by Gail Roarke
“But otherwise, what’s to complain about? I had a nice dinner with a lovely woman and then made love to her. That’s a hell of a lot better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. I don’t know about you, but I had a great time.”
“So did I.”
“Yeah?” Victor looked skeptical.
“Yeah. A woman can’t enjoy her work?”
“She can. Doesn’t mean she did.”
“She did. Trust me.”
He just raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, trust me on this one thing. I enjoyed my work tonight. Repeatedly. I’m not that good an actress.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. I guess that just leaves one question.”
“What now?”
He nodded.
“I’ve got a couple of ideas,” she said.
“Go on.”
“Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we can either go our separate ways, or....”
He leaned in, his face only inches from hers. “Or?”
“Or we can continue what we started—only without any pretenses between us.”
“I’d like that.”
“So would I.”
He offered his hand. “Victor Kruger.”
She took it. “Robin Harris. Pleased to meet you.”
His smile promised all sorts of delights, and the heat in his eyes as he closed the distance between their mouths warmed her all over. She pulled him down into a full length embrace as he kissed her, hooking a leg over his hip and grinding her hips against him.
He crushed his lips against hers, breathing her in. His hands wandered, renewing his knowledge of her body. Her nipples stiffened beneath his fingers, then his lips and teeth. Her pussy flowered, open and wet and responsive, when he caressed it. He paused briefly to test how ticklish she was with his tongue in her navel. Robin laughed and squirmed against him.
He crawled off the foot of the bed to kneel on the floor. He grabbed her ankles and pulled her effortlessly toward him. She yelped in surprise then laughed. He settled her hips on the edge of the mattress, her feet brushing the floor to either side of him. She was bare and glistening, the lips of her pussy parted and ready for attention.
He leaned in with closed eyes to breathe in her scent, the heady aroma of an aroused woman. There was no better scent in the world. She gasped at the first delicate brush of his tongue then moaned as he ran it the length of her labia. He flicked his tongue across her clitoris, provoking another gasp before he retreated again.
Robin’s body was his instrument, and he played it with enthusiasm. He paid close attention to the noises she made, the soft murmurs of approval or encouragement when he did something she really enjoyed; he noted the tension that rose and fell in her thighs and belly, and the way she writhed when the pleasure she felt stole away her self-consciousness. The way she arched her back and moaned, caressed herself or clutched at his hair, the way her legs rose and fell, the panting breaths or drawn out moans of pleasure told him everything he needed to know.
With lips and tongue and fingertips and breath and oh-so-delicate use of his teeth, he drove her to the sweaty, maddening brink of orgasm and then held her there. He teased her mercilessly, ignoring her pleas until he sensed her patience was at an end, her frustration about to exceed her arousal—and only then he brushed his tongue across her clit.
Robin screamed as her long-denied orgasm overwhelmed her. She convulsed on the bed, her body no longer hers to control. Waves of ecstasy pulsed through her, driven by the contractions like a fist clenching deep inside. She felt the hot rush of fluid in rhythmic spurts, soaking the bed beneath her.
As she thrashed, Victor held her in place, grinning with huge enjoyment as he watched the result of his handiwork. Her ejaculations surprised her as much as they did him, if her wide eyed expression was anything to go by. He wiped his face and waited until her body began to relax, then resumed tonguing her. She went rigid with an audible gasp of surprise. He imagined that her eyes were big as saucers.
She clutched and pulled at the sheets with white knuckled hands as she came a second time, and then repeatedly. She squirted again, the hot liquid coating Victor’s mouth and chin. She kicked her feet frantically, prettily, drumming her heels on his back as she whooped for air when she wasn’t crying out in a ragged voice.
Just when she didn’t think she could stand any more, he sensed that she’d had enough and backed off. Robin felt him back away. She pressed her thighs together and curled up on the bed, gasping like she’d run a marathon. Every few seconds, a ripple of almost unbearable pleasure ran through her body as over stimulated nerves struggled to calm down. She felt lightheaded, exhausted and thirsty.
She felt the mattress flex and then Victor was there, sitting by her head. He laid a hand on her shoulder for a moment, warm and comforting and not at all sexual, which was just as well because she couldn’t stand any more stimulation now. A moment later he placed a pillow under her head, making for a more comfortable position.
And then he sat quietly with her as she slowly descended from the realm of utter bliss she’d visited. Robin thought she ought to feel guilty about experiencing such pleasure when she’d done nothing for him. But she didn’t. A man didn’t learn to do that to a woman if he didn’t get a thrill from it. She’d seen his face once or twice during that whole...episode. He’d loved doing it to her as much as she’d enjoyed experiencing it.
When she’d recovered her breath and her composure, they moved back to the head of the bed. She sat up long enough to drain the glass of water Victor brought her. Then they stretched out on the bed again. She lay on her side facing him, head pillowed on his arm. “Well, that was great,” she said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Good night!”
Victor’s growl made her laugh.
“No?” She glanced down past his broad chest and well defined abs. He was hard, his cock pointing insistently at what he wanted. She rolled her eyes and gave a theatrical, put-upon sigh. “Oh, all right—if you must.”
