by Shaye Marlow
“Don’t you think they’ll notice…?”
“Well, yeah. But they’ll think one of them did it, and if everyone denies it, then someone’s lying, and we’ll have sown the seeds of dissent. Want some?”
I took a few spoonfuls of pilfered ice cream as I watched her poke around.
She made it into the office. “Eureka!” she cried after the computer monitor came to life.
“What?” Rory asked, peering over my shoulder. Reaching around, he dug a chunk of ice cream out with his finger and popped it into his mouth.
“We’re in,” Frances said with a grin. “Aaaand, it looks like they’ve got their browser remembering passwords for them. How convenient.”
Rory elbowed past me. “I’ve got this.”
“Remember, nothing obvious.”
“Yeah, yeah. Junk mail, and a folder full of Asian eel porn, here I come.” Rory cracked his knuckles, then went to work.
Frances reclaimed the ice cream, and led me upstairs. We turned into the first bedroom. She opened a couple drawers, took a bite of ice cream, and glanced at the portrait of a couple on the dresser. “It was Ben and Angela, right? They’re together?”
“I think so.”
“Hold this.” Frances took a plastic tube out of her pocket, uncapped it, and applied. Her lips were suddenly blood-red, and I couldn’t stop staring at them. She pulled a pristine, pressed button-down shirt from the closet and, holding my gaze, pressed her lips to the collar.
She re-hung the shirt. Then, she started unbuttoning her pants, and the motion was what finally helped me move on from her lips.
My mouth was suddenly dry. “What are you…?”
“Taking off my panties,” she said, pushing the pants down.
Oh god. Oh my god. Ohhhhh, I was painfully hard, watching those jeans slide down the smooth, silky lines of her thighs. She toed off her shoes, and then her knees emerged, and the rest of one beautiful leg, then the other. There were those beautiful fucking legs.
Only her thumbs hooked in a green lace thong could have dragged my attention upward, and did. I braced myself against the doorframe, feeling my heart trying to jump straight out of my chest and flop around at her feet.
The panties came down, and I lost track of them.
She was bare under there. Waxed. I could see her fucking pussy lips.
There was no hair on her. No hair, except for that unruly, unbearably sexy mop on her head. It flopped as she tossed me a grin.
My hand tightened on the door.
She turned, and I could see her perfect, perfect butt. Perfectly round, perfectly smooth, perfect for sinking my teeth into. Those legs moved beautifully, the light through the window caressing her skin as she pranced to the dresser. There, she tucked the thong into a drawer full of men’s clothes.
“You’re gonna get him in trouble,” I rasped, memorizing the way her legs bent at the hip, the way her calves pulled as she walked back to her pants.
“Yup.” She stepped into her pants, bent, and dragged them up. I felt like crying as that supple, luscious flesh of hers receded. And just like that, her bare, waxed pussy was gone, leaving me bereft.
Frances paced toward me, and stopped a hand’s-breadth away. She gazed up at me a moment, and then reached for the ice cream and smiled. “Next!”
She ran into my arm, which was attached to the hand I’d anchored to the doorframe. I didn’t move it. Instead, I took the ice cream from her, and set it on the nearest horizontal surface.
When I looked back at her, I did it through my lashes. “You’re a tease.”
Her lips twitched. “Yeah. And?”
I took a step forward, crowding her.
Her expression flickered, and then she stepped back. Then back again.
“So,” I said, “I’m not in the mood to be teased.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she said, trying to go around. She failed, and the backs of her calves hit the bed.
“You have two options here,” I said. “You can suck me off… or I’m going to fuck you hard, right here on their bed.”
Her eyes flared, and then she tsked. “Dirty, dirty,” she whispered.
My eyes were drawn again to those red lips. The red lips I wanted wrapped around my cock.
She didn’t answer, and so I planted a hand in the center of her chest, and pushed. She fell back on the bed, and I yanked her fly open. Still nothing; no protest, no decision. So I unzipped her, and pulled her pants off her legs.
