by Thea Devine
The champagne arrived.
“And how you would look undressed…in silk and stilettos…”
Her body creamed as he looked at her with that light in his eyes. The waiter popped the cork, poured, let him taste, approve, and then poured two flutes and moved aside so that the accompanying hors d’oeuvres could be served.
“Thank you,” he murmured, and the servers withdrew. He lifted his flute. “To silk and stilettos, my dear.”
She lightly tapped her glass to his and sipped, her body taut as a cello string and playing low notes in her nether parts.
“Here, taste this.” Seafood forks had been provided with the hors d’oeuvres; he nipped a small round of puff pastry and held it out to her.
She let him feed her, closing her lips around the tidbit in an unconsciously sensual way. “Umm. Melts in your mouth.” She took another as he watched her intently and said, “I would like to melt in your mouth.”
Oh, God. Darts of desire zinged everywhere. She closed her eyes for a luscious moment, then opened them and met his gaze directly. “I’d like that, too.”
“Good, because I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”
“Nor I you.”
His eyes lit again. “Good. Let’s drink to that.”
She knew instinctively there would be no negotiating tonight. Tonight was for celebrating that they felt the same, that her need was as strong as his, and that they would explore that territory—tonight.
She went weak with anticipation. He had fine hands, a fit body, a sensual mouth; the expression in his eyes veered from amused to appreciative at any given moment, and he always seemed to be relishing that moment.
“Come.” He nudged her, holding out a forkful of scallop and bacon.
She took it obediently, knowing the look in her eyes said she wanted to come—and soon.
“Anticipation is the best appetizer,” he murmured. “We have all the time in the world.”
You’re my appetizer—delicious and filling and just as quickly gone…
But she shook off that thought and smiled at him, feeling that same delight as the first time she saw him.
Why couldn’t it be him?
She knew it wasn’t him.
“We know everything we need to know, don’t we?” he asked after a moment.
“We do.”
“Yes, I rather thought you’d feel that way.” He tipped his flute to her. “You’re an utter and delectable surprise.”
“I’m happy you think so.”
“Then shall we…?
She loved how he phrased it, so delicately that it made her breathless just thinking about everything to come that he had not said. She nodded.
He kissed her in the elevator as it rose to the highest floor, whispering against her lips, “Let me melt in your mouth,” then did with an expertise that caught her by surprise. The way he licked her and then slowly insinuated his tongue between her lips; his kiss was exquisite, so gossamer in its demand of her.
“We have so much time,” he breathed, and she didn’t contradict him.
He was quartered in a luxury suite with a sitting room, where he settled into a chair and pulled her down into his lap.
“Time to kiss and fondle.” He claimed her mouth again, he stroked her silken thighs, ran his hand all the way down her leg to her toes, slid his hand upward to the hem of her dress and pulled it up over her hips to find what he knew he would find—that she was naked beneath her dress and her body was hot for him. “And to feel the nakedness of you between your legs…”
She moved against his stroking hand and made a sound.
“I need to feel your cunt now…say yes…”
He was so coaxing, so playful about it. His mouth was so seductive and his fingers so caressing, she breathed, “Yes,” and canted her body so that his finger could rim her nether lips, part them, and she sank down onto them as he entered her heated body.
Two fingers, three—she gasped as he inserted the fourth, as he pushed into her, twisting and pumping until she was mindless with need.
“There…now this pretty pussy is all mine…”
Oh, God…she rocked against the hard, probing pressure of his fingers, her body wild with rippling pleasure. He could stay there forever—oh, dear Lord, this was a man, with a man’s hands, and a man’s firm, demanding mouth; it was so outside anything she’d ever experienced…
“Pretty pussy…so wet for me…come for me, pussy, purr for me—”
She could feel each finger separately as he bore into her, could feel his thumb braced on her mound, felt the lushness of her body and the start of the sharp, steep climb to orgasmic oblivion, and she let herself go, let herself slide into a long, slow swoop of molten pleasure.
“Ah…ah…ah…ah!” Him? Her? Both of them, as her orgasm broke over her like a hot pummeling wave?
She pushed at his hand but he wouldn’t move it.
“Come, come, come,” he crooned, settling her, still with his fingers inserted between her legs, against his erection. “That was so good, pretty pussy. So good.”
“Mmmmm,” she groaned, writhing away from his invasive fingers.
“No, no, don’t do that. I like my fingers in your cunt. Kiss me.”
She kissed him, but he instantly took over, his lips settling hard and sensuously on hers as he delved into her mouth and her sheath with simultaneous movements of his tongue and his fingers.
She was on some other plane, a place where only sensation existed, honed to two fine points of pleasure—her mouth and between her legs. All she could do was hang on and let him do what he wanted to do, let him call her his pretty pussy, let him pleasure her however he would. The carnal gratification was that intense, that necessary, and she didn’t know how she was going to live without it.
No more unexpected men…
Except if they want to fondle and feel your buttocks, those expert fingers sliding up and down her crack, caressing her, feeling her, testing her there—
He was teaching her the prime pleasure points of every part of her body, back, front, inside, outside…her body was all honey now, every part of her thickening with uncontrollable lust for him.