“Oh, I must.” He pulled her into a long kiss. He was gentle but insistent, exploring her mouth with the same enthusiasm and skill he’d applied minutes earlier. One hand cradled her head, the other stroked her skin, mapping her body with caresses that invariably left her wanting more. She opened her eyes more than once, but Victor’s eyes remained closed, all his attention focused on the taste and the feel of her mouth, her body. By the time he moved between her legs, looming above her on his extended arms, she was ready for more. That surprised her; she’d felt utterly sated after all the incredible oral sex.
The shudder of pleasure he gave when she wrapped a hand around his cock to guide the tip between her pussy lips was delightful. She looked up to see him watching her intently, his eyes hot. She nodded and held his gaze, her groan of pleasure echoing his as he pushed the length of his cock into her.
He held still for a moment, getting used to the clinging grip of her pussy. He’d been hard for a long time, powerfully aroused by her responsiveness. He’d loved eating her to repeated orgasms, been thrilled by reducing her to helpless ecstasy. It turned him on like few things could, but it meant he was closer to orgasm than he liked. He wanted this to last—and he wasn’t sure he would be able to.
He drew a few deep breaths to calm himself, the desperate need to come slowly receding. Robin held his gaze all the while. She knew exactly how close to the edge he was; he could see it in her eyes, in her amused smile, and in the way she held perfectly still.
When the crisis had passed, Victor pulled out then pushed back inside her, moving with exquisite slowness, enjoying the hot, liquid glide of flesh on flesh. He’d regained his self-control, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. Not this time.
Another cycle, and then another. A little faster each time. She held his eyes, watching him intently, face flushed, a faint smile of excitement on her face. He lowered himself to rest his weight on his elbows, close enough to kiss her again. He did.
She thrust her tongue i
nto his mouth, more aggressively than before. Her arms encircled his torso, and he felt her nails dimple the skin of his back. She raised and spread her knees as she drew her nails lightly down his back before sinking them into his ass and pulling him hard against her.
She broke the kiss, her lips curving into a smile against his as she squeezed the length of his cock with her pussy. He grunted aloud, shocked by the indescribable pleasure. He’d never felt anything like it, a milking sensation of pressure rippling along the length of his cock. He drew a gasping breath, suddenly on the ragged edge of his control once more.
He clenched his fists, struggling to contain himself. “Oh...god,” he muttered. A giggle of amusement rippled through her body, tightening her grip on him. Victor looked at her, certain that his desperation showed in his face. He buried his face in her neck. “Don’t...do that!”
“Why not?” she breathed into his ear. “We’ve got all night. You can fuck me again. Right now I want to feel you come inside me.” She dug her nails into his ass again, thrusting her hips upward, pussy gripping him more tightly than ever. “Come for me, Victor.” Her voice snapped like a whip. “Now.”
He had no choice. None at all. He bellowed and thrust his hips frantically, desperately, as his orgasm blew away the last shreds of self-control. He lost himself in mindless ecstasy, pleasure pulsing through his body in waves, rolling back and forth, subsiding only gradually.
He came back to himself by slow degrees. He was limp and trembling, gasping for air. Her hands roamed ceaselessly, stroking and petting him as she kissed his shoulder, neck and ear repeatedly. It occurred to him eventually that he was lying with all his weight on her body.
“Don’t,” she said when he tried to move. She tightened her hold on him. “Not yet. I like it.”
He didn’t ask if she was sure. She seemed to know her own mind. He turned his head to kiss her again. It was a weary kiss, but he tried to communicate just how much he’d enjoyed what she’d done to him. She returned it with glee, clearly pleased by her success.
The kiss went on for some time, with occasional breaks to draw a deep breath, or for one of them to plant kisses along the other’s jaw, or to nibble on an earlobe or nip at a neck. They rolled onto their sides, still joined at the lips and hips, freeing them to caress one another’s bodies. Victor teased her nipples into hard points.
She felt his interest stirring again, his cock hardening inside her. She broke the kiss to stare at him with wide eyes and a broad smile. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” His eyes bored into hers. “You did say I could fuck you again.”
“I did.”
“Well?”
“Why, Mister Kruger—you’re a machine.” She foresaw a long night ahead of her. The thought filled her with joy.
“I’m inspired.”
She grinned, feeling a delicious anticipation entirely separate from the sensation of fullness between her legs. “And you’re twenty years old again.”
He laughed. “That too.”
She laughed with him, pleased by how this assignment had worked out. It hadn’t gone as she’d intended. As a rule, confessing her intentions was poor technique. It also tended to lead to recriminations, hostility, and sometimes to violence. Never before had it led to the best sex of her life.
It wouldn’t lead anywhere else, of course. She knew that about him. At best, she might hope to find her way back into his bed—or vice versa—on occasion. At worst, she’d have the rest of this night to make some more glorious memories.
She gave him her best wanton look. “How do you want me?”
“Naked and screaming.”
“I can do that.”
“Show me.”
And she did.
Author Bio
Gail Roarke grew up reading genre fiction of all sorts and decided early on that she wanted to write it. She’s been writing ever since, though for a long time she wrote for her own entertainment. Eventually that palled, and she started writing and submitting stories for publication. It came as something of a shock to her when she realized that what she was writing consistently was as much erotica as genre fiction. But as long as she’s having fun, why not? You can reach Gail with questions or comments on her blog at http://gailroarke.blogspot.com.