We stopped at a light beside a bus station where a young woman, only a few years younger than me, slouched against a pole, a soft roll of brown belly exposed by her small white shirt and tight blue jeans. Her skin was dewy with sweat and her slightly unkempt hair stuck to the dampness between her breasts. She stared at me insolently with large eyes the color of molasses and when I raised my camera to capture her strangely erotic sloth, her pale tongue poked out and caught a bead of sweat caught in the downy hairs above her top lip. My shutter clicked and my heart palpitated with triumph as the car pulled into the traffic a second later. I recalled the photograph to the screen of my Canon and found exactly that moment of lazy sex, her belly exposed, sweaty breasts plumped up. I wasn’t sure if I would have normally found sexiness in the image, in the girl, but the darker recesses of my mind were cracking open. I wondered how many different kinds of sultry there were, how many types of sex and fantasy.
I peeked up at Sinclair with my tongue unconsciously mimicking the slow lick the Mexican girl had stroked against her top lip. He was staring at me, his head still slightly bent to view his phone, as if he had become entranced by something after briefly glancing up at me.
The electric heat in his eyes shocked something within me and without really thinking about it, I lowered myself slightly in my seat, spreading my thighs wider as I did so. It was cool in the car but I could suddenly feel the Mexican heat press heavily against my body, warming my breasts until they ached, slowing my heart rate until it thumped lazily, only strong enough to pump languid arousal through my veins.
I stared at Sinclair from under lowered lids, my tongue caught between my teeth as my hand found my breasts and squeezed, stoking the fire there. He was completely still. I pressed on, following my own pleasure. My palms slicked down my smooth thighs and slowly pulled my legs further apart until I was bared to him. Slipping off my flip-flops, I planted my feet on either side of him, my toes curling over the cool leather to steady myself. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and I smiled slightly, my fingers lightly dancing over the ticklish skin of my inner thighs.
It was so unlike me to explore myself like this, even in the privacy of my own bed under the cloak of night, but Sinclair made me feel wanton, just as damp and obviously sexual as the woman at the bus stop.
I groaned when my hands finally found the edge of my swimsuit and slipped inside. I wanted to tell him how wet I was but my voice was stuck somewhere around my toes and I didn’t want to push myself too far. Desperate for his involvement somehow, I pried my eyes open and looked up at him.
He was staring between my legs with burning eyes but almost immediately, his gaze found mine and rapidly read what I had written there. His eyelids lowered and his voice was rough with desire, so potent it arrowed desire straight to the wet place my fingers played over.
“Feel how wet you are, how ready you are to have my cock inside of you. Circle yourself with your thumb, place two fingers at your entrance and pretend they’re my cock, pressing against you.”
I struggled to keep my eyes open but I wanted to look at him as I did this, as I touched myself for him.
“You look so sexy playing with yourself. I could watch you all day,” he said.
I groaned, increasing the pressure of my fingers across the slick folds of my sex.
I could see the long, mouth-watering length of him press against his shorts and I imagined myself crawling between his knees to take it out, the feeling of him in my hands, against the roof of my mouth as I took him to the back of my throat. I shuddered.
“That’s it.” His voice was so deep it reverberated throughout my body, strumming me until I vibrated. “Push those fingers into your sweet pussy for me. Feel how tight you.”
I could hear myself, the wet suck of my fingers plunging inside my aching core but it only drove my pleasure higher.
“Do you think you can come like this, Elle? With only your fingers and the sound of my voice.”
I whimpered and finally closed my eyes against the growing pressure in my groin but the snap of his words sliced across my flesh with the force of a whip. “Open your eyes.” His firm lips moved sensuously, deliberately over his next words. “I own you. When you come, you will look at me. Add another finger.”
The additional finger stretched me wide, reawakening the ache of last night. Now, I really could imagine his thickness inside of me, sliding forcefully into my depths over and over again.
“Don’t come yet,” he said and when my eyes flashed open in a panic, he hushed me. “You can’t come without my permission.”