I wanted to gaze at her bottom half, to take in the view, but she sat up, blocking it. I almost pushed her back, but then she gripped the hem of her shirt and whipped it off. I was staring at her cleavage when she unclipped her bra. Shirt and bra landed on the floor, and then she was turning over, flashing that bare butt at me as she crawled to the center of the bed. She turned over, pulled up one knee, and grinned. I gathered from that, and from the way she crooked her finger, that Frances was in.
Fuck yes. I can tell you, with 100% certainty, that no man could have resisted that invitation. I didn’t even try. I whipped my own shirt off, retrieved a condom from my pocket before pushing and kicking my way free of my pants, and tossed my boxers across the room.
She was laughing as I ran at the bed, and gasped as I came down on top of her. I wedged my thighs between her own, pushed her knees wide even as I went for those red lips. I ate the lipstick right off of them, then licked into her mouth. She moaned, her fingers tunneling into my hair as she arched beneath me. The movement ground her wet slit against the rigid length of my cock, and dragged the soft mounds of her breasts, topped by those hard, pouting nipples, across my chest.
Her scent filled my head, all soft and spicy, warm and amazing. Her tongue slid boldly into my mouth, her teeth nibbling, her nails pricking my shoulder. I grunted as the fire of arousal grabbed me by the balls. There was a roaring in my ears as I ground myself against her, as I slid easily along her engorged wetness, and as the softest thighs in the world tightened around my hips.
“Now,” she said. Her eyes were dark, the gray rings almost swallowed up by black. Her face was flushed, her lips wet and trembling.
Our heated flesh stuck and slid, and I shuddered as she dragged herself up along my cock. Her hips curled, straining upward, trying to engulf the head. There was nothing I wanted more than to be inside her velvety heat, to feel her moving around me just as perfectly as she was beneath me.
I reached down and pushed her butt flat to the bed.
Her eyes flared.
I grinned, then further thwarted her demands by moving downward and kissing her neck. Her pulse beat wildly beneath my lips, her breath rasping as her nails dug into my back. I savored the sting as she punished me, memorized the way her neck arched as I sucked at her skin. She didn’t like the lighter kisses, I found, the whisper of lips and tongue. She liked it when I sucked hard enough to mark, when I nibbled and scraped.
I moved farther down, and she offered me her breast. “Your teeth,” she said. “Yesssss.” Her whole body writhed as I obliged. Her back arched, hair dragging across the comforter, her fingers gripping at my side. She gasped as I bit, and her smile was wide as she threw her head back.
I could have spent all evening on her breasts. They were on the small side, perfect to nestle into my palm, taut and rounded, with nipples so dark a pink they verged on brown. Only when those nipples were wet and reddened from my mouth did I move farther down.
She had a beautiful belly, the long, smooth line of it interrupted only by the graceful dent of her belly button. I dipped my tongue into it, and loved the way she giggled.
Frances wasn’t shy. Her legs were spread when I got there.
My gaze drifted over those pale, smooth outer lips with the barest hint of pink between them. I drifted a fingertip across her hairless mound, making her legs twitch and her breath rasp as I touched her.
It occurred to me to tease her, but seeing that pink, plump, glistening wonderland open before me stole my self-control. I leaned d
own, and I followed the same path with my tongue. She was sweet, even sweeter when I ran the flat of my tongue up that delightful cleft and found her clitoris.
She shuddered and her thighs wavered as I did it again. I curled my hands around her thighs, the erotic darkness of my hands against the paleness of her skin making my cock throb against the sheets. Then I pressed in closer, sucking at her labia, tugging gently, swirling my tongue around that engorged nubbin in a way that made her gasp. Her hips started to rock, pressing against my face.
Her fingernails scraped, making my scalp sting. The sensation joined the other poundings in my body, the fast throb of my heart in my chest and groin. The pull in my neck and ache in my jaw as I thrust my tongue into her.
She cried out. “Zack! Please.”
I licked her again, but she was pulling at my ears.
“I want you,” she said. “I want you inside me. Now. I need you.”
