The Naughty Collection

by Ruby City Books

  He folded the towel down another few inches and ran his thumbs down either side of my spine. This motion had exposed the sides of my breasts, and I moved my arms slightly further above my head, hoping he would graze them. He seemed aware of my action, but kept his hands firmly on my back, working the muscle with smooth, flowing strokes. His touch was both pleasurable and painful; when he found a spot that made me gasp he went over and over it again, until the muscle was forced to surrender to his fingers.

  A great wave of relaxation washed over me. If I considered it at all, I would usually feel that I lived inside my head, and my body was simply something that moved it around. But under Alex’s touch, I began to feel my whole body connecting to itself, a consciousness of my skin, muscles, and bones, a kind of pure animal happiness that filled me with joy. He must have sensed this, because he whispered, “There is great pleasure in having a body.” He folded the towel down another two inches so that the base of my spine was exposed, and began to move the flesh over the bone with the flat of his palm. I let out a small mew of enjoyment. It felt as if all the bones in my pelvis were opening up, fitting into their proper place with a smooth click.

  I wondered how much further down he would go. Another inch would expose my buttocks and the thought of his hands stroking over those curves sent a surge of excitement through me. But he stopped and I could hear him moving away to the bottom of the bed. Then he picked up my right foot, bending my leg gently at the knee. Cupping it firmly in both hands, he ran his thumbs up the sole of my foot, until he reached a point just under the ball of the big toe and pressed firmly into the muscle.

  I was unable to stop myself from moaning. The sensation was exquisite and overwhelming. It felt as if a wave of joy was running up from my foot directly to the centre of my chest. There is great pleasure in having a body. Usually my feet were ticklish, but his touch was so assured and firm that I stayed completely relaxed.

  “They say,” he said quietly. “That the right foot represents the body, the left the emotions.”

  He gently replaced my right foot on the bed and ran his hands briefly over my ankle, squeezing the tendon at the back. Then he picked up my left foot. This time it was not pleasure that ran through me, but an extraordinary wave of sadness rising like a bubble to my throat. To my horror, I found tears welling in my eyes, and struggled to control them.

  “It is alright,” he said reassuringly. “Do not fight it.”

  I blinked and allowed the tears to run out of my eyes and soak into the duvet beneath me. As soon as I did so, the sadness passed, as if it was a gust of wind that had blown over me and left me shaken but calm again. Alex replaced my left foot.

  “Turn over.”

  He skilfully assisted me with the towel, allowing me to move without exposing my crotch, although he did not pull the towel up to cover my breasts. He bent over me, his face full of an extraordinary tenderness, and ran his hands gently down my shoulders. I felt completely at ease, happy to look at his eyes, my face feeling as if it had opened like a flower. He stroked in warm movements down over my breasts; an intimate and loving touch, firmly massaging the muscles that supported them. He ran his hands over my belly, then shifted his position so that he was standing again at the foot of the bed. He put his hands on my ankles and slid my legs apart, then edged them up, running his thumbs on the inside of my calves to my knees. With an almost clinical precision, he took the towel away from my loins, and looked down at me, now completely naked on the bed.

  “Please move down until your feet are flat on the floor.”

  I wriggled down the bed to obey. He moved to the head and picked up a pillow, assisting me to sit up slightly so that my head could be supported. He then picked up the bottle of oil and carefully anointed both hands, and knelt down on the floor between my legs.

  I closed my eyes. He put his warm palms on the inside of my thighs, and began to stroke the skin in firm circles. He edged his thumbs along the crease where my pussy began, and then over the mound at the top, just above where my pubic hair started. He allowed me to get used to his touch for a few minutes, then put the flats of his fingers onto soft mound of flesh and began gently to massage it. The movement made my clitoris tingle and I could feel it being stimulated by the soft folds around it. Carefully avoiding the spot itself, he began to work on my labia, pinching them gently between his thumb and the side of his forefinger. Warm ripples of pleasure spread out from his hands, blooming through my belly and down into my hands and feet. He moved his thumbs further down, and started to work more firmly around the opening of my pussy, then further down still to the place where the muscles of my buttocks joined my hips.