I was desperate for it. My orgasm was so close I could taste it, metallic, at the back of my tongue. My blurry eyes watched as he grabbed himself through his shorts and I wasn’t sure if it was he that groaned, or I. Maybe it was both of us.
“Do you want me to take my cock out, Elle?”
I nodded, my head lolled back against the seat. My breath came in short, hard pants and my chest was tender, heavy with sensation. But Sinclair was not unmoved by my display, his slashing cheeks were taut with control as he spoke through gritted teeth, fighting to keep his cool. I knew he was doing it for me, allowing me to explore, to discover how to pleasure myself, but it was costing him.
My breath hitched when he exposed his erection, curved and severe with desire for me. I licked my lips and watched as he wrapped a strong fist around himself and pulled up. A pearl of liquid shimmered at his crown and already I knew how it would taste, remembering the unique flavor of him on my tongue.
“I want you in my mouth,” I whispered, my dry mouth flooding with salvia as I thought about it.
“I know you do.” His lids were heavy, only thin slits of blue gazed at me, his thick lashes brushed his cheek. “Which would you prefer, Elle? To come on your hands or to have this,” he brandished his cock, his fist pumping it from root to tip and his thumb rolling over the slick head, “in your mouth.”
His eyes widened slightly as I shivered and a small smile warmed his mouth, his question answered. “On your knees.”
Inelegantly in my haste, I dropped to my knees in the spacious town car and reached forward, eager for my prize. When he caught my hands in one of his, the other still on his throbbing length, I frowned up at him.
He looked so handsome staring down at me, his bottom lip plush beneath the firm top, his jaw tensed but his eyes sucking and hot with excitement. He was a paradox, my Frenchman, hot and cold, stern but poetic, mine but not mine.
“I don’t want you to use your hands. Clasp them behind your back and take me with your mouth. I won’t be easy on you. You have no idea what you do to me.” His fingers threaded in my hair and slowly pulled my mouth towards him.
I tentatively licked the sensitive underside and when he hissed, I opened my mouth, sheathing my teeth, and took the flared head of him inside. My tongue traced over his flesh, greedy for the taste of him, the saltiness of his fluid and the musky smell of his arousal. I breathed through my nose as he bore down on me and swallowed rapidly when he pushed through the back of my throat. I almost gagged on my triumph when my nose pressed into his groin and a primal groan ripped from his lips.
He kept me firmly planted there for only a few seconds, lessening the pressure for my ascent long before I was uncomfortable and after a brief circle of my tongue over the head, I opened my throat and took him all the way again. And again.
Heady on the pleasure, I could feel my own wetness slide down my thighs and the orgasm that had receded with the absence of my fingers hovered over me. I knew I had only to press the pad of my thumb delicately to my pulsing clit to come but I didn’t.
Sinclair hadn’t said I could.
He swelled in my mouth and his strong legs tensed. I prepared myself for his orgasm, tipping my head to allow a deeper angle of penetration even as my eyes sought his face, desperate to see his expression as he spilled into my mouth. But his hands clenched in my hair and pulled my face away roughly. His chest worked like a bellows as he b
reathed in and out through his mouth, trying to control his desire. I blinked at him, confused but after a moment, when he was under control, he rasped, “Are you very sore?”
I nodded. “I’m aching.”
He detected the wantonness in my tone and suddenly he was lifting me, easily fitting me on top of him with my knees straddling his legs and his pulsating erection at my entrance. His fingers found me drenched with desire and he let out a long ragged breath.
“So wet for me.” He seemed awed by it and the smokiness of his voice made me wriggle, rubbing myself against him. “Stop.” His fingers bit into my curved hips and his eyes bore into mine. “This is going to be quick. For both of us. Put your hands on my shoulders and hold on.”
