She touched his cheek, gently enough not to wake him, and slipped out of bed. Nico lived in an old stone country house in France’s wine country. What it lacked in modern conveniences it made up for in beauty and charm—usually. But tell that to her ice-cube toes as she crept downstairs to make tea. In spring, summer, and autumn, she slept naked or in lingerie or in panties and T-shirts designed to look best on the floor by the bed. In winter, she slept in a Victorian housewife’s white flannel gown, wool socks, and knitted shawls. She heated up the teakettle and when it was ready, poured the boiling water into a large earthenware mug. Nora didn’t really want the tea—she wanted the heat. Cradling the mug in her hands, she climbed up the steep wooden stairs to the bedroom.
Our bedroom, Nora corrected herself. Nico had called it that last night. “Do you want me to do anything to our bedroom before you come back?” He’d been asking if she wanted him to paint or move the furniture, buy a larger bed or make room for her things in his closet. But she couldn’t answer because the “our” had taken all her words away. She’d merely shaken her head to say no and later told him the bedroom, with its big oak bed and ancient quilts, was parfait. Their bedroom. “Our” bedroom. She’d shared her bed before. Many, many times. But she’d never shared a bedroom. His bedroom. Her bedroom. Only with Nico had a room in a house ever been “ours.”
And so it was with a smile on her face that she stepped back into their bedroom, holding the mug of hot tea in her hands. When her palms were sufficiently heated, she set the mug aside and knelt on the floor by the bed like a child saying her bedtime prayers. She put her hot hands on Nico’s ice-cold face—one on his forehead, the other on his cheek, and let the warmth and the tender touch wake him gently.
As she waited for his eyes to open, she studied him in the waning moonlight. His skin was brown, his hair was black, and his eyes she called “celadon,” though she wasn’t sure a word existed to perfectly describe that green glassy color. When Nico woke at last, he scolded her the way a serious child scolds a frivolous adult.
“What are you doing up?” he demanded. “You’ll freeze. Get back in bed.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, a tease since she owned him and not the other way around. He held up the blankets—a flannel sheet, a fleece comforter, a double-wedding-ring quilt as old as the house—and she slid in next to him. He slept naked, of course. On her orders.
He pulled her close and murmured “How long?” into her ear.
“I leave in two hours,” she said. All their time was measured backward from the moment she had to leave to the present moment.
“What do we do until then?” he asked though he already knew the answer.
“I want you inside me,” she said.
He lifted her nightgown to her hips. Nico loved her nightgowns, the more prim and prissy the better. He loved having something to push up, to lift, to slide a hand under, to unbutton, to untie, to open, to grip with rough fingers, to pull off over her head and toss across the room. He didn’t just love to see her, he’d said of her schoolmarm nighttime attire. He loved unveiling her. He loved to work for her. He loved the tease.
He parted her legs with his hand and cupped her vulva, pressing his palm into her clitoris as his mouth found her mouth.
Her brat knew how to kiss. All his lovers had been older women—a fetish, but a good one in her opinion. They’d taught him well. He kissed like fire and she pushed her hips into his hand as he pressed his tongue past her lips. She forgot all about the frost on the window and the icy wood floors and the snow on the vines. Outside the house it was January. In the bed it was summer. The blankets were a tropical island. The sheets lay atop the surface of the sun. Nico slid on top of her and pushed his cock against the entrance of her vagina. She lifted her hips, tilting them at the precise angle necessary to take every inch of him all the way into her. He wrapped his arms around her lower back and held her in place, in that precise place, and entered her straight and true, right down the plumb line.
“Ahh…” he breathed, the exact sound she made when she’d wrapped her cold hands around the hot tea mug.
“Don’t come,” she said, hotly breathing the order into his ear. He laughed softly. “Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t come.”
“I can last longer than ten seconds inside of you.” He grinned down at her, a grin that said, Silly little woman.
“I mean, don’t come at all. Not until I tell you.” “When?” he asked.
“If,” she said. “Not when.”
