Spencer kissed her openmouthed, holding her ass cheeks apart as Jack inched the fat head of his cock inside. Fingers of glorious ache gripped her stomach, fanned sizzling heat to her limbs and had her blood boiling.
She never believed they would share her. Thought both men too dominant to allow it. Maybe it came from the time they spent together on stage at Shenanigans, but they worked so incredibly together it was as if the joining was fated.
Spencer released her buttocks to turn his hands on her body. Rough to the touch but easy in their execution, his hands stroked, touched, and petted every inch of her burning flesh that Jack didn’t already occupy.
He kissed her again, wet, long, and hard, pulling back to flash a licentious grin. “I’ll eat your sweet pussy in a little while. Now I need to fuck you.”
“Yes!” The moan erupted from Kristi’s throat. Her fingers gripped Spencer’s forearms. Jack’s hands went wild on her breasts, pinching her nipples, twisting them into aching, throbbing, fiercely long points. “I need both of you. Fuck me now. Please.”
Spencer opened her sex with his fingers. He rested his cock at the mouth of her pussy, spreading her juices over the condom before shoving inside. Jack pushed farther into her ass, thrusting his hips and knocking his heavy balls against the rear of her pussy. She cried out with the wicked thrill, the desperate need barreling through her body and soul.
The Double Diamond was no match for these two. They were longer, stronger, thicker, better. So good together. Everything she could have asked for and more.
They worked in unison, pumping into her, each sensual slide setting off new tremors of need in her pussy. Sweat coated her skin. Her heart beat a wild tattoo. Lust curled thick in her belly, licked hotly at her cunt. The tremors grew, shaking her to the core, spiraling her to a fast and furious completion.
This time, there was no teeter-tottering at the brink of ecstasy. No continuous thrumming and contracting that never went any farther. Kristi exploded with a scream, trapped between the men, thrashing up and down, back and forth, until they, too, found release, pounding into her from both sides, and leaving her floating in a hazy cloud of afterglow that told her this time the warmth wouldn’t die. These guys were hers, and she wasn’t letting them go at any cost.
Jack moved onto his side, pulling her against him, holding her back against his front as Spencer spooned her from the other side. Parts of their bodies touched, but neither man moved away. Spencer grinned that supersonic sexy grin that already was building fresh wetness, while Jack nuzzled her neck.
Kristi drank it all in, until her stomach growled. She’d been so determined to throw herself into business and forget about having her trip with Spencer cut short that she hadn’t thought to eat lunch. “I’m starving.”
“Then you’d better eat.” Jack’s hot breath whispered along her neck, sending delicious shivers down her spine. “I’m just getting started.”
“Don’t think you’re having her all to yourself. That mouth is all mine,” Spencer warned as Kristi slid from between them, her body already feeling the sweet ache of being loved by her twin toasters. Um, her two beefcakes.
She looked back at them, tall, dark, masculine beauties. Unlike the last time they occupied her bed, they weren’t having a stare down. They were looking at each other, sharing hushed words that had both men grinning wickedly.
They were planning her next seduction, she realized. Trembling head to toe, she considered saying to hell with the food and diving back between them.
She forced herself toward the door. She needed sustenance if she was ever to keep up with the two of them. Two. Not one. Oh boy.
“Be right back.” If she didn’t pass out from the amazement of it all en route to the kitchen.
Kristi was almost to the kitchen when someone knocked on the door. The knob turned before she could move or make an attempt to cover herself. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of her mother standing in the entryway, eyeing her as if she’d just walked in on Kristi doing something immoral, like having her own personal orgy.
Kristi hurried to the couch, grabbed the throw blanket from its back, and wrapped it around her. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Kristi?” Jack called from the bedroom.
“Don’t leave us hanging, doll,” Spencer put in. “Our Kristi burger just isn’t the same without the meat.”
Shut up! She wanted to scream the words, but what good would they do at this point? Her mother’s eyebrows had shot so far up they were barely visible beneath her silvering blond bangs. She covered her mouth, undoubtedly hiding her mortification.