His dark promise thrilled me and I grabbed his shoulders, clenching his sinewy muscles and the soft fabric of his shirt in my fists. As soon as I was latched on, he breathed deeply like a warrior before battle and thrust into me. I screamed, my head falling back on my shoulders, but he was already lifting me, slamming back inside of me. He was so big, I couldn’t take all of him and the size of him inside me ached as it was but it was a delicious pain and I began to throw my hips down as he manipulated me over his rigid length. I was moaning, babbling incoherently, so lost in pleasure I momentarily forgot where I was.
His thumb shifted and found my needy clit, gently brushing it with the pad. My orgasm lay before me and I was greedy for it, gagging for it, but he hadn’t said the words and after a few more battering thrusts I was worried he wouldn’t.
“Do you want to come, Elle?” His voice was somehow still controlled, cool and only slightly cracked through with desire.
I grated my hips against him, taking another inch, and heard him gasp with pleasure. “Please, I need it.”
“I know you do. I can feel you milking me, desperate for my come, aren’t you?”
I loved listening to his cultured voice speak such dirty words, they made me wetter somehow and the next time he plunged into me, it was to the hilt.
“Oh God, please, please, please,” I begged, quaking with the need to release.
“Yes,” he hissed, his hands racing up my torso, holding my plush breasts between his hot palms and scraping both callused thumbs across my puckered nipples. “Your God. Come hard for me. Now.”
I shattered. Currents of pleasure raced over my body, undoing my particles and liquefying my bones. I was vaguely aware of Sinclair’s bark of triumphant, like a rutting animal, and the sound intensified my pleasure, the heat of him releasing inside of me tipped me further over the edge so that I clawed at him with both hands and leaned forward to bite his shoulder. He shuddered at the contact and twitched inside me even after he had finished.
I lay exhausted on top of him for a minute before he lifted me gently off of him and placed me on the seat beside him. My eyes were closed but I could hear him fiddle with something in the side door and my lids sprung open when I felt the slightly abrasive cloth against my sloppy sex. He looked concentrated on his clean up, a furrow on his habitually smooth forehead. I reached up to touch it and he flinched.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, too fatigued to feel embarrassed by his sudden coldness.
He shook his head, the reddish hairs at the back of his neck sticking there. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that. You must have been in pain.”
I snorted and shrugged when he stared at me with a cool raised brow. “I was overwhelmed with pleasure. When I’m with you, I, well, I feel electric, like there is a pulse between us.”
He nodded curtly as if he understood and, finished his gentle cleaning, he closed my legs and disposed of the damp napkin in the door garbage.
“I came inside of you.” A thrill punched me in the stomach and I placed a hand there, shocked by my reaction. “And you obviously aren’t on birth control.” He shook his head and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “There is a pharmacy near the resort, I’ll get you something on the way back.”
“I am,” I whispered, suddenly embarrassed. “To regulate my, um, periods.”
“Good.” He nodded curtly. “I am tested regularly and I assume you are clean but that won’t happen again.”
My lips pursed but I nodded, unable to speak past the constriction in my throat. It was stupid of me to be so emotional but I was wrung out, physically and mentally by the lack of sleep and the whirlwind nature of being with Sinclair. I closed my eyes and sighed.
“Hey.” His hand was on my chin, turning it so that he could look me in the eye. “You should know, I’ve never seen anything sexier than you touching yourself like that for me, expect maybe the sight of you on your knees, the excitement in your eyes as you took me in your sweet mouth.”
It was hardly romantic, but his words ignited joy deep within my chest. I was proud, so proud of having pleased him and having pleased myself. Despite what my first sexual partner had said, I was capable of doing it right, and the knowledge gave me new life. I beamed at him and watched as he blinked, like he was staring at the noon sun.
“Magnificent,” he murmured, before shaking his head slightly, his features once again stone cold. “Now, are you ready for the adventure?”
I continued to grin at him. “Hell yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “A simple yes would have sufficed.”
“Yes, master,” I teased and watched as his eyes turned molten. I couldn’t believe I had such power over him and I giggled.
He relaxed, a small grin tucked into the left corner of his cheek. “Siren.”
Yes, I thought, leaning back against the seat, allowing my bones to liquefy, your siren.
