by Hazel Hunter
“Oh god,” she gasped, as a tingling sensation erupted at the very tip.
She pushed at his shoulders, trying to gain some distance, pull the tortured nipple from his mouth, but nothing could move him. He gnawed at her, sucked, and licked and, without warning, her hips pulsed hard against his arousal. Finally, his mouth released her.
• • • • •
With one sweeping motion, Mac bent and picked up Isabelle from behind and strode quickly to the bedroom. Her breasts were incredibly sensitive and he might have suckled them forever except for the straining arousal that threatened to burst. Gently, he lowered her to the bed, quickly stripped, and donned a condom.
She’d only just wriggled the dress and panties down to her knees when he climbed on the bed and tugged them the rest of the way down. The heels came off with the clothes and suddenly she was naked, except for the light, green gloves. Her body was no less stunning this time than the last, the pink flush of arousal suffusing her gleaming skin, even in the fading light of evening. The perfect mounds of her breasts rose and fell with her labored breathing. Her tight and flat tummy flexed with each breath and as he watched her hips settle back to the bed, he suddenly envisioned their bodies joined. Although he quickly lay his hips down between her spreading legs, he easily grasped her around the waist and rolled to his back, bringing her on top.
He wanted to watch her.
Although at first she seemed surprised to be there, her gloved hands quickly found his chest and she pushed herself upright. He watched her eyes follow her own hands as they explored his body. Her face registered everything: hunger and delight in equal measures, followed by a sudden, brief sadness as she looked at her gloves. Suddenly, he wished he couldn’t read her so easily and, just as suddenly, he needed to be with her, join with her, and feel himself fill her. His hands moved to her hips, shifting her backward and as she understood what he was doing, she raised up on her knees and over his erection.
He nearly closed his eyes as the moist, petal-soft folds of her entrance settled on his arousal’s engorged tip but, if he did that, he wouldn’t see Isabelle. He held her round and creamy hips in his hands, feeling her slowly descend, watching as she began to sheathe him. Slowly and indescribably sensually, her hips began a small pulse, barely noticeable, a tiny movement, but he felt it, in his hands, in his arousal, moving him with her. As she eased herself down on him, the pulses sped up. He watched as his swollen flesh slid into her, felt the tight tug of her, the warmth of her body surrounding him. His hands wanted to tug her down, feel her completely take him in but the tiny pulses of her hips were still increasing. Her entire body seemed to vibrate, the soft swell of her breasts quivering, until at last she sank completely down on him.
Finally, he thrust upward, his hips lifting her, as her pulsing ground into him. Behind the flat tummy and the tight flesh between his hands, he pushed into the heated core of her. As she rose higher, her eyes closed and her perfect lips formed a soundless ‘oh.’
Long, dark strands of hair drifted over her breasts and he reached up, moved the silky waves behind her shoulders, and gently grasped the sweetly curved mounds. She gasped at his touch, still sensitive from what his mouth had done. He fondled the soft flesh, kneading and stroking in turn, as his hips relaxed and he thrust again–hard. An agonized gasp was forced from her, as he buried himself deep inside. Her receptive body enveloped him and he pushed even higher, into the tight depths. In his palms, her pale pink buds pressed forward like taut pebbles. The pulsing of her hips ratcheted up a notch, as her head tilted backward and her back quickly arched. Her perfect skin shone in the dim light, down the front of her throat, on the silken swell of her breasts, and over her lithe torso.
“Isabelle,” he whispered harshly, as his hips relaxed only to immediately thrust again.
He imbedded himself, plunging into the softness, driving into the pulsating center of her. His hands massaged and rubbed her breasts until the surging peaks could no longer be denied. As his fingers drew steadily toward them, the tiny pulsing of her hips crescendoed. Slowly, he squeezed the swollen beads, as Isabelle’s pulsing erupted into an undulation that made her entire body flex with abandon.
• • • • •
Isabelle sat back at the sudden heat that flooded between her legs just as Mac thrust. She felt her body lifted as the pumping of her hips ramped up. Mac’s bulging shaft drove upward, but only briefly, and then his hips relaxed. His fingers on her nipples were like electricity and he quickly thrust again. The sweet pressure of the penetration welled up inside her but again his hips relaxed. Rigid with desire, the peaks of her breasts throbbed in his grasp, the hard pumping of her hips tugging them. And as Mac pushed into her yet again, his fingers gently rolled the hard nubs.