  Although his hands were smooth with oil, I could also feel the gathering moisture on the inside of my lips. He ran his thumbs back up, stroking in closer to the centre, just edging onto the soft, hairless inside of my labia. He moved both thumbs apart to skirt round my clitoris, pressing firmly enough now to use the flesh on either side to grip it and move it gently back and forth. I moaned in approval and could not stop myself from rocking my hips into the mattress.

  He put the heel of his hand against my entrance, pushing upwards so that the flesh was pressed against my pubic bone and laid the top of his palm over my clitoris, moving in slow circles. Then he slowly stroked downwards, and softly put his lips against my clitoris in a kiss.

  He kissed around the whole of my labia, then gradually introduced his tongue; tasting me, pressing its flattened length against me. I could feel my orgasm building and tightened my internal muscles. He stopped his lazy circles around my clit and moved down to the entrance of my pussy, nuzzling his lips into me. When I had relaxed again, he slid back up to my clitoris and resumed. I could feel the pleasure rippling through me, building to its inevitable peak. Again, he stopped, lifted his head, and kissed around the tops of my thighs. This time, before he recommenced, he slid a single finger inside my pussy and used it to massage the walls of my vagina. Then he dipped his head and kissed my clit again, this time even more lightly and tantalisingly.

  I tried to control my sighs so that he would not realise how close I was until it was too late — I didn’t want him to win this game of tease and deny. But now with his finger my pussy, he could feel the building shudders inside me and was able to stop again at the crucial moment. This time, before resuming, he slid a second finger in to join the first.

  By now my breathing was ragged, and I was wriggling on the bed frantically. How long would he keep this up for?

  “I want to come,” I whispered.

  “I know you do.” He moved his fingers inside me. “I can feel how ready you are. But not yet.”

  “When?”

  “When you ask me nicely.” He dipped his head again and ran the tip of his tongue up one side of my clitoris. This time he was firmer and I tried to stop myself from moaning. Did I really have to ask him nicely? I felt that my pussy was already asking, he could clearly feel how aroused and engorged it had become.

  Alex put the flat of his tongue against my clitoris and moved in faster circles. It took only a few seconds for me to give in.

  “Please let me come.”

  He removed his tongue completely, and gently blew cold air directly onto the throbbing head of my clit.

  “Please,” I begged. “Please, let me come.”

  He stroked his closed lips up my labia again.

  “You’ll need to ask more nicely than that,” he murmured into them.

  “Please,” I had abandoned all pretence and was begging desperately. “I need you to make me come. I’ll do anything. May I please come now —Alex?”

  He suddenly plunged his fingers deeper and thrust his face against me. His hand curled upwards, pressing my clit between tongue and fingers from the inside and out. As he worked it round and round, my orgasm exploded inside me, sweeping up from my belly to make my head swim. I let out a deep, animal groan that seemed to come from the depths of my soul. As the waves of pleasure broke, I felt transfigured, ra
ised up, as if I was the figurehead on the prow of a ship, cutting through the storm and lightening that crashed around me.

  Gradually the feelings ebbed, and I found myself lying back in my body, my breathing shallow, my skin damp. Alex gently withdrew his fingers from my sensitive pussy; even that small movement making me jump. He lay down beside me, and folded the duvet over both of us, putting an arm carefully around me and kissing the side of my neck. I was unable to move and lay there, feeling his heart beating against my shoulder and passively submitting to his tender caresses. When my breathing had steadied, I turned my head to look at him. Our faces were a few inches apart, and he was looking straight into my eyes. He moved slightly towards me then pressed his lips to mine, a soft, loving, utterly relaxed moment. I realised this was the first time we had kissed. I could still taste my pussy faintly on his lips. I shifted slightly so that we were facing each other and tucked one arm under my head.