He kept kissing her, whispering to her, caressing her bottom and easing downward into her cunt, and then just as slowly and sensuously withdrawing from her and feeling her up to her anus. She swooned as he held her buttocks apart in the most expert way while he felt and probed her there.
“Oh, you are a pretty pussy, just melting in my hands,” he breathed against her lips, “purring with pleasure, the perfect pussy.” He calmed her as she surged to his seeking fingers. “No, no, no—we have all the time we want…come to me, pussy—like that…” as he thrust his fingers back into her creaming cunt—“like that…” as he penetrated her from the obverse position…“like that—and that…”
And that and that and that and that—her orgasm didn’t stop, her body expulsing her pleasure almost of its own volition. His fingers were everywhere, probing, penetrating, pumping…. His mouth devoured her, taking her pleasure deep into himself, not letting her pull away, back away, turn away from what his fingers pulled from her wildly undulating body.
“No more,” she gasped.
“But I have to, my pussy.”
“No…enough…” Her voice was barely there; her body was shell-shocked with the shivering aftermath of her racking orgasms. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe or respond to his kisses.
He stroked her thighs gently, sensually. “Don’t move. Now I get to look at the pussy that produced such a thunderous orgasm.”
“Oh…” All she could focus on was the feel of his hand fondling her thigh, her buttock.
“It was good for me, too,” he whispered as he kissed her again.
Oh…uh-oh…he was playing with her buttocks again, his fingers sliding and stroking and gently probing her exactly where she wanted him to open her.
“Come, pretty pussy, I’m not done yet. Let’s play s
ome more…”
Chapter Five
He wanted nothing from her, just the mindless eruption of her pleasure as he explored her cunt and her bottom. Nothing for him—but she felt him pulsing, elongating, poking, almost as if his shaft were an entity separate from him, yearning to get at her.
Hours passed in a haze of lush, wet kisses and hot, thick orgasms. She never knew she was capable of such voluptuous hedonism.
His hands were magic; he knew everything about a woman, everywhere to touch and fondle to prime her. And in between, he held her against his chest, kissing her, murmuring to her, assuring her there was time, so much time.
His penis didn’t feel like it wanted to waste much more time. It was making itself felt as he parted her legs yet again to explore her creamy depths.
“Let me…” she begged him, sliding her hand along his iron shaft.
“No no no, we have time, I promise you.” He penetrated deep again and she bore down on his fingers, giving him what he wanted, giving him her complete surrender to this pleasure.
He had shown her so much more than she knew about herself, about a man, about pleasing a man. This was Mistress Prep 101, she thought. And as long as he wants this, or anything he wants of me, I’m his…
“So, my pretty pussy,” he murmured after another explosive orgasm, another long, luscious kiss. “Here we are…” His fingers still rooted between her legs; she had closed her thighs, trapping them there, and she felt him stroking her deep deep deep, melting her again deep inside. “And I haven’t even gotten to your nipples yet.”
The words made her cream again. “Get to them.”
“Next time.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow, straight after you finish at the hotel, if you desire.”
“I want it now, Hugh.”
He seemed pleased. “Not yet.”
She wriggled against his embedded fingers, and he kissed her as he slowly withdrew them. His kiss deepened, taking her down hard against him as he removed his hand from between her legs. He grasped her thigh, he pulled her tighter; his kisses grew hard with a compulsive need he would not give in to.
Not tonight. Tonight was to learn her, to test her passion, her limits, her capacity for pleasure. It caught her by surprise when he finally penetrated her from behind, rimming, inserting his finger, suddenly there.
She stopped her assault on his mouth with a startled gasp, her eyes wide.
“Perfect, my pussy. You are perfect.”
It was so strange. It was like his finger was the center of the world. The pleasure was so unexpected there, so odd, so—right…because it was him, his exploration of her, just one more part of her that now was open to him, for him, and accessible for his pleasure and for hers.
“Don’t move. Just feel.”
She looked into his eyes and sank into a swamp of voluptuous pleasure as he fondled her cunt and anus, and into his heady satisfaction that she was so willing, so open, with an appetite for every carnal act he performed on her.
“I’ll have wet dreams about you tonight and all day tomorrow,” he murmured.
“Me, too,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
“Not until you explode in my hands one more time.”
“It’s coming.”
“Love it. You have the most luscious pussy. Come for me—now.”
Powerful words, for her. She was on her hands and knees, with his fingers penetrating front and back so that she could undulate her hips against two powerful pleasure points, with him watching her face as his caresses built in her body, each distinct, sharp, in opposition and the same, coming coming coming…
…one long last thrust hard against the finger in her anus and she was gone—writhing hard and fast as a belly dancer, seeking the hard rock of her orgasm as she succumbed.
Down down down…it was a white water of sensation, rushing gushing flushing her down through the rapids until she sluiced through on the other side.
