Breathless

by Radclyffe

  “Aly, you need a real model for this.”

  “I think you’re missing the point of the whole project, babe.”

  “No. I know it’s about using women who aren’t the usual model-type. But I’ve got nothing distinctive about me at all.” I watched as Aly ran appraising eyes over my wavy, long, light brown hair and lower to my very ordinary and slightly too curvy figure. Contentment with Aly had induced me to put several pounds on my hips. She maintained it was an improvement, while I begged to differ. Now, under her gaze, I felt sexy.

  “You’re perfect, Jen,” she said softly. And I believed her.

  “So what am I supposed to wear, then?”

  Aly grinned delightedly and picked up a nearby bag to show me the contents. A flowing skirt of black velvet was very convincingly Victorian. My eyes widened as she showed me a boned corset in black satin, laced with a crimson ribbon. She caught my expression.

  “Don’t look so shocked. We’re going for Victorian after all.”

  “Aly, I—”

  “Just try it, for me.”

  I sighed and took the clothes. “Okay. But you can go away while I change. That way you’ll get the full effect.”

  “I’m going to see how my latest prints are progressing.” Aly smiled with obvious pleasure. Oh, she was definitely enjoying this.

  As soon as she was gone, I stripped out of my jeans and T-shirt and donned the costume. The heavy folds of velvet caressed my legs and draped to the floor. The corset was tight at my waist and had a complimentary effect on my breasts. I had to admit, I felt attractive. I smiled as Aly came back into the studio, eyes all over me.

  “Will I do?” I asked.

  “I don’t think you know how stunning you are.”

  I looked at her suspiciously as she came closer. “We’re not enacting another one of your fantasies are we, my love?”

  “You’ve taken over all of my fantasies, Jen.” She clasped my corseted waist and drew me to her. She kissed my bare shoulders, running her mouth over my collarbones and the hollow at the base of my throat. I couldn’t help but moan under the caress of her mouth, her breath. She pulled back to inspect my appearance. “Just one more thing.”

  She reached into the pocket of her jeans, drew out a small velvet bag, and handed it to me.“Open it.”

  Her words were heavy with tenderness and a trace of uncertainty. So different from my usually confident and assured Aly. My heart beat harder in response to the emotion in her voice. Curious, I quickly released the drawstring and drew out a length of black ribbon, upon which hung an oval cameo. A white relief of a striking woman on a pale green background.

  “It’s beautiful, Aly,” I said breathlessly.

  “It’s authentically Victorian. Do you know who it is?” She looked very pleased with herself.

  “No, should I?”

  “It’s the Roman goddess of truth, Veritas.”

  “Oh…”

  “But the Greeks called her Alethea.”

  “She’s your namesake?”

  Aly shrugged as though she was vaguely embarrassed. “Yes. It’s an early Christmas present.”

  “Thank you so much, my love! It’s perfect.” I hoped she knew how much it really meant. I kissed her. “Will you fasten it for me?”

  Aly took the ribbon and moved behind me. Her warm fingers brushed against my neck as she fastened the catch. The back of the cameo was cold against my throat, the ribbon soft and silky. When she was done, I turned to face her.

  “Perfect,” she told me, satisfaction in her voice.

  “Now, reluctant though I am to ask, where do you want me?”

  “There’s a leading question. On the chaise longue, please.”

  I sat tentatively in the middle of her carefully arranged scene.

  “Lie back a little more. Against the cushion.”

  I giggled and did as she said. She reached for her camera, with its long lens, and peered through the viewfinder at me.

  “Like this?” I asked.

  “Perfect.” She put the camera down again and picked up the paper chain of garlands and ribbons.

  “So, what are you going to do with those?” I asked.

  “These are what make this more than just a picture of a reclining woman. These are what make it sexy,” she said. “And different.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Aly’s dark eyes locked to mine as she leaned over me and pressed her lips to mine, a harder and more sensual kiss this time. Her strong fingers ran over my exposed shoulder and down the length of my arm, to my wrist, which she grasped and raised above my head.

  “What are you doing?” I mumbled against her mouth.

  “Give me your other hand.”

  My heart throbbed and my blood raged through my veins, full of heat and desire, as I did as she asked. With one hand she held my wrists together as, with the other, she wrapped the paper chain garland around them. She straightened and looked down at me. I moved my wrists slightly and the paper rustled.

  “Not very effective,” I said, hearing my own arousal in my voice.

  “But that’s the point. You don’t want to escape.”

  “You mean the woman in your photo doesn’t want to escape.”

  Aly grinned. “No, babe, you don’t want to escape.”

