling of joy like none I’d ever experienced before. I flicked my tongue over her clit, then dipped deeper into her center. I massaged the sid
es of her clit with my thumbs and drank of her again. As she came hard the sound of her cries echoed in my ears, reigniting a blaze in my core.
With a strength I didn’t believe she could possess, she pulled me up, wrapping her legs tightly around my middle as her body continued to quake. The feel of her hot center against my abdomen was almost more than I could bear. My whole body began to shake.
“You need me again,” she whispered in my ear as I supported myself over her with my arms.
I was helpless to do anything but nod. The feel of her, the taste of her, was the most powerful aphrodisiac imaginable.
She flipped me onto my back, her thigh pressed tightly against my center. She kissed me with purpose, her fervor nearly equal to my own. I felt her hand slide between us. She stroked my center and my body rejoiced.
Her eyes stared at me intently as she reached blindly for something on the nightstand. When she pulled her hand back it was shiny with a wetness that smelled of cinnamon. Had she been expecting me all along?
The thought barely registered, as with a gasp of surprise, I felt her fill me completely. My body exploded again, my core red hot. She was deeply inside me, her fist buried in me, and I couldn’t get enough. I felt the fingers of her other hand beg for entry at my puckered opening, and I quivered. She filled me from every angle. Within seconds, I was beyond thinking, beyond imagining, beyond knowing. I was simply a ball of white-hot sensation, streaking toward a place beyond anything I’d ever dreamed possible.
When I came back to Earth, she was stroking me gently, kissing my chin, nose, forehead and cheeks. I smiled at her and ran my fingers through her hair.
“Okay?” she asked, concerned.
“It was so much more than that,” I whispered, overcome. “I never knew—”
“I’m so glad I could give that to you,” she said, tears forming on her eyelashes.
“Me too,” I answered sleepily, my body still trying to catch up, my mind at peace.
When I woke several hours later, I was wrapped securely in her arms, her breasts pressed against my back, her pelvis hugging my ass. I smiled into my pillow, knowing that for the rest of my life I’d be wet every time I thought of Marina and this night. It would have to be enough.
Out of the Crowd
Kate Sweeney
Okay, that’s the third time she’s walked by and looked at me. Or am I paranoid? I asked myself as I sipped my drink.
Having come out to the bar on a whim on a humid Friday night in August, I stood outside in the beer garden and leaned against the wrought iron railing. Waiting for an open table, I had time to think. I just hate when that happens, because I usually think about Karen.
Karen was like a popcorn kernel. You know that little piece that sticks in the back of your throat? You’re constantly trying to hack it up, but the fricking thing just hangs on?
I laughed as I took a drink. Maybe I’m the one who’s hanging on. I’d gotten so used to blaming Karen for everything, I couldn’t do anything else.
Gee, Monroe, how about dealing with it and letting it go? Now there’s a novel idea.
I took another healthy drink, beating down the inner voice that has nagged at me for nearly a year. Perhaps if I get it drunk, it’ll leave me alone.
With the help of a few dear friends who love to butt in, I realized just what I was doing—allowing myself to fall into the dark abyss of self-doubt and despair, over what? A gorgeous woman who ripped your heart out through your nose? Yep, that would be she.
So I decided enough self-loathing and pity. I tried the dating game. I preferred the self-loathing.
After several months of the painful dinners and clubs, the “I’ll call you. No, I’ll call you,” and waiting around for the phone call that never came, I decided that self-polluting, as the nuns called it, was better. At least I could trust my own hand.
After about thirty minutes wandering down Memory Lane, I was about to give up when two young women vacated the small table by the sidewalk. Scooting over quickly, I commandeered the table, pleased with my stealth move. I hadn’t knocked over a thing.
There she was again, walking across the crowded street. I watched her this time, while she idly browsed the shop windows. I grinned slightly. The shops were closed and the windows dark. I wondered what she was looking at.
Watching her, I realized how different we were in our appearance. I’m on the shorter and stockier side of the scale. She was average height and weight. My hair is shorter and graying. She had shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair. I liked the way it blew in the light summer breeze. She wore jeans and a black tank top. Even from across the street I could see that she filled the top nicely. I chuckled to myself and sang—“Standin on the corner, watching all the girls go by.” That was exactly what I was doing.
The woman intrigued me, not because she was standing out in the crowd, but because I felt she was trying to get my attention. How egotistical is that? Shrugging, I turned back to my cocktail and watched the rest of the crowd on the busy Chicago neighborhood avenue.