He pulled her close again, slowly withdrawing his fingers, ignoring the heat and thrust of his penis, kissing her forehead and stroking her shoulders.
She felt bereft without his penetration.
“Tomorrow we’ll dine first,” he said on a breath.
“I want to dine on you,” she whispered shakily.
“Strange pussy.” There was laughter in his voice. “Adorable, amazing pussy. Gorgeous, delectable pussy. But I’d best not start that again, or I’ll be rooting in your cunt and we’ll be hours at it and no work will get done tomorrow. Which is problematical now, since I’ve found you. My pretty pussy will occupy all my thoughts tomorrow. I don’t think I can wait till evening—do you suppose you could do lunch as well as dinner?”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she whispered.
“You know what I want, pretty pussy.”
“I want it, too.”
He took her again, front to back, held her in the steamy aftermath, then helped her dress and right herself, and sent her on her way with a car service.
At her apartment building, she stood watching the limousine lights recede, and only then did she enter, moving slowly, sensuously, feeling every inch of her body.
What exactly had happened tonight?
The unexpected man had happened. New ideas, possibilities, sensations had happened.
Beyond that, she didn’t want to explore. Didn’t want to share.
Now both she and MJ had sexual secrets, and had willingly, knowingly, defiantly hooked up with men whom they already knew were bound to leave them.
Delia loved her job, and if the Mistress Club never got off the ground, if she never found someone to keep her and shower her with orgasms and offerings, she wouldn’t much care.
She couldn’t have imagined a life this exciting even a year ago. Then she was hanging on by her fingertips to her sanity, her scholarship, and the last vestiges of her futile love for the emotionally abusive Frank.
Thank God Brooke had dreamed up this fairy tale. Delia wasn’t a dumb blonde—she understood, even in the depths of her despair, that finding a wealthy lover in Manhattan was every bit as much a fairy tale as Sleeping Beauty.
But the idea had galvanized them, had given them something to hook their imaginations to that would drive them toward an end. And Brooke was a genius for how she’d sold it to them. Control of their sex lives, getting something for what they routinely gave away—it had made perfect sense.
Their quest had given them focus, gotten them super jobs, nice apartments, and entrée to the coveted single life in Manhattan. Life that could swing in twenty different directions depending on what you wanted and how fast and how far you were willing to go.
She had had her share of propositions since she’d been at the restaurant. She’d heard her share of stories about the beyond night life, the secret sanctums where everything was possible. She knew, having shamelessly eavesdropped, where celebrities converged, wound up, unwound, danced, and drank, and she’d had invitations to join the orgasmic floating party.
But she hated partying. She was a homebody, a nurturer, even though she was the first of her family to attend college. She’d realized early on that she couldn’t fix her family, she only could fix herself; but it had taken her longer to comprehend that she couldn’t have fixed Frank. But back then, she’d been so desperate for any morsel of affection that she had held on to her idealized vision of their relationship like a lifeline.
Thank God for Brooke. Brooke had given her a life.
“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?” She was wearing a floor-length vintage gown tonight that she’d found in the East Village, which went surprisingly well with her up-to-the-minute hairstyle.
She smiled at the customers, took their names, showed them to their table, and settled them in. Nice people, elegant people, people who were getting to know her—people who were regulars, who never failed to stop for a moment’s conversation with her.
God, she loved this job.
The phone at her st
ation rang.
“Good evening, how can I help you?” She knew she sang into the phone, but she’d been told customers loved the lilt in her voice.
“Is this Delia?” a strange male voice asked.
She stiffened. “This is she.”
“This is Bill.”
Bill? It took her a moment. Bill of six months ago in the skybox? “Bill—?”
“The Garden, the skybox…I hope you remember…”
How could she not remember? All that luscious head cream. “Bill, how nice to hear from you. But I’m at work now, so I really can’t talk.”
“Where can we talk, and when?”
He was eager and that was promising. But she hadn’t thought he was Mistress Club material. Obviously he’d been thinking about her, and he’d gone to the effort of finding her. All good things. And she’d really enjoyed blowing his penis.
“Well, I’m here until midnight. If you’re willing to wait until then, we could have a drink at the Cellar Bar.”
“I’ll wait. When?”
She looked at her watch. “Twelve-thirty is the earliest I could get there.”
“Can I come there?”
“No.”
“All right. Cellar Bar, twelve-thirty.”
“Good,” she said and hung up. Better than good.
So he really wanted to see her again, even if it had taken him this long to find her. And he had a really long, hard penis. And she was feeling like she wanted some again. So Bill’s call seemed fortuitous, destined even.
Maybe.
You never knew, when you blew a guy, what he was thinking. Not that it mattered when it was a one-shot, one-night blow. But wow…six months later—
She saw him immediately when she walked into the bar. He was dressed well in a Brooks Brothers suit, and he was nursing a beer. He must have felt the shift in the air because he looked up, got up, and came to greet her.
“Delia.”
“Bill.” Like they were long-lost relatives or something.
“Let’s get a table and some privacy.”
When they were settled in a far corner and had ordered, he leaned into her and said, “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”