It Stings So Sweet

by Stephanie Draven

  Her body is so voluptuous, her skin so creamy, her hair so fragrant. I realize how much I want her. How much I want her to touch me. How much I want to taste her. My body throbs with its new and outrageous craving just as her slender fingers slip under my gown to caress my sex.

  I moan, but I’m not the only one.

  Both men make wounded sounds as if the sight of us together is too much to bear. This excites Clara as much as it excites me. I feel the flutter of her heartbeat beneath my palm as I caress and squeeze her round breasts. I hear myself panting as Clara’s gentle fingers stroke between my slick folds. Her lashes sweep down as she gives me a look of pure wickedness. She plays with me, teasing my swollen pussy with a flutter of her fingers that sends a sickly rush of arousal through my belly.

  Robert surprises us both by reaching around to grab her by the nape of her neck. “Keep kissing each other … and mean it.”

  Clara goes kittenish, a submissive look in her eye that I recognize because I’m feeling it, too. I want to please him. And her. I think I might even want to please Leo, who stays aloof from us, but has let his cigarette burn to ash.

  Deep, sensual breaths fill the room and warm the air. It’s the music of utter surrender as Clara and I kiss harder, tongues dancing in each other’s mouths. Robert yanks down the straps of my gown, exposing my breasts for Clara, who dips her head. With a mischievous wink, she catches my nipple between her teeth and sucks it. Oh, the warmth of her lips closing around the sensitive flesh …

  All I can think is that I’m touching Clara Cartwright. I’m kissing her and touching her and being fondled by her like we were lovers, while Robert watches me. When she kisses me again, I moan into her mouth and I arch against her hand, letting her give me pleasure that is itself a confession to a hunger I would never speak aloud.

  She rubs me, but not the way that Robert does. I clutch at her, giving myself over to it. “Oh god, I’m coming,” I whimper with a note of desperation and surprise as the ecstasy of it explodes behind my eyes. The whole time I’m enraptured with the thought that it’s a woman doing this to me …

  When it’s over, Clara says, “I bet Robert loves playing with your pussy. It’s still quivering against my hand like a little wet bird.” Then Clara flutters her eyelashes and trails her fingers up to Robert’s mouth so that he can suck them clean of my taste.

  I don’t know how to feel. I want them both. I’m shameless now, more needy than I’ve ever been, but I worry that she’s about to steal him. What man can resist that sexy little pout and those come-hither eyes?

  Apparently Robert can, because he doesn’t kiss her, he kisses me. He kisses me hot and hard and with such a fierce sense of possession that I feel myself totally open to him. If he wants to fuck me here and now in front of Clara and Leo, I won’t stop him.

  In fact, I think I want him to do it.

  He must see it. He must know it. But he pushes me down to my knees.

  I bury my head in his lap, enjoying the swollen bulge of his arousal against my cheek. I’m ready to take him in my mouth but he lifts my chin and says, “Don’t you want to make Clara come, too?”

  I glance up, shocked when she threads her fingers through my hair and spreads her legs with a feline invitation. “Is this where you fantasized about kissing me, Sophie?”

  There is nothing I can say. I shrink inside myself. I feel like a tiny mouse. Like a teensy toy that can fit in a box. Like something small and fragile. And my resistance crumbles to dust. I can’t speak, I can only nod, stunned at my own willingness when I see she isn’t wearing any underwear at all. But that isn’t the surprising part. It’s that she’s totally bare. Shaved of all her hair.

  Pink and swollen and twitching with her own sexual appetite.

  I don’t know what to do and I’m afraid I won’t like it. I glance up at Robert and his concentration is so deadly earnest that I’m also afraid to meet his eyes. He wants this maybe more than I do, and that excites me enough to try.

  I kiss her sex, tentatively, unsure. But her taste is mild and not altogether different from my own.

  That’s as far as I thought to go, but Clara tugs me against her. “I’m so close, Sophie … use your tongue.”

  I’m scared to do it, but curious, too. My tongue rolls gently over the pearl between her nether lips.

