by Josee Renard
“Three. The witches want you here and I could use the help. Romance isn’t my thing. You can give me a woman’s perspective.”
Her perspective was all about Jamieson Smith. Being in the same room as him, sitting so close to him, was driving her wild. She had to keep her hands clasped tight, otherwise they’d be reaching for him. She wouldn’t be able to resist him for long.
“How long is this going to take? Do I need to work here or can I take stuff back to my place?”
* * * * *
If she were any other woman, Jamieson would have encouraged her to work remotely, but something about Connie Stanton was different. He wanted her here, in his space, where he could see her. Where he could inhale and get a noseful of that wonderful aroma—it reminded him of cinnamon—that surrounded her. Where he could, with a little shift, touch her.
Where he could taste her and see if that warm golden skin tasted like cinnamon to match her scent.
He wanted to lick every single inch of her body, starting with the soft flesh exposed in the vee of her shirt.
Shit. She worked for him. Okay, she only sort of worked for him, he could get around that, but he knew right away that she’d never follow his rules, knew he wouldn’t be able to follow his rules if he once touched her.
The rules that had kept him single and unattached all these years, which were a staple of his life, were on the verge of being broken. And he couldn’t wait.
He leaned in closer to her, his eyes locked on hers, waiting for a reaction. Her pupils dilated and he could hear her breathing quicken. Ah, he thought. She’s got the same problem I have.
“We need to get this out of the way,” Jamieson whispered, his mouth right next to her ear. “I can’t work if we don’t.”
He waited for her nod of acquiescence. It took longer than felt comfortable and he was just about to… Whatever it was he was just about to didn’t happen. She didn’t nod; she leaned in closer and placed her lips on his.
He shared her breath, their hearts beating, their bodies trembling with desire. Jamieson had never felt this thunder of passion with any woman, never tried so hard to restrain himself, to experience this one singular moment.
* * * * *
Connie knew she would remember this moment forever, leaning into Jamieson, without reaching for the next thing.
She’d lusted after him for months, watching that perfect body walk down the street, seeing him smile as he passed Dorothea or Deborah in the street.
This was the moment she fell in love.
He pulled away, and she felt lost.
“Connie,” he whispered. “My beautiful Connie. Please come upstairs with me. I want you lying naked in my bed. I want to taste you. I want to love you. I want…”
He took her hand and placed it on his cock. Even through the denim of his jeans, she felt the heat of it, felt his pulse pounding in it, and her pussy wept in response.
“Yes, please,” she whispered, her body tingling at the feel of him. “Before I can’t walk at all.”
The stairs were steep, the wood railings burnished to a deep shine, the bedroom, like hers, in the rafters. But his room was huge. A mussed king-size bed stood under a row of long narrow windows across the top of the wall, the afternoon sun burning hot on the navy sheets.
“I can’t touch you,” he said. “You can’t touch me. Not yet. I just want to watch.”
She nodded. She knew what he wanted because it was what she wanted as well, though she wasn’t sure she had the patience for it. “Slowly,” she said. “Take off your clothes.”
His smile was crooked, his eyes bright with passion, as he sat on the side of the bed and pulled off his sneakers.
“Stop,” Connie said, and knelt at his feet. His beautiful feet. Long and tanned, she couldn’t resist them, lifting first one and then the other into her lap. She kissed the fine blue veins on the instep, ran her fingers around his toes and up to his ankles, then placed his feet back on the floor.
* * * * *
His game—the game she’d agreed to—was long past possible but Jamieson would try—for as long as his cock would allow, at least—to let her rule the clock. Oh, he knew all the moves to this game, this teasing foreplay, but had never before allowed anyone to use them against him, was maybe a little frightened that if he did let Connie play, he’d be hooked—the last thing in the world he’d wanted until... Now? He was willing to let the foreplay go on forever, though his cock was definitely of another mind.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing at the bed and standing when she’d done so. He echoed her motions, kneeling at her feet, pulling off her flip-flops, then going one step further. He suckled her pretty pink-painted toes, ran his tongue up the sole of each foot, his hands wrapping around her calves.
He loved the way her scent changed as he moved across her body. Now, she smelled like an ocean breeze, salty and tart and incredibly sexy. He placed her feet on his thighs and leaned in, resting his head where the scent of her was even richer. Each breath challenged his self-control. He felt her pulse beat in the crease of her thighs, felt moisture dampen her slacks.