A deep, shuddering breath escaped her lips and the rhythm of her hips faltered. Suddenly, Mac’s hands were on her hips, and he plunged deep into her just as he pulled her down.
“Oh god,” she moaned.
Her nipples tingled and the place where she ached to be filled was finally full. She took all of him as he pushed up into her, his hands holding her hips firmly in place. Her sweet spot ground on him and her hips tried to take advantage of his thrusting body, involuntarily whipping back and forth as he settled back down. Desperate to stay with him, she widened her knees and leaned back with all her weight, her hands lightly resting on his thighs. But as she came down, he thrust upward even higher, lifting her body, arching her back with a penetration so sharp that air was forced from her lungs.
“Isabelle,” she heard him hiss, as his hips began to buck.
His fingers gripped her as he slammed upward, spearing deeply into her, forcing her to grunt as their bodies collided with a thud. Her abdomen contracted with the penetration and her sweet spot panged with new need. No longer hers to control, her pelvis tried desperately to relieve the heightening tension in her mound before his hips relaxed. But it was too late and again she tried to sink down on him, grind herself to completion. But no sooner had he reached bottom, than his hips shot upward.
The iron hard length of him surged into her very center, stretching her with a powerful fullness. Impaled on his swollen shaft, her knees left the bed. Her lower body erupted in a frenzied writhing but his grip kept her joined to him as he kept pushing. Agonized gasps escaped her and Mac’s breathing had become deep and harsh. There was no relent this time, no relaxation of his hips, only the melding of their bodies, his engorged flesh pushing at the walls of her. Her hands gripped his thighs and for one blinding moment she thought of ripping the gloves off, finally knowing the erotic feeling of his skin under her touch, joining with him completely. But at just the thought of it, her blood-rushing climax burst out of nowhere.
Isabelle held on for dear life as her body exploded in a paroxysm of convulsions. An overwhelming tidal wave of passion spread from their joining, sweeping through her sweet spot, engulfing her in a rush of sensation so intense that she cried out. Mac’s body went rigid beneath her and then his hips flew into overdrive. He thrust repeatedly, moving hard into her, pounding upward, ever higher and ever faster. She dimly heard him grunting as his hammering thrusts compounded the pulsating, vibrating need in her and she suddenly clenched ferociously on him.
Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her thrashing body as Mac suddenly thickened inside her. His stiff flesh jerked one way and then the other as he surged into her, his hips gyrating wildly. Isabelle rode him, moved with him, his body in control and hers at the very edge of oblivion. But as her clench finally released, it was immediately replaced by another. Mac hissed, bucked upward, and his climax burst inside her. His arousal all but vibrated, throbbing over and over, rippling along the entire length of his shaft. He groaned in blissful agony as she rode new waves of passion and let them sweep her over the edge. Her abdomen convulsed around him, the contraction taking her breath away, as the tension that had coiled finally snapped.
Rhythmic clenching took over, as her body spent itself in
another rush of ecstasy. Her hips moved with him, pressing down to meet his every upward thrust. The contractions milked him, trying to drain him, as she savored the hard flesh still jerking inside. He grunted in sharp bursts until, finally, her convulsions ebbed.
Mac’s hips pulsed under her with erratic but smaller thrusts, though they still lifted her body. Suddenly lightheaded, she felt herself sway but his hands were quickly at her back, pulling her toward him.
Though her small contractions still tightened around him, the climax had peaked and Isabelle lay with relief on his muscled chest. His skin was hot against her cheek and his breathing heavy and labored. Strong arms wound around her and again her body rode his as his chest rose and fell, her head resting near his shoulder. Both gasping for air, their lower bodies shuddered in the last throes of completion until, eventually, they both lay still.
Complete and utter relief flowed over Isabelle, her body limp, her mind a blissful blank. Beneath her, Mac exhaled in a long ragged breath. His hands drifted up and down her spine, lightly stroking her back. But there was little time to think about the tender caress as a deep black oblivion began to take over. With the very last of her energy, she nuzzled against his throat and was asleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Not only was there the smell of brewing coffee but that had to be toast and eggs.