  “More,” she whispers, not afraid to pull my hair when I resist. And I do resist.

  But she fists my hair in both hands, which excites me. I lick her, moving my tongue faster and harder. The taste of her is in my mouth and the scent of her is in my nostrils and I have a desire to please.

  Something must give me away, because Clara gives me a wicked smile. “Ohhhhh, you like it, Sophie.”

  I try to deny it, but she digs her nails into my scalp. “Don’t you stop.”

  She is hurting me. She is crueler to me than any man has ever been. And it makes it so much better. Her cruelty strips me of pride. It frees me to lick, suck, nibble, and lose myself in the forbidden act.

  I like it. Oh god, I love it.

  The men urge us on and a dam of resistance breaks open in me. I bury my face between her thighs, intent on her pleasure. It is my fantasy come true and I want it to go on and on. I think she knows. I think she holds back, forcing me to work harder for it. She wants to give the men a good show. She wants to make an impression. She keeps me on my knees, worshipping her pussy, until the carpet burns my shins and my scalp stings like fire.

  The longer it goes on, the more I give myself over to it. I want them to see me do it. I want to do it just the way she likes it. It doesn’t matter that my mouth is sore and my tongue is tired. It only matters that I want to make her come. I want to make her come because she wants it. And I also want her to come because Robert wants it.

  He’s done this to me and I love him for it

  Clara finally moans, still pulling my hair. “Don’t stop. Just like that … oh, just like that, just like that!”

  Three rhythmic tenses of her belly and she’s pulsing against my tongue, crying out in rapture. But that isn’t the end of it. She holds my face there afterwards, making me kiss her pussy softly until she’s spent.

  Flushed and panting, her grip turns gentle and she strokes my cheek. Then she bends down to kiss me, tenderly and with genuine affection. “Good girl.”

  The moment she releases me, I look up at Robert and watch him snap.

  Never in all the times we’ve been together has he grabbed me with such force. He pulls my clothes off like he owns me, like I’m his, like he can share me if he wants to. I can’t escape him. And I don’t want to. He has me naked in seconds, spread flat on the coffee table, the cool polished surface slippery beneath my shoulder blades.

  I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t much care, as long as his hands are on me. He tilts my head back and presses the shining crown of his cock against my lips. I take him in my mouth and realize there are more hands on me than just his. The silky brush of Clara’s hair against my belly makes me cry out, but my sounds are muffled by Robert’s shaft as it slides smoothly over my tongue.

  The sensation is too much. I’m sucking him as Clara sucks on me and I can’t stand it. His testicles bump my nose, forcing me to breathe around his tempo. Clara uses her tongue to torture me. It thrusts, it squirms, it taps and taunts. Her tongue rasps mercilessly against my sex until I’m dying of obscene, wicked rapture.

  I want to please Robert. I want to please Clara. I want to please them all. I feel like the tiniest person in the room. A toy for them to play with. And the thought makes me come.

  I scream around Robert’s throbbing cock, awash in ecstasy.

  I want to drink him while my own orgasm consumes me, but he pulls me down to my hands and knees by Leo’s feet. I look up at the famous aviator and catch a look that passes between him and Robert. They don’t need to speak; whatever they say is in a language all their own, but it looks like gratitude, understanding, and maybe … grace.

  It’s a strange
thing to see, especially knowing that Robert is going to fuck me now. I shake with the knowing of it. I smell like Clara and need—I’ve done something utterly wicked and I’m reveling in it. Sex is base. Sex is animalistic. Sex is rooted in the earth. Its smells, its feel, its fluids, and its consequences are grounded in the here and now. But when he thrusts into me, I feel my spirit fly.

  It doesn’t take Robert long to finish, and when he does, we collapse together to the floor.

  I laugh because I’m filled with unexpected joy. Robert chuckles, too, breathless, clutching me.

  “Now that would have made a good movie,” Leo says, with a tip of his glass.

  Clara crawls to her husband. “You don’t think I forgot about you, do you, Ace?”