  I drew a deep breath and tried to regain my composure, a hard task with her looking at me as though she was ready to consume me. I gestured with my chin to the length of crimson ribbon she still held. “And that?”

  “Christmas ribbon.” She shrugged as though it was perfectly innocent.

  “And what are you going to do with it?”

  “Ah. Let me show you. Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  She kissed along my jawline and to my mouth. I inhaled her breath and my desire intensified. I closed my eyes. Aly wound the thick, silky ribbon over my eyes and tied it loosely at the back of my head. Not a particularly effective blindfold—if I opened my eyes I could see plenty. But that wasn’t the point. The suggestion was what mattered. I kept my eyes closed and my breathing deepened. Aly ran her hands over my chest, to the tops of my breasts where they swelled above the corset. I gasped and pressed my thighs together, hoping to relieve some of the almost painful need building between them. She reached up to my hair and I felt her spreading it out over the cushion beneath me.

  “Oh God, Aly…”

  “I love you, Jen. You’re beautiful. Now, don’t move…” I felt her pull away from me, heard her footsteps as she went to pick up her camera. Every movement of the air, every sound was heightened. I could smell the earthy, fresh scent of the Christmas tree, the bitter aroma of the burned-out candles. I heard a click as Aly took her first photograph, and my stomach contracted. The notion of being captured in this moment, which had become so intense between us, both alarmed and aroused me. The idea of Aly looking at me through her camera was, I discovered, more erotic than I would have suspected. I loved to feel her gaze on me, and somehow the camera intensified it. That was unexpected. Maybe even a little kinky. I’d long stopped worrying about such things. Aly and I set our own boundaries and delighted in pushing them.

  The camera clicked again and again. Aly said, “Just turn your head a little bit towards me. And bend your left knee.”

  She took more pictures. Then the room fell silent. I heard only my own breathing, felt only the throb of my pulse and the heavy velvet against my bare legs.

  “Aly?”

  “I’m right here,” she said, very close to me. Her mouth found mine and I met her bruising kiss with equal enthusiasm. She pulled roughly at the ribbon lacing of the corset, opening it and running her hands over the skin she exposed. I wanted to touch her and lifted my hands. She grabbed my wrists, still loosely joined by the paper chain, and pressed them back into the cushion. I moaned, understanding the mood she was in and responding to it, as I always did. As her mouth moved lower to draw my nipple between her lips, grazing my hardening flesh with her teeth, I kept my han
ds where they were and arched my back, giving myself to her.

  “Aly…oh…I want…” I groaned, unable to articulate my desires but safe in the knowledge she knew them. One of her hands came up to squeeze my breast, pinching my nipple firmly between her thumb and forefinger, as her other slid lower, pulling at the rich velvet of the skirt until it was around my waist. She pushed her hand between my thighs, beneath my underwear, and into my wetness with an aroused moan of her own.

  “Tell me you want me, Jen,” she said breathlessly.

  “Can’t you feel it?” I gasped.

  “Yes, but tell me.”

  “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, Aly. You’re my everything…ah…” She entered me as I finished my sentence, taking me with the force of her desire. I met her thrust with a return movement of my hips. She paused, her fingers buried deep inside me. I relished the intimacy as she covered me with her body and kissed me, her hot tongue twining with mine.

  “I want to see you,” I told her.

  She tore the ribbon away from my eyes. My gaze met hers. I saw her arousal in her dilated pupils and knowing I was the cause sent a whole new wave of desire pulsing through me. I was intoxicated by my power to affect her so profoundly.

  She moved her fingers inside me slightly. I breathed deeper and had to touch her. I wrenched my hands free of the paper garlands in one quick movement and began to loosen the buttons of her shirt. Her eyes flashed at my sudden reassertion of my needs. Between us we removed her shirt and I ran my fingers over her small, perfect breasts, loving the sensation of her nipples hardening beneath my touch.

  “Watch me now,” she whispered. Slowly, she slid lower. Easing her fingers out of me, she pulled my underwear down my legs quickly. Teasing, I kept my knees close together. She put her hands on the tender insides of my thighs and pushed, compelling me to open for her. I let her have her way, my eyes fixed on her face, seeing her desire as her gaze fell upon me. Slowly, she moved closer and closer.

  “Oh, fuck, Aly…” I whimpered as her breath teased my hot, wet flesh. I pushed towards her and she gripped my hips, holding me down. I groaned, keeping my eyes on her as she pressed her mouth to me at last. The first sweep of her hot, strong tongue sent an electric shock through my whole body. It was almost too powerful and I tried to pull back. She moved with me and relentlessly massaged me with her lips and tongue. I moaned again. When the movements of her tongue became lighter, teasing, I tried to raise myself to her again but she pressed down, stopping me. I had no choice but to give in to her control of my pleasure, to her merciless desires. I looked down over my body and watched her intimate kisses until I could bear it no longer, then tipped my head back and gave myself up to it.