Standing, he pulled her into his arms, and this time his kiss was ravenous. No more patience, no hesitation, simply his tongue fucking her mouth, his teeth biting her lips, and she doing the same in return.
Her moans echoed his, her body strained against him, and he cursed their clothing. He ripped the buttons from her shirt, pulling it from her, his hands running up and down her back, cupping her ass and pulling her tightly against his cock.
She sighed, lifting her arms and wrapping them around his neck, lifting her legs until they were wrapped around his waist, her cunt and his cock connected. If they were naked, he’d already be inside her.
Dropping her on the bed, he tore off his jeans and t-shirt, watching while she took off the rest of her clothes, leaving both of them naked. The ripe, warm scent of her engulfed him, and he went into her open arms. Her skin was hot against his, her teeth tugging at his earlobe, one foot running up and down his calf.
His balls pulled up tight beneath his cock, and when she touched him he felt a quick, irresistible spurt of pre-cum. He placed his hand on hers, stilling the gentle tug of her fingers, the heat of her palm against him.
“I don’t want to come yet,” he said. “I want to savor our first time.”
* * * * *
Connie smiled at Jamieson, his cock throbbing in her hand, her pussy dripping in anticipation. She thought of all the months she’d watched him, all the nights she’d dreamed about him in her bed, his cock in her mouth, in her pussy, his cum all over her belly.
“I’ve been waiting forever for you,” she said. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
Swinging her leg over his hip, she rubbed her nipples against the dark curly hair on his chest and sighed at the sensation, moaned when he reached up and palmed her breasts, tugging on the hard pink nipples.
He rolled her over, laying her flat on the bed. He held her arms splayed to the side, and he controlled her legs between his. She couldn’t move, and the tension in her cunt intensified.
Jamieson ravaged her. His teeth nipped at the tendons in her neck, the tight skin over her collarbone, the tender indent at the base of her throat. He savored the pounding of her pulse in that spot, then moved lower. Each nipple pulled tight into his mouth, his tongue rolling over the areola, his teeth sharp, waiting for her moans.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, please, please, don’t stop.”
And he didn’t.
He moved down her belly, tongue and teeth and mouth. He was tempted to mark her where the world could see that she belonged to him. But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t wait.
Wanting the taste of her in his mouth, in his nostrils, while he fucked her, while his cock was enfolded in her cunt, he ran his tongue into her folds. Now he wanted to stay there forever. She was damp and hot and oh so aromatic, and he couldn’t stop himself. He whispered, “Don’t move,” and used his thumbs
to spread her tender folds, giving him complete access to her center.
He sucked her clit into his mouth, and her ass came off the bed, pushing against him, her voice hoarse and begging for more. Licking. Biting. Using tongue and lips and fingers, he drove her until she rolled beneath him, and he fucked her with his fingers and his mouth until she exploded beneath him, until she screamed her release, and then…
Jamieson positioned Connie’s limp body so her butt was on the edge of the bed, his arms under her knees, spreading her open. He smiled at the look of utter exhaustion combining with Do me again on her face. His cock ached for her, but he waited, fascinated by the trembling muscles in her belly, the deep red blush of her pussy, her hooded eyes. “Fuck me,” Connie said. “Now.”
And he did, his cock thrusting deep and hard, and her pussy clenched around him, trying desperately to hold him, while a ripple of excitement ran through his hands, and into her cunt.
This time, it was Jamieson who screamed, and she who bore witness to his release. One push, then another, and another wave of orgasm overwhelmed her, meeting his thrusts with her own, until slowly and carefully he moved her up the bed, wrapping his arms around her.
“Don’t go,” he said, his voice slow and lazy.
“I can’t move. And besides, I want to do this again.”
Connie rested her head on Jamieson’s shoulder, his arm around her, their legs entwined, the sun hot on their bodies, and she knew she was right where she belonged.
Author Bio
Josee Renard writes women’s fiction, magic realism, paranormal, and erotica—short fiction, poetry, and novels. Josee blames her good friend Anna Leigh Keaton for getting her into writing erotica—she loves Anna Leigh’s books and wanted to try writing one herself. She blames her mother and her two grandmothers for her reading and writing obsession. All of them were avid readers, and they passed their books and their obsession on to her. She’d love to hear from you. You can contact her at www.JoseeRenard.com
; read her blog at www.JoseeRenard.wordpress.com
; follow her on Twitter and check out her Facebook page.
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