I crawled back up her, rolled on the condom, pushed her thighs wide, took myself in hand, and slid between those plump, wet lips. I found my mark and thrust, using the motion to bring my mouth to hers. I drank her cries as I nudged into her, deeper and then deeper still. Her muscles rippled around me, and she was just as hot and wonderful as I’d known she’d be. With a groan, I sank into her.
I kissed her feverishly. It was pure desperation, a need to be closer to her, to be even farther inside. Her nails dragged against my skin, her thighs cradling me as she pulled me even closer. Her breaths had become little pants. Little ‘yes’es, each of them.
I rolled my hips, tunneling into her.
“Yes,” she said, her voice like a prayer. She nipped at my lip.
I did it again, moving my whole body against hers.
“Yes,” she agreed, arching beneath me. My top lip this time, she sucked into her mouth. Her next ‘yes’ was muffled, though the one after that was louder, almost a shout as I thrust into her hard.
“Like that?” I asked as my lips pulled from hers.
“Yes. Yes, yes.” She kissed me deeply, sucked at my tongue.
I groaned, feeling my cock throb even thicker. My spine tingled. “Need to make you cum,” I muttered. I hadn’t really meant to say that aloud, but the results made me glad I had.
She slid her hand between us, and I felt her fingertips against the base of my shaft. I leaned up, looking down at where we joined. She was stroking herself, and as she did, her muscles clamped down again. A fiery wave of lust tore through me as I watched. My breath burnt my lungs.
I’d never been with a woman so proactive. It was… fucking hot.
I shook my head, then dragged my gaze back up over her flushed, heaving breasts to her face. “You…”
She was biting her lip, her eyes almost completely swallowed by pupil, her cheeks red and misty. “Mmm?” she managed. She was so incredibly wet, her sounds of pleasure filling my ears, her body straining against mine.
I stirred my cock inside her, keeping the motion slow and slight, knowing I didn’t have long. She released a long moan of appreciation, a sound that was almost as good as the sensation of being inside her. It felt so fucking amazing, I had to pause to catch my breath with my pelvis pushed up flush against hers.
Frances, though, did everything but hold still. She tilted her hips. She wiggled. She kissed me feverishly.
And then, I realized I couldn’t hold still either. She made a sound of protest as I slid back. Then I pushed into her, harder, and was rewarded with another sound, this one enjoyment. I was withdrawing, was doing it again, watching her face soften, feeling her fingers moving faster, her pussy squeezing me. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Again, I was struck with the desire to paint her. Just like this, her head tipped back, the tendons in her neck tight. Her chest flushed and rising up as though some puppet master tugged her string. Her hair wild, lips shining. The muscles in her arms popping out as she gripped me hard, as I hit something that made her quiver, and her whole body start to stiffen.
I watched her like a hawk, anticipating her flying over that edge, gritting my teeth against my own orgasm. The bed was squeaking wildly. It didn’t matter. Nothing could stop me now. If there were an earthquake, if a meteor hit, if the woods outside caught fire… however I responded, I’d finish first. I was no quitter.
Her hips jerked, and her pussy clamped down, and I nearly shouted with triumph. She squeaked, then managed one word, “Keep—” and then she clawed at me as she rolled her hips into mine.
I didn’t have to ask. I just thrust, and thrust, and thrust, watching her beautiful face as she lost control. She was a wild thing when she came. She almost bucked me off. She scratched furrows into my shoulders and sides, but I couldn’t feel anything but the ache of my cock, buried deeply inside her.
She was tighter and wetter, and though her little squeaks made me feel like laughing, I felt my balls tightening, felt the tingles racing up my spine as my body gathered itself. I raced to the finish line, slamming into her, shuddering as my own orgasm took me.
I let go, holding my place between her thighs as my cock jerked. I buried my face against her shoulder, and what tore from my chest was a tortured groan. I grabbed the blankets so I wouldn’t hurt her as my fists balled up. She was still writhing beneath me as I pinned her in place, her sounds, like the spot between her legs, lush.
My thoughts fragmented. For long moments, as I emptied myself into her, I could think of nothing at all. I could just tremble and gasp for air, and feel her do the same.