Chapter Nine.
I don’t know how he did it, but the second we stepped from the car into the Mexican sunshine, Sinclair the entrepreneur was back, enigmatic and vaguely disinterested in everything around us. I wondered if that distance would apply to me but when I hesitantly waited a few feet away from him after the car pulled away, staring at him instead of where he had taken me, he turned to me with warm eyes.
“This is the reason I love Mexico,” he said and I stepped closer to read the excitement in his eyes. They were such a glorious blue that even my artist’s vocabulary came up blank and so expressive they almost entirely made up for the blank mask he always wore. I thought of his wild cry as he came back in the car, blushed at the thought of the driver hearing us, and flushed with pleasure.
“Insatiable,” he scolded gently, taking me hand and winding it around his arm again.
I gasped as we moved forward. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
He chuckled darkly. “You blush beautifully when you think about sex.”
I tried to control my flush and failed so I tuned out his amusement and absorbed our surroundings.
The Pacific stretched before us, a swathe of silky azure waves topped with broken fragments of golden light. Pelicans crowded around a corner of the busy dock, eager for scraps tossed by brawny fishermen competently slicing open the fish being pulled in by wheelbarrows from incoming boats. The mild sea breeze kept the air from reeking of putrid fish guts and I marveled at the exotic specimens laying on the broad marble tables, their long silver bodies and sword-like protrusions reminiscent of prehistoric creations.
Sinclair led me through the fan fare, the intense Spanish repartee and busy dockhands with a sure hand and widened eyes. He was enjoying himself, happy to point out the different types of fish – marlin and wahoo and dorado – all so exotic, like jewels scattered carelessly across the giant slabs.
“They don’t waste any of it,” he explained, his voice lower than the racket but still excited. “What the tourists or professionals don’t take home, the dockhands use to feed their families. Fishing is a serious sport in this part of the country, most families have made their living from the sea for generations.”
We were past the fillet station and out into the open air of the docks, walking swiftly between the boats in search of our own.
“We’re going fishing?” I asked, slightly
incredulous.
His lips twitched at my lack of enthusiasm. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“I really doubt that,” I muttered but he ignored me.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, biting down on the corner of a smile. “Whoever catches the biggest fish dictates what we do tonight.”
“Oh okay, I have this couple’s package – it’s a long story – but a massage might be…” I trailed off with a gasp when Sinclair tugged me into his arms and leaned down to delicately trace the edge of my ear with his tongue.
“I had something more intimate in mind.”
“Oh,” I sighed. “In that case, you’re on.”
We were still smiling as we finally came to a stop at a boat that was not what I would have called luxurious. It was oddly shaped, a powerboat with a blue awning and a small upper deck. The name scrawled across the old but carefully maintained hull was Rosa and despite my reluctance, I laughed.
When Sinclair raised a brow at me, I flapped my hand in the air. “My middle name. It must be a good omen.”
He frowned at me but the arrival of a small, deeply tanned Mexican man distracted him from questioning me further.
“Antonio.” Sinclair’s mouth trembled as he suppressed a smile but he did allow himself to reach down and warmly clasp the short man’s hand. “¿Qué tal?”
“Bueno, beuno obviamente.” Antonio responded jovially.
He had enormous eyes that sparkled like onyx as he beamed up at me, his mouth full of crooked but perfectly white teeth.
“Elle.” Sinclair’s hand wound around my side and swept down the length of my hourglass curve. “This is my friend, Antonio, the best fisherman in all of Mexico.”
Antonio chortled loudly and took my hand in both of his. “Beautiful.”
My laugh was more air than sound, and we both blushed happily at each other as I thanked him. He kept my hand, tugging me along like a child as he led us onboard the Rosa and gave me the grand tour of the compact two-story boat. He enthusiastically described the mechanics of the down riggers, huge weights anchored to both sides of the stern that would drag the fishing lures to the depths of the sea where massive, almost otherworldly fish liked to swim.
The Affair (The Evolution Of Sin #1) Page 9