The grin was gone. His grin, not hers. Hers remained in place. He didn’t argue with her about the “if.” Or complain. Points to Nico. Theirs was a new love, less than a year old, and that baby love was still learning how to walk and say its first words. Nico had dated older women before, but she was his first Dominant, his first owner, and learning how to submit to a woman had been a challenge. But he had the one trait all teachers seek in a prize pupil—he loved to learn.
“If,” he said and nodded, not in agreement but comprehension.
“Get on with it,” she said, waving her hand. “Fuck me. I didn’t put your cock in me for my health.”
He laughed again and started to move in her. For a few minutes they did nothing but breathe and fuck. Nico could fuck as well as he could kiss. He thrust deep and slow into her, dragging it out, always at the necessary angle so that the shaft of his cock grazed her clitoris going in, grazed it again coming out. He knew how to fuck her long and hard without their bodies ever separating. When he went in, he stayed in.
Nora closed her eyes and clung to his upper arms as she worked herself up and down on his cock. Her heels dug deep into the soft mattress as she pushed up, up, up and against him. Up, up, up, helping him to fuck her deeper, rougher. Up, up, up—she could hear him when he went into her. She heard his cock moving inside her wetness.
“Shit,” he said, but in French—” merde.” He dropped his head onto her shoulder. “I have to stop for a second.”
“You can,” she said. “But stay inside me.”
He stayed embedded in her pussy, but he rolled them onto their sides to ease the pressure. He panted and she stroked his chest with her fingernails. Poor boy, she thought but did not say. Poor mistreated boy.
“You’re so wet,” he said, his hand in her hair. “It’s killing me. I want to die in you.”
Ah, the French. La petite mort. The little death. The orgasm.
“And I want you to live in me. And I own you ergo…I win.”
“Don’t you want my come?” he asked, pouting.
“I always want your come,” she said. “I want it on my breasts and rubbed into my skin. I want it on my stomach and on my back. And sometimes I want it in my mouth so I can swallow it. And I want it deep in my pussy. Sometimes in my ass. I always want it. Every drop of it in—”
He groaned and buried his head against her chest. His little gambit had backfired on him. If he’d thought he could cool the moment, he was wrong. She cackled like supervillain, in a cartoon.
“You must hate me,” he said.
“Did you know a man’s sperm can live inside a uterus for a couple of days?” she asked. “Sometimes when you’re out of the house working and I’m alone in here, maybe reading by the fireplace, I think about how your sperm is still inside me hours and hours after we last had sex. And it makes me very happy to know it’s inside me.”
He groaned again until he laughed. “Did you insult a witch? Is that what happened to you? You insulted a witch and she stole your heart?”
“Two days from now, I’ll be all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, lying in my bed in my house in New Orleans, and your sperm will still be inside me.”
“If you let me come,” he said. “Right,” she said. “If.”
“And if I come before you tell me I can?” he asked. “You wouldn’t,” she said as she stroked his sweat-dampened hair.
“No, I wouldn’t.” He met her eyes and she saw the determination in them, the determination to pleas
“Good boy,” she said.
He raised his fingers to the buttons at her throat. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked as he slowly opened the buttons of her prim nightgown.
“If I’m going to be tortured,” he said, “I want to be tortured with your nipples in my mouth.”
Fair point. She allowed him to undo her buttons, to pull the gown off her shoulders, to bare her breasts to him. He took her left breast in hand, cupped it, and lifted it. Nora sighed with pleasure as he suckled her. She ran her fingers through his thick, wavy hair and pressed her hips into his. On their sides and face-to-face, they slowly fucked each other as Nico kissed her breasts.
“You know why I torture you like this?” she asked. He shook his head but didn’t answer. His mouth was full of her.
“Because I’m in love with you, brat,” she said. He smiled and kept right on suckling. “There’s a saying— you always hurt the one you love. It’s especially true for sadists. I never grew past the stage where girls kick the boys they have crushes on.”