  “That was nice,” I giggled slightly. “It must be your turn now.”

  He touched the tip of my nose with his finger and then kissed it lightly. “That was my turn,” he said. “When you’re ready, I’ll go and make you lunch.”

  I snuggled closer to him and he rubbed my back with his hand. “Why are you so perfect?” I asked.

  It was a joke, but Alex looked for a moment as if a shutter had come down behind his eyes.

  “I’m not perfect,” he said shortly.

  “I suppose not. You did leave me standing on the Northern Line with my knickers round my ankles.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I am so sorry about that. I didn’t want to leave. But I had to.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “Because —” He seemed to be wrestling with something. “I’ll tell you another time,” he said finally.

  “Mysterious.” I was curious, but didn’t want to break the intimacy between us. My body felt strong and relaxed, as if every part was humming, whirring, working correctly like a perfectly balanced machine. I felt like I could run over mountains, or soar through the air.

  “In fact,” I went on, “You are a very mysterious man. A respectful gentleman today, cooking me lunch and servicing my every need, but then last night, so aggressive and demanding. Just what every woman wants.”

  “Is it?” He looked into my face again, a direct, searching gaze. His eyes had little flecks of gold in them and in this light his iris was a deep, honey brown.

  “I don’t know about every woman. It’s what I want.”

  He sighed again. “Well, then, I think you must be quite unusual yourself.” He put his hand onto the curve of my waist and ran it down over my naked hip pensively. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, laid my hand over his heart, and stirred the hair with my fingers. His body hair was silky and golden where the light hit it; not a thick, coarse, profusion of curls, but a sleek pelt that covered his chest , tapering to a line over his flat, muscular belly that vanished into the waistband of his trousers. I rested my face against his shoulder, and he lay back and pulled me onto his chest, one arm around my shoulders. I breathed in the scent of his neck. He was not wearing any cologne and I could smell his warm skin against me.

  I could not remember ever feeling so relaxed after a one night stand. Although, I corrected myself, this didn’t really count; it was still the afternoon and he hadn’t even removed his trousers. Usually it would be awkward, or drunken, or a disappointment, each partner going through the mechanics of each other’s genitals, a set menu of reciprocal acts. But with Alex I felt that we had connected.

  I shifted my position slightly so I could look up at his profile, lying on the pillow above me. His eyes were closed and the arm around my shoulders sometimes lazily stroked my arm. He also seemed relaxed, almost to the point of falling asleep. Was this just part of his repertoire, I wondered. Did he do this with all the women he slept with, and were the loving caresses afterwards just the final step?

  It wasn’t like me to feel so vulnerable after sex. It’s just the hormones, I told myself. Your body’s produced gallons of oxytocin and you’re going to feel all snuggly and loving for a bit. But it isn’t real. I didn’t want to be one of those women, who nagged and pushed for commitment after the first time with someone new.

  “Alex?”

  He opened one eye and looked at me. “Yes, my love?”

  My love. He said this so casually, and my heart skipped a beat. Too casual for him to mean it. It must be what he calls every woman.

  “I was just thinking — we could go out tonight? Maybe the cinema or a restaurant?”

  “I’m afraid I have plans,” he said this with finality.

  I was aware I was being irrational, but something about his tone reminded me of the previous night on the train. I have to go now. Had his plan just been to invite me round for lunch, go down on me and then boot me out when he chose?

  “What plans?”

  He squinted down at me. “Just plans.”

  “Alex, are you married?” I sat up, a sudden, horrible suspicion dawning on me.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Prove it.”

  “How can I prove I’m not married?” He sat up as well and looked into my eyes. “Believe me. I promise I’m not married.”

  “So why did you suddenly have to go last night? Did you have to get back for bedtime? Oh god, you’ve got kids.” I felt suddenly foolish, lying there completely naked. I struggled out from under the duvet and began to pull on my clothes.