“It’s your own fault for barging in,” Kristi said defensively.
Her mom pulled her hand away to reveal a smile. Amusement shone in her eyes. Hysteria had to be setting in. If she drove her mother to the mental ward, she would never forgive herself.
“Sorry, but I was desperate,” her mom said, sounding anything but hysterical.
“For what?”
“Do you have the blue bunny partner swing in stock?”
Oh. My. God. Kristi thought nothing else could shock her after today, but she’d been wrong. “You know?!”
“Aunt Karen made the discovery. A friend of hers is on the board at Wild Honey and couldn’t stop talking about this great new line of products designed by Kristi Hill. She gave your aunt some samples.”
“Aunt Karen’s using my products?” With Uncle Larry. Ew. Not a pretty picture.
Her mom laughed. “We’re older, honey, not dead. Now, about your inventory…”
Remembering her aroused body and the two men who had gotten it that way, Kristi nodded toward the bedroom. “You aren’t even going to ask about them?”
“Some of the best years of my and your father’s marriage were when we belonged to a swingers’ group. Life’s too short not to be happy in every way possible.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “If they make you happy, I’m thrilled for you.”
“But they’re strippers!” And her parents were ultraconservative tighty-whitey wearers. Kristi had folded their laundry on numerous occasions when she’d still lived at home. Unless they had a secret stash. For those days they had the urge to return to their swinging ways. Disbelief had her snorting a laugh.
“Strippers.” Her mom waggled her eyebrows. “That’s my girl.”
Kristi gasped. “Mom!”
“Your father won’t be happy if I keep him waiting. The swing?”
The swing. For her parents to use. To get each other off. In a way that was anything but traditional. She rushed to her office and grabbed a partner swing from the walk-in closet. She thrust it into her mom’s hands. “Here. Free of charge. Just…don’t tell Daddy about the guys. Or what I do for a living. He’s so proud of my old job.”
Her mom beamed at the swing, looking ready to lick her lips in anticipation. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You’ll be introducing your men yourself when you bring them to dinner next Sunday. You can tell your dad about your career move then, too. He won’t be talking about it at the high school the way he did your old job, but he’s going to be proud of you, honey.” Her mom started for the door with a little bounce in her step Kristi had never noticed before. She wondered now if it had always been there. She turned back when she reached the door. “I’ll do my best not to check out their packages, but you really shouldn’t have mentioned that stripper part. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but you can bet it had a good time burning up those nine lives first.”
“Dancers! I meant to say they’re dancers. And Jack is going to be quitting soon. And Spencer said he’s going to quit eventually.” And she still could not believe her parents were into kinky sex.
Her mom waved her hand in dismissal. “Whatever, honey. I’m sure they’re nice guys. Have fun now. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Kristi stood staring at the door after her mom closed it. Her mind spun with the day’s events. She’d had things sorted out so well. Her parents were purists and
she was a borderline bad girl who liked to create sex toys but not use them beyond vanilla purposes. Only, her parents weren’t purists and her love for toys and sex in general went way beyond vanilla.
“Kristi?” Jack called from the bedroom. “You okay out there?”
“Yeah. I’m coming.”
Two husky male laughs followed her response, ensuring that while she wasn’t coming yet, she would be, many, many times before the night was through. And she wouldn’t feel embarrassed over indulging in the attention of two men for an instant. Not now that she knew the taste for a little more than the ordinary was in her blood.
DESPERATELY SEEKING SIMON
1
Most lawyers gave Jonah Meadowbrook fantasies of wrapping his hands around their necks and squeezing the moneygrubbing, coldhearted life out of them. There was only one he wanted to fuck to death.
First, he’d have to separate Fiona De Luca from her fuck du jour. Or maybe tonight it was her vibrator buried between her legs. The granddaddy of all dildos, the first time she’d taken the thing out of its box and stroked it, he’d thought it a hoax gift, the kind of thing given at sex-toy parties to that one lucky attendant. Then she’d jammed that big black bad boy into her pussy. He’d been torn between coming in his sweatpants and rushing across the apartment common area to offer hands-on assistance.