“You have a crush on me?” he asked, pausing between swirling licks of his tongue around her nipple.
“Your cock’s inside me. Is that really a surprise?”
“It never hurts to hear,” he said and returned to sucking her nipples.
“Yes, I have a crush on you, you twerp.”
“What’s a twerp?” he asked. They were always stumbling across English words he didn’t know.
“You,” she said. “You’re a twerp.” “I thought I was a brat?” he asked. “That, too.”
“I don’t think I’m either,” he said, chin up, defiant. “What are you then?” she asked.
“A gentleman,” he said. “Ladies first. Men after.” “Or never,” she said, wagging her eyebrows at him.
Without warning him first—she was no lady—Nora rolled Nico onto his back and straddled him, hands on his chest to steady herself.
Nico groaned loudly as she moved her hips on his cock.
“Good?” she asked. “You’re evil,” he said.
“You’re just figuring that out?”
She pulled off the gown and balled it up, tossing it over her head like a basketball player performing a trick shot.
“I’m going to ride your cock for…” She pretended to check her watch. “A long time.”
“Can I come?”
“Don’t come. Don’t come. Oh, and do not come.” Nico nodded, then took a shallow breath. He looked like a man being led toward the firing squad.
Nora would have felt sorry for him if she hadn’t been so turned on.
She rocked her hips and his cock shifted inside her. Nico’s hands lay on her upper thighs but as she pushed against him, his fingers tightened their grip on her. Poor boy. Poor sweet boy.
Nora stroked his chest while she fucked him from on top. Rubbed his chest and scored it with her fingernails. He wasn’t much of a masochist—not yet, anyway—but he did love being scratched. Red fingernail marks—claw marks—made him feel wanted, he’d said. If she left red marks on his stomach or sides or back, he’d lift his shirt every time he went to the bathroom to see the marks in the mirror.
She rode his cock hard as his grip on her thighs tightened. Nora gazed at him as she rode him…his fingers digging deep into her skin, his head on the pillow, then head back and eyes closed, those perfect sculpted lips of his slightly parted as he panted, panted like a man in pain. Ah, she’d think of this sight on the plane.
“Why are your eyes closed?” she asked.
“I’m thinking of the last time I had the stomach flu,” he said. “It’s helping.” “Was it bad?”
“It wasn’t as much fun as you riding my cock.” “Well,” she said, “what is?”
He opened his eyes and laced his fingers behind the back of his head.
“Nothing,” he said, but in French. “Rien.”
Nora leaned in and kissed his lovely mouth that said such lovely words in such a lovely language. He wrapped her in his arms and held her close.
Slowly she rolled her hips in a tight spiral, clenching her inner muscles around his cock.
“Don’t come,” she said. “Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t come.”
“Don’t go,” he said. “Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.” Nora stopped moving. She pulled back tears in her eyes.
“I have to go,” she said.
“I know,” he said. He gathered her long black hair in his hands, held it at the nape of her neck, and kissed her throat. “But I had to try.”
“You know I can’t go unless you let me,” she said. “You think I wouldn’t drive you to the airport?” “You know what I mean.”
“So…” He wagged his finger at her. “You’re in charge of my coming,” he said. “And I’m charge of your going?”
“Only fair, right?”
“I might not let you go,” he said.
“Well, I might not let you come, either.”
“I want you to stay more than I want to come,” he said. “More than I want a lot of things.”
Nora took his hands in hers and kissed his workscarred knuckles. “Me too,” she said.
Then Nora slid off of him, separating their bodies. “What?” he asked, sitting up on his elbows. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, smiling at him. “Let’s take a long hot bath together before we have to leave for the airport.”
She ran their bath and they held each other in the steaming water, kissing and touching and scrubbing and laughing. After breakfast, they piled her luggage into his Land Rover and headed to the airport.
He drove. She sat in the passenger seat. He kept his hands on the wheel. She kept her hand on his knee. They didn’t speak for the first fifteen minutes. They almost never chatted when he drove her to the airport to leave him. Nonstop talk on the way to his house. Silence on the drive away. If they hadn’t said it by the time she left, it wasn’t worth saying.