Finally, I relaxed against her, gratified to feel her heart racing against my own. Her soft hair tickled my ear as I lay there, completely sated. All I wanted was to breathe her in, keep her with me, stay inside her forever.
Yeah, but… I was fucking heavy. I considered moving, and if I’d been on top of a mouse, I might have. But this was Frances we were talking about. If she wanted me off her, she’d damn well let me know. The idea that I was coming to know this woman made me smile. I kissed her cheek, then sought out her mouth as she turned her head.
At the moment, her eyes appeared almost blue. “Off,” she ordered.
I laughed out loud before rolling away. I was up, tucked back into my boxers, my jeans fastened before she’d even begun to try to rise. I gave her a hand up, and a wad of tissues from the nightstand.
She cleaned up, yanked on her clothes, and grabbed the ice cream on her way out the door.
I chased after her. “That’s it?” I asked, following her into the next room. “You’re not gonna say anything?” That’d been our first time, and honestly… I’d expected more of a reaction. My only comfort was that she was having a little difficulty walking.
“What do you wanna hear?” she asked around a spoonful of ice cream.
“I don’t know,” I said, accepting the tub again. “Something.”
She patted my shoulder. “You did good.”
My eyes narrowed as I watched her move around the room, tweaking a thing here, taking a thing there. She was doing what I usually did, jumping up and moving on. And I couldn’t have told you why, but… it bugged me. Usually, I made women sweat and scream, and wore them out to the point where they couldn’t have escaped my bed if they’d wanted to. And they didn’t want to.
Frances wasn’t sweating, hadn’t screamed, and was carrying on as if nothing had happened. Hell, her knees had even stopped wobbling.
“I did good?”
“Yeah. I came. It was good. Good job.”
Fucking… She snagged the ice cream, and I followed her into the next room. I was still struggling to figure out what to say, how I felt, when she led the way downstairs.
Rory emerged from the office just as we reached the door. He was tugging at his shirt, and looking a little flushed.
I glanced from him to the wastebasket next to the computer. “You didn’t.”
He shrugged, and dug his finger into Frances’s ice cream.
Grimacing, Frances handed it over. “You can have the rest
.”
Chapter Sixteen
FRANCES
Zack was in the kitchen when I emerged the next morning. I approached slowly, staring at his bare chest, which was doing a hypnotic rippling thing that made Ghost Rider’s flames look alive. He was at the sink, his arms flexing as he scrubbed at a dish. A little puff of bubbles landed next to his nipple, and began the long slide downward.
I tried and failed to tear my gaze away. He was scrubbing a bottle, plunging the bottle brush he held into it over, and over, and over again. My pussy squeezed, remembering how that’d felt. He pushed the bottle brush in with a particularly stiff stroke, and another spray of bubbles scattered over his washboard abs. Stifling my whimper, I put one hand up like a blinder and hustled across the cabin to let Puck out.
Upon my return, I went straight to the coffeepot and poured. When I turned around, Zack was working on a thermos, his strong hand sliding the brush in, his other guiding the thermos in a slow, easy circle. Foamy white suds overflowed and spilled from the mouth of the thermos, and my ears prickled as he groaned softly.
Deciding it was too hot in this kitchen for the both of us, I took myself and my coffee to the bar. That didn’t help, however, because now I had a front row seat.
Zack dismantled a salt shaker, then flooded it with soapy water. His finger went in next, and it was a tight fit. Squeak, squeak, squeak, went the glass, and I’d never experienced a more bothersome noise.
Then it was a jar, a gallon jar. Zack’s biceps bulged as he lifted it, full of water. He cleaned the rim first, swirling the sponge around, being incredibly thorough. I was so full of anticipation, tracking those firm hands, wanting one in that jar, needing it—that when his fist plunged in through the mouth, and hot, soapy water overflowed, I jumped, splashing coffee all over myself and the counter.
I looked up into Zack’s grin. My eyes narrowed. Oh, it’s on.
His well-muscled forearm plunged lazily in, and as he thrust his hand deeper, more bubbles gushed. Then, because apparently it’d been a very dirty jar, he traced the rim with the sponge again, going ’round, and ’round, and ’round. While holding eye contact.