  “To the contrary, Mrs. Vanderberg, you sure do know how to show a fella a good time.”

  Clara and Leo make love in the chair.

  Right in front of us.

  And why not?

  Spooning together in wordless emotion, Robert and I watch them. And they’re beautiful to watch. I like the way Clara moves. I like the way Leo touches her. They don’t care that we’re watching; I think they’ve forgotten we’re even here. They are two people so attuned to one another, so perfectly trusting of each other, that nothing else in the world matters. They’re so in love that it radiates off them.

  I can feel it. And my own emotions rise up in me.

  “Thank you for giving this to me,” Robert murmurs.

  It was my fantasy and he gave it to me. But somehow, I understand. I’ve closed a circuit for him—I’ve made the same connections with the people he cares about. I’ve shared with him something he doesn’t allow himself to have anymore. He was discontented and I’ve given him contentment.

  There’s something sacred in that.

  “I’m falling in love with you,” Robert whispers.

  My heart fills to bursting, but I’m afraid to believe. “No, no, you aren’t.”

  “Yes,” he insists, his lips in my hair. “I am. And there’s nothing halfway about it.”

  The declaration steals my breath away all the more for the quiet, sincerity with which he utters it. A lump lodges itself in my throat as I feel the weight of his stare. I don’t know what to say or how to say it because what’s inside me feels too big for words.

  CHAPTER

  Nine

  A sliver of cruel morning sun tortures me from the only part of the window not covered by the curtains. My tongue rolls thick and furry in my mouth and a thousand tiny protesters roar their fury every time I move my head.

  “Here,” Robert says, sitting at the edge of the bed with a tonic in his hand. “This’ll help.”

  I take a sip, but my belly threatens rebellion. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Allow me to introduce you to your very first hangover.”

  That makes me laugh, which hurts my head. “You’ve introduced me to rather a lot of firsts.”

  He beams, boyish in the morning light. “Your first time, your first drink, your first hangover, your first girl … oh, Sophie, don’t hide under the covers!”

  I do it mostly to keep the sun from stabbing at my eyes, but the sharp edge of embarrassment cuts me, too. “Did that really happen? With Clara. Last night?”

  “Oh, yes. I don’t have photographic evidence, so you’ll have to take my word.”

  I whimper. “I can’t even imagine the discussion you must have had to arrange it—”

  “I didn’t arrange it.”

  “But, last night, in the club, you said—”

  “By then, I knew,” Robert says. “I know their moods.”

  He takes my hand, lifts my fingers to his lips, and kisses them. “Don’t say you regret it, Sophie, or you’ll break my heart. I needed that so much. We don’t ever have to do it again, but I won’t be able to bear it if you remember the evening with disgust.”

  “Disgust is the very last thing I feel,” I confess.

  I stand shocked at my own behavior. At my reckless loss of self-control. But the memories that flash through my mind only make me sigh with renewed desire. Clara’s lips. Her breasts. Her taste. Robert’s encouragement. Leo’s cool observation. Somehow, the utter licentiousness of it fills me with satisfaction.

  “I understand why you wanted to be with them.”

  His expression softens. “Sophie, last night wasn’t about them. I need you to know that watching you excited me more than anything or anyone has ever excited me.”

  “That can’t be true,” I say, wary of believing him.

  “Do you need proof?” he asks, sliding between the decadently silky sheets with prurient intent.

  I hold him at bay with both hands. “Only if you can prove it quietly without jostling my pounding head …”

  “Sophie … I’ve enjoyed the company of many women; I won’t lie about that, but none of them ever needed me before and—”

  “And you think I do?” I take umbrage.

  “You definitely do. Spending your days philosophizing and making trouble. Hiding all that sex appeal beneath prim dresses and shabby underwear. Walking around with a head full of wild fantasies and no one to make them come true. It’s criminal. You need me badly.”

  “You’re awfully full of yourself,” I say, my cheeks hot.

  But I don’t deny it, either.

  “And I need you, too, Sophie. Because you make me feel like a man.”