Fuck du jour or vibrator?
Shouldn’t make a damned bit of difference. But like the high ADHD kid he’d been twenty years ago, he had no impulse control. Not with Fiona. Not when all it took was a look out his bedroom window through his carefully angled telescope lens to see her stripped of her pretentious defense attorney gear to reveal one of the most appetizing birthday suits he’d ever seen.
He wasn’t a pervert. This was research.
Fiona was the inspiration for Sorrina, the black-leather-wearing, whip-wielding, sexy-as-sin and twice-as-evil Italian villainess from Hell Bent, the latest in his erotic suspense comic series.
For research’s sake, Jonah stood from his computer desk where a blank document, which should contain the text for the next issue of Hell Bent, filled his laptop screen. One orgasm from Fiona always got the creative juices flowing. Right out the end of his dick.
He grabbed the notepad and pen he kept on hand in the event a panel scene too spectacular to forget popped into his head. He didn’t need to write down the carnal acts he witnessed in Fiona’s bedroom to recall them. Every pump, thrust, and imagined moan—even with her windows open he couldn’t hear her—stuck with him long afterward. Having the notepad helped to remind him that he wasn’t a stalker in the making and that if he got off as a side effect of watching, it was merely a factor of taking advantage of chance and circumstance.
His apartment took up the top floor of the south wing of the East Lansing apartment complex. His bedroom window was the only one in the complex with a view across the quad and into Fiona’s place. That was a view he’d discovered by accident, while stargazing one of many sleepless nights. The angle he had to put the telescope at to see into her bedroom ensured she wasn’t aware anyone was witness to her naughty behavior.
She sure acted like she had an audience, though, Jonah thought twenty seconds later as he peered into the telescope and past her open bedroom curtains. No man tonight. Just the mammoth vibrator that had the power to harden his cock on sight and did so with throbbing urgency.
She held the black vibrator against the bed, angling it up into her pussy, riding it with deep, hard thrusts that had her ass pumping in the air and an openmouthed smile of ecstasy curving her lips that only Sorrina could pull off.
But this wasn’t Sorrina, a one-dimensional serial killer created at his hands. This was Fiona, a three-dimensional serial killer that had him tossing aside the notepad and pen to stick his hand down his sweatpants, drag out his erection, and stroke.
She faced him, seemed to look right at him. Her smile turned from a full, ecstatic one to a thin, violent one that said she enjoyed making him suffer the same way she made the families and friends of countless victims suffer when she got yet another abusive or murdering scumbag out of a jail sentence and back on the streets to hurt, maim, or kill again. A serial killer by trade, if not with her own two hands.
She was for damned sure killing him now with her hedonistic acts.
Fiona slipped a finger between her thighs, running it the length of the vibrator before pressing it against her clit. She swirled her finger around the swollen bead, then pinched the highly sensitive flap of skin and nerves. Her eyes widened. Her ass shook to some pounding, driving beat. Cream dribbled down her inner thighs, lining the vibrator with each push.
Jonah’s cock shoved forward, thrusting in time to the same pounding, driving, soundless beat. Precum emerged at the angry purple tip of his shaft, no tiny pearl but a full-steam-ahead burst of fluid.
The hand at her clit moved, talonlike fingernails digging into the tangle of lavender sheets beneath her. Her smile thinned further, her eyes slitting into a predator’s glare. Perspiration shone on her forehead, slid as a thin drop between the jostling valley of her breasts. Black hair swept along her cheeks, the ends pressing against her lips, then sinking between them as those dangerous lips parted to mouth, “Fuck me.”
He lost it on the spot. A hot rush of cum jettisoned from his dick to pound the curtains and the windowpane.