God, that smells good.
Isabelle rolled over in the sheets, inhaling deeply and stretching. Suddenly, though, she sat bolt upright. Had Mac handled the brewer, the toaster, the frying pan and, oh no, what about the refrigerator? It’d taken her years to work herself into a situation where she didn’t need to wear gloves at home.
As she leapt from the bed, she dragged the sheet with her and wrapped herself in it as she flew through the door and down the short corridor, past the bathroom.
“Mac!” she said, but stopped dead center at the kitchen door.
He was standing in his briefs and wearing a pair of latex gloves. It’d have been almost comical if he hadn’t been so incredibly male, his powerful body virtually on display. He had just finished spooning scrambled eggs onto two plates.
“Good morning,” he said, setting down the pan as he immediately strode over to her. “If I’d known coffee and eggs could get you to wear just a sheet, I’d have cooked sooner.” He wrapped his giant arms around her and lightly kissed her.
“You amaze me,” she said, laughing a little.
“And you haven’t even tried the eggs yet,” he said, smiling with her.
This was something she could easily get used to.
Or was it?
As her own smile faded, so did his.
“When do you have to leave?” she said, staring at his broad chest.
“Not for a few days,” he said quietly and paused. “You know,” he said. “Dumfries is pretty nice this time of year.”
“Dumfries?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Dumfries, Virginia, near Quantico,” he said. “Where I live.”
“You live in Virginia?” she said, surprised.
He laughed.
“Where did you think I lived?”
She flashed back to her accidental reading of him. Though she didn’t recall anything specific, somehow she vaguely sensed a rural farm town.
“Nowhere,” she answered, her voice a little strained and hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, like a wandering gypsy?” he said, squeezing her a bit. “Sometimes it seems like that.” Then it was his turn to get serious. “But, really, Virginia is great in the spring and I thought–”
“I’d love to visit,” she said, quickly.
“Great,” he said, beaming down at her. “And I think I’ll be able to swing some trips to LA seeing as how I’ve got an ‘in’ with the head guy here.”
They both laughed a little and gradually became quiet.
“I’m not letting you go, Isabelle,” he said, looking into her eyes. Then he glanced down at the bed linen. “Not unless you insist on holding that sheet.”
She immediately let it go and it settled to the floor around her feet.
He took off the latex gloves, tossed them on top of the sheet, and in one smooth movement, he stooped and picked her up.
“I hope you don’t mind cold coffee,” he said, heading to the bedroom.
“Coffee?” she said as he turned sideways in the narrow corridor and she lay her head on his shoulder. “I adore cold coffee.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Prentiss squirted the last of the lighter fluid into the metal trash bin and tossed the empty can down the alley. Then, he took out a matchbook, struck one, and tossed it in.
This was a necessary part of the process but it wasn’t just about burning the clothes, wig, and mustache. It was a cleansing–a leaving behind of the old persona and the beginning of a new one. He watched the priestly collar blacken and shrivel. The wig and mustache more melted than burned. The glasses might deform but probably not melt. It didn’t matter. No one was looking for makeup and costumes.
He watched the flames for a while. It’d all been too perfect this time. Except for the lack of a kill. He jammed his hands into his pants pockets. Don’t think about it. Think about what had gone right. Because a lot had gone very right this time. First, he’d almost convinced himself that he was actually some type of religious zealot. Second, finding the unused storage room in the church basement had really added more fuel to the dramatic fire. And, third, the psychic on television–he took a deep breath and raised up on the balls of his feet–what a piece of good luck that had been. He’d heard it so many times and yet he’d never believed it. So much in this business depended on dumb luck. No amount of prodigious talent was going to get you anywhere until someone noticed you. Well they had certainly noticed this time. He grinned. And they’d notice the next time too.
Hands still in pockets, Prentiss walked up the alley with a bounce in his step. Yes, Los Angeles was really starting to feel like home. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, he quickly blended with the crowd, no one particularly noticing him, some of them looking down at the stars in the Walk of Fame.
He smiled to himself.
Though he might be an out-of-work actor now, someday he’d have a star there too.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
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Copyright © 2013 Hazel Hunter
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