  I roll my eyes, then realize he isn’t teasing. He’s trying to tell me something important.

  He clears his throat. “I’ve been an overgrown boy most of my life because nobody ever expected very much from me and I’ve never disappointed them. Very few people ever needed me. I can count them on one hand and most of them died in the war. But you need me, you trust me, and because of that, I’m starting to trust myself. You challenge me to be smarter, stronger, and more disciplined. You make me want to be better.”

  “And that excites you?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

  “Everything about you excites me. When I tell you to do something and you obey me, it’s such a thrill that my cock jumps to attention. And last night, good Christ, you made me lose my mind.”

  “Perhaps you were just aroused because Clara was in the room.”

  He snorts. “Maybe that’s why you were so aroused. I adore Clara, but she can’t hold a candle to you in my eyes. She’s a sweet ball of drama covered in a candy shell, but you’re something to chew on. There’s nothing jaded or hard about you. You’re the genuine article, the real McCoy … and I think you were made for me.”

  Twinkling lights transform the hotel rooftop into an elegant starlit venue. A band plays at the far end and several hundred well-dressed people laugh and dance and swipe hors d’oeuvres from silver trays.

  “Is that Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford?” I whisper, in a near panic. It was one thing for Robert to introduce me to his friends in a speakeasy, but now he’s squiring me around on his arm in real society. “Are you sure I should be here?”

  “I love to introduce you to new things,” Robert says with a wink. “Besides, Clara and Leo would be heartbroken if you didn’t show up.”

  Clara and Leo’s aviation film won a big industry award and to celebrate, they’ve rented out the rooftop of the Aster Hotel. Now they’re dancing, cheek to cheek, cradling a statuette between them like a love child. They’re strange and gay and happy, and their joy is infectious.

  I’m happy, too, and why shouldn’t I be?

  There’s a whole night sky of twinkling possibility overhead.

  Clara waves us over. I flush and go tongue-tied as I drift into her orbit, but she kisses me on both cheeks, easy as duck soup. “Sophie, say you’ll come with us!” Clara turns in her husband’s arms, leaning against him. “Leo is taking me to Cape Cod for a few weeks and we’re going sailing. You and Robert should join us. Can you imagine the fun we’ll have on the beaches?”

  It sounds wild and decadent and given Clara’s enthusiasm, probably s
omething that Robert has done with them before. But for a man with his reputation, he’s strangely reticent. Robert says, “I’m afraid we can’t. I have a hotel to run, you see …”

  Clara laughs, resting her head on her husband’s shoulder. “Oh, bushwa. You’re the boss, Robert. Give yourself a vacation and we’ll hit every dive roadhouse on the coast and—”

  “Bobby,” Leo interrupts. “Eyes at ten o’clock.”

  Robert glances over his shoulder and stiffens. “Oh hell, my father is here.”

  Following his gaze, I see the portly ambassador in a knot of similarly dressed older men sporting long mustaches that went out of style at least a decade ago.

  Leo scowls. “He didn’t tell you he was coming?”

  Robert gives a shake of his head. “He’d rather make a surprise inspection …”

  A moment later, the ambassador makes his way over. By way of greeting, he gives a stiff bob of his head. Beside me, Robert steels himself, tension vibrating through his hand into mine. “Father. It’s good to see you. You know Mr. and Mrs. Vanderberg of course.”

  The ambassador barely acknowledges the duo. “What’s this bash costing us? You’ve got too many waiters working the floor and—”

  “May I introduce my date for the evening? This is Miss O’Brien.”

  The old man nods, indifferently. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Brien. You look lovely tonight.” It’s a reflexive compliment, dismissive even, as if his son has introduced him to many young ladies. Then something drags his eyes back to me. “You’re not Paul Kendrick’s cousin from Ireland, are you?”

  The old man’s scrutiny makes me awfully nervous. “No, sir, I’m afraid not.”

  “But you look so familiar,” he says, puffing on a pipe. “What does your father do?”

  Robert starts to say something, but I’m so nervous I talk right over him. “My father was a coal miner.”