Jonah swore hotly. The man in him hated that he could find pleasure with the visual aid of the last woman on earth he should want. The Goth author in him loved the way only she could get to him, like some sick, twisted fantasy in the flesh. Naturally bronzed, glistening flesh attached to a long, graceful neck he’d never wanted to strangle more. Or kiss so damned bad.
A plot so disturbing and erotic that his fans would demand more of the same immediately filled his head. His fingertips tingled with the need to get it down fast. With a last look through the telescope to find Fiona lying in a postorgasm heap stroking the big black bad boy of a vibrator like it was her best friend, Jonah rushed back to the office and let the creative juices flow.
Fiona curled her fingers around the padded yellow envelope.
She had the case from hell to defend. An asshole of a man serving as the prosecutor and making no secret of his desire to serve her on the side. Her Benz had been T-boned by a college student running late for class, leaving the car she’d bought after winning her first solo case four years ago marred beyond repair and her temples throbbing. And now she had to deal with this.
What a delightful ending to an otherwise shitty day.
Her headache evaporated as lust curled thick in her belly, moistening her pussy with an excitement too long in the coming to curtail. Not that she had any longing to try.
Three long years of searching. Hundreds of men spent fucking, none of whom were able to give back the orgasm she gave to them. And, finally, Simon had arrived.
Simon King. The human version of King Simon—the best damned vibrator known to womankind. The big black beauty with its high-powered G-spot stimulator had been a gift from Kristi, a sex-toy designer and one of two women Fiona had connected with via the Internet. The three had a shared purpose, to find a man capable of locating their G-spot and bringing them to orgasm as no man before them had been able to accomplish. Had being the operative word. The other women had found their men, their G-spots, and were coming on a regular basis. Fiona wasn’t a quitter and had little respect for those who were. But on this particular matter, she’d been ready to give up and accept that the only way she’d ever climax was around King Simon’s massive, albeit plastic, shaft.
There would be no giving up. Not now. Not ever, if she had her way.
Elation humming through her and bringing her nipples stabbing to life against her silk blouse, Fiona tossed her briefcase onto the couch. She hugged the large yellow padded envelope addressed to Simon King and delivered to her apartment by mistake. Going by the label, Simon lived on the top floor of the apartment building across the courtyard. He’d been
less than a hundred yards away all this time.
She sighed. All those meaningless men. All the missed opportunities.
She wasn’t going to dwell on wasted time and missed orgasms. She was going to march over to Simon’s apartment, hand him the package, and say the words she’d been dreaming of using on a man who could deliver her to ecstasy for years.
First, she would slip into something that made her look a little less like a woman set on kicking ass. And what better choice of attire than a raincoat over nothing at all?
It was fast. It was naughty. It was cliché as hell. Perfect.
Fiona stripped quickly, her heart throbbing with anticipation as clothes fell to the living room floor she normally kept spotless. She grabbed the beige, calf-length raincoat from the hook by the door, and slipped into it. The cool brush of nylon over her aroused nipples spiked delectable tremors from the aching points to her slick sex. Darting to the closet, she grabbed her black spiked heels reserved for special occasions and slipped them on. If tonight wasn’t special, nothing was.
A quick application of the sunfire-red lipstick she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in court, a dab of lavender perfume at her pulse points, and a few bobby pins to secure her bangs and the sides of her hair away from her face and she was grabbing the envelope and hurrying out the door.
Doubts settled in halfway across the courtyard and slowed her pace. What if Simon wasn’t single? What if he was her grandfather’s age? What if he was bald? Or short? At five nine, she couldn’t do a short man. Leaving the heels off would have been the wise option.
Too late now. She wasn’t going back. She’d been searching for the human version of Simon too long. He could be an old, bald troll without any teeth and she was still going to screw him until they were both shouting their release.
Fiona’s stomach twisted with apprehension as the elevator cruised to the fourth floor. She stepped out, impressed to find that only two doorways occupied the hallway. One led to the stairwell, the other to the man of her dreams.
Operation G-Spot Page 21