“I didn’t mean to kill your boner,” Nico finally said as they neared the turnoff to the airport.
“I have got to stop teaching you English phrases and not telling you what they mean,” she said, shaking her head.
“I know what it means. I meant, you know, what’s it called—lady boner?” he asked.
“I never dreamed ‘lady boner’ would sound so good in a French accent. But I should have.”
Nico turned his head quickly to look at her before putting his eyes back on the road where they belonged. “I love you,” she said. “I shouldn’t but I do. You’re eleven years younger than I am, and you live across the fucking ocean.”
“What were you thinking?” he asked, shaking his head in playful mockery.
“I wanted to play with you this morning because it was either laugh or cry. And then you had to go and be wonderful and sweet.” She sighed heavily. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I told you, I’m a gentleman. Even when we’re being tortured, we treat our ladies right.”
She squeezed his knee. He lifted her hand off his leg and raised it to his lips. One kiss. Enough said. They drove the rest of the way to the airport in tender silence, Nora’s hand on Nico’s knee, Nico’s hand on her hand.
One hand on the wheel.
They arrived at the airport and Nico started to park in the closest spot.
“Not here,” Nora said. She scanned the parking lot, saw a large paneled van. “Next to that one.”
He raised his eyebrow but did as told. The boy was learning.
He parked, turned off the engine. “Leave it on,” Nora said.
Then he knew what was happening. Nora glanced out the window. No one around.
“Do gentlemen fuck their ladies in backseats of Land Rovers in airport parking lots?” Nora asked. “This gentleman does.”
In seconds they were on the bench seat and tearing into each other.
Nora yanked Nico’s thick leather jacket off and tossed it into the front seat. He reached under her tight black turtleneck sweater and unhooked her bra. He yanked her skirt up. She hadn’t bothered with panties, only stockings and garters since she knew this would happen. Of course it would happen. If she wanted something to happen, it would happen.
Lying on her back in the cramped backseat, she reached for his belt, his jeans button, the zipper. He was so hard his cock popped out when she’d unzipped him. He yanked her skirt up and pushed her thighs wide. She raised her hips in invitation. With one hand he spread her vulva open at the seam. With his other hand he positioned his cock at the hole. With a rough thrust he was in her and after that there was no talking, no kissing, no sweetness, no love.
Only fucking.
He pushed her sweater and bra up to her neck as he rode her hard into the worn leather of the seat. The cock in her was brutal. He was pistoning into her, vicious as a jackhammer. She was barely aware of him kissing her nipples or pinching them or sucking them. There was only the thick organ pounding into her, almost angrily, and the little explosions in her throbbing clitoris, the contractions of her vagina as he speared it.
She slid her hands into his jeans, cupped his perfect twenty-six-year-old ass in her hands and felt as his muscles tightened to iron bands as he rutted on her. She dug her hands into his flesh, goading him on with quiet commands—“Harder, harder . . . ” It didn’t seem possible he could fuck her any harder, but they found a way. He grabbed her leg, pushed it so wide she had to wrap her knee around the front seat. She was so open he could have fisted her to the wrist if she’d wanted him to. And she did want him to so she told him to…
Nico’s chest heaved at the order. He didn’t answer, just dug his teeth into the strap of his watchband on his right wrist and wrenched it off.
“That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Nora said, panting, now so wet he could have put his arm in her up to his elbow.
He grinned. She might be his Dominant, but in moments like this, he owned her.
“A gentleman removes his watch first,” he said as he dragged her by the hips closer to him.
Nico brought his fingers together and pushed the tips into her vagina. The hole widened as he pressed in, and her inner muscles spread as he pushed. Nora writhed on the seat as he opened her, gasping and groaning. She grabbed the headrest of the driver’s seat with one hand and the door handle behind her with the other to steady herself as he twisted and turned his fingers…past the knuckles, the palm, finally the wrist.
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