The full moon was rising over the buildings now, and I sat there with my feet up and watched it drift across the sky. I realized how much I loved the city and how I didn’t come downtown enough. There was always so much going on—
“Excuse me,” a soft voice called out.
Shaken from my reverie, I looked over and there she was, smiling shyly.
“I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for twenty-three twenty Hood Ave. I was told it was in this neighborhood but . . .”
I blinked several times. Her smile was contagious, and dimples cut lines into her cheeks. It was her soft, hazel eyes, however, that made me sit up and take notice. Her elegantly shaped eyebrows, dark and thick, arched in question.
“Uh . . .” I said stupidly, before quickly collecting my half-wits. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know my way around the neighborhoods. Is someone expecting you? I can ask the bartender. I’m sure she knows. Why don’t you come in and have a drink. We’ll ask her.” I wondered how I suddenly became so chatty. Usually, I never get beyond my initial “uh.” This was an improvement.
“Well, I don’t want to intrude,” she said.
I waved her off and pointed to the entrance.
“I’d welcome the company. Come on around the—”
She quickly hopped the guardrail and stood by my table, sporting a happy grin.
“—or you can just vault right into my life.” I laughed openly at her antics, not understanding how true the statement was to be.
She laughed along with the other patrons and I offered her the chair. I sat opposite her as the waitress came up to the table. She ordered a glass of white wine. I got a refill for my gin and tonic.
I offered my hand. “Danielle Monroe. My friends call me Dani.”
She smiled again and my heart tripped over itself. Good grief. “Genevieve Hastings. My friends call me Genny,” she said and shook my hand. It was warm and soft. Geesh, as if I’d never shook another woman’s hand before!
“That’s a beautiful name. Would you mind if I called you Genevieve?”
She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Our drinks came and I asked the waitress about the address. “It’s about three blocks east. Then take a left. Should be in the middle of the block.” She set the drinks down and left.
“Well, there you go. Are you meeting someone?”
“Yes, my sister. I’m in from Michigan and she phoned saying she was going to be late. I have a few hours to kill, so I thought I’d just have a look around but I forgot to get directions. She just moved here.”
I laughed at my arrogance. Right Dani, she was looking at you!
Genevieve cocked her head to one side, looking at me in confusion.
“Okay, fill me in,” she said and sat back.
Suddenly, I felt like an ass. “I . . . I noticed you walking back and forth and I, well, I thought you were looking at me,” I admitted with a grimace. “I know, pretty arro
gant.”
She grinned a bit and looked at her wineglass. “I was.”
My mouth dropped. I was a bit dumbfounded, which is my natural state. I said the most articulate thing I can remember saying. “Oh.”
C’mon, it’s better than “uh.”
Genevieve chuckled and sipped her wine.
My curiosity got the better of me, as it usually does. “Why?” I asked.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman blush so deeply. It was endearing. I leaned on the table, resting my chin in my palm and waited.
“Well, I don’t know. I suppose I just saw you and thought you looked interesting,” she said as she looked into my eyes. “Now that I see how green your eyes are, I have to change that to captivating,” she finished quietly.
Now I was blushing. Because I didn’t know what to say, I wisely said nothing.
We talked for almost two hours about everything and anything. I told her things I don’t think I ever told anyone. Perhaps it was because she was a total stranger and had nothing invested. Perhaps it was the sincerity sparkling in her hazel eyes. And just perhaps I was tired of being alone and welcomed Genevieve’s interest for however long it might last.
Around midnight, Genevieve glanced at her watch. “Oh, my God! I was supposed to be at my sister’s thirty minutes ago,” she exclaimed and flipped on her cell.
“Cinderella?” I asked with a sad grin.
Genevieve smiled at the comparison. “Sis? Shit, sorry. No, I’m fine. No, I’m right around the block. No, I . . . I’m not alone. I—” She stopped, glanced at me and turned to the street. “I’ll tell you later.” I heard her whisper. “I’ll be there in a few, bye,” she said, then flipped the phone closed. She gave a nervous chuckle. “That was my sister, Marilyn.”
“I gathered,” I said, grinning.
“Well, I should be going,” she said in a hesitant voice.
I was actually sorry the evening was over. I hailed the waitress and signed for the bill.
“Please, let me—” she said, but I shook my head.
“Nope. I had far too much fun. You’re on vacation, of sorts. How would it look in the travel guide if I let a visitor pick up the bill?”
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