  “Kay, please,” he came towards me, and took the dress out of my hands. “I’m not married and I don’t have children.”

  “But you can only see me during the day?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  Again, he teetered on the verge of saying something, then sat down on the edge of the bed and put his hands to his temples, his face looking down at the floor.

  “Right, that’s it. I’m going. I’m not a complete idiot.” I had my underwear back on, and pulled my dress over my head.

  “Kay, please don’t go.” He sounded desperate.

  “Thanks for the offer of lunch, but I’ve just remembered that I’ve got plans.”

  “Wait.” He stood up and looked at me imploringly. “Please. You can’t just leave — I really like you.”

  I hesitated.

  “Fine. Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

  My curiosity got the better of me, and I sat down on the bed, as far away from him as possible.

  “I’m — I have a condition.”

  “You’re sick?” I felt worried. Was that why he had stayed completely clothed? What was wrong with him?

  “No, I’m not ill. I have — lycanthropy.”

  “Lycanthropy?”

  “I’m a werewolf.”

  I began to laugh. “You think you’re a werewolf? Really?”

  “I don’t think I’m one. I am one. The closer we get to the full moon, the more completely I change every night. The moon is three days from full, and I can be quite dangerous after dark. That’s why I had to get off the train. I meant to leave the restaurant sooner, but the time with you went by so quickly, I kept thinking just five more minutes. I didn’t want to leave you.”

  He looked at me, his golden eyes full of desperation. I don’t think he’s lying to me, I thought suddenly. I think he’s telling the truth. I thought of how altered he had seemed on the train, his face gaunter, the hair on his arms more pronounced.

  “So what happens to you? Do you just — change into a wolf?”

  “It depends on the moon. I mostly retain my human shape, but I’m altered — stronger, wilder, more wolflike most of the month. But at the full moon, I change almost entirely.”

  “Into what?”

  “I’m an animal. Colours are sharper, smells stronger, my ears prick up at the slightest sound.”

  “But you look the same?” I was struggling to understand what he was saying.

  “No.” He got up and stood at the window, his back to me
. “I grow hair all over my body, my arms are longer, my body becomes much more powerful, and my face — “ He stopped.

  “What happens to your face?”

  “It’s frightening. I don’t like to think about it.”

  He seemed so despondent that I could hardly bear it. I went over to him, and touched my hand to his elbow. He turned around and wrapped me in his arms, holding me so tightly I gasped.

  “I’m so sorry,” he muttered into my hair. “I didn’t want to draw you into this. When I first saw you, I knew I ought to leave you alone. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I convinced myself that somehow it would be fine, that we could go out and you would never have to know. But now, I can’t bear to think of losing you.”

  “You aren’t going to lose me.” The words were out without thinking about them, but as soon as I said them, I knew they were true. “Whatever it is, we can make it OK.”

  He bent his head and kissed me fiercely. I ran my hands up his face and tangled them in his silky hair. When we broke apart, I said breathlessly, “So can I stay tonight?”

  “It’s too dangerous. I need to head out to the country for the next few days anyway. I have a place I like to go to. I need to be somewhere I can run, somewhere I can smell the earth. I need to be away from people.”

  “Would you — hurt them?”

  “I don’t think so. I never have. But I can’t risk being seen. People would be afraid; they’d think something had escaped from the zoo.” He gave a rueful chuckle.

  “A wild thing out of the wild woods.” I kissed him again. “When will you be back?”

  “I’ll come home on Tuesday. And I’ll call you. I’ll call you every minute of the day and you won’t be able to get rid of me.” He kissed me again.

  “And in the meantime, we still have a few hours before sunset today,” I said, sliding a hand around his waist.

  “I don’t want you to rush into anything. You need to think about what you’re taking on. If, on Tuesday, you’ve decided that I’m crazy, or that you want a normal boyfriend, I will understand, I promise.”