  She was consuming me, possessing me—giving everything to me. She sucked my hardened flesh between her lips, teasing with her teeth, as she pushed three fingers into me. I knew she could feel how close to the edge I was, the way my body welcomed her inside as my spread thighs trembled. She curled her fingers around expertly and I gave way suddenly to a shuddering climax, helpless to repress my throaty cry of release.

  I was still sweating and panting as she moved up to lie on top of me, her mouth finding mine. I tasted my own arousal in her kiss. I wrapped limp arms around her, enjoying the crush of her breasts against mine.

  When I could trust my voice again, I smiled and said, “I hope that isn’t the way you thank all your models.”

  “Only the very sexy ones,” she replied.

  “Should I feel taken advantage of?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I laughed. Aly was so perfect. Nothing was ever so intense there wasn’t an element of fun involved. I loved her relaxed humour.

  “How were the photos?”

  “Exactly what I wanted.”

  “You’re biased, of course.”

  “Not so biased I don’t know a good photo. You’re the perfect Miss December. And I love the idea of all the women who buy the calendar looking at your photo and wondering who you are. Maybe wanting you. But you’re all mine.”

  “Is your possessive streak coming out again, my love?” I teased.

  “I can’t help it. You mean so much to me, Jen.” Her eyes were intense briefly. These moments of sudden deep emotion were common with Aly, but moved me every time.

  “You know you’re every bit as important to me. This is going to be the best Christmas of my life. The first honest Christmas of my life. It’s because of you, Aly.”

  “It’s not all about me, Jen. I just helped.”

  “More than you know. If you’d told me last Christmas I’d have been celebrating this year like this, I’d never have believed you.” I smiled happily.

  “I guess life’s full of good surprises,” Aly replied, stroking my hair. “And we’re going to have a brilliant new year.”

  “Yes, we are. You know you’ve made me believe in fate?”

  “I think things turn out the way they’re meant to, and we were meant to find each other.” She laughed, lightening the mood once more. “So, you like your present?”

  “I adore it.” I pressed my lips to hers. Aly writhed against me and I could feel her temperature start to soar. I knew she wanted more. So did I. “In fact, I think I need to show you how much I love it. How much I love you.”

  I slid out from underneath her and rose to my feet. I unfastened the skirt and let it slide into a velvet puddle at my feet so I wore nothing but Aly’s cameo. She sat upright and I watched her eyes roaming over my naked body as I reached for her waist and unfastened her jeans, tight against her toned stomach. I pulled them lower, running my fingers over the tattoo on her hip, and lower still, until she was alluringly naked in front of me.

  I dropped to my knees, catching the scent of her arousal. She parted her thighs and ran her fingers through my hair. “I love you, Jen,” she murmured as I took her in my mouth, determined to demonstrate how powerfully I felt the same way. She was my love, my life, my truth. And she tasted so fucking good, I could never have enough.

  Erin Dutton lives near Nashville, Tennessee, with her amazing partner. She enjoys writing stories that reflect the strength of love, both within a relationship and within family. She has written six previous romances, the most recent of which is A Perfect Match. The characters from “Homemade” first appeared in A Place to Rest. For more information about Erin and her work, visit www.erindutton.com.

  Homemade

  Erin Dutton

  “I thought we weren’t working today,” Sawyer Drake called as she strode through the swinging door that divided the dining room of Drake’s restaurant from the kitchen.

  “You’re here, too.” Jori didn’t miss a stroke in the dough she mixed in a silver bowl on the counter in front of her.

  “I’m looking for you.”

  “Sure. But I’ve been in the kitchen—I’m always in the kitchen. You’ve been here for over an hour and this is the first time you’ve come in here looking for me.”

  “You just can’t stay away. I only stopped in on my way to pick you up.”

  “You weren’t supposed to pick me up for another two hours, anyway.” Jori purposely kept her tone light. They were both here for the same reason, their dedication to Drake’s. And given that Sawyer had finally found a career that inspired such devotion, Jori would never make her feel guilty for it.

  Sawyer moved behind Jori and wrapped her arms around her waist. “You’re supposed to be all mine today.”

  The familiar feel of Sawyer’s mouth against the side of Jori’s neck raised goose bumps on her arms. After six months, she still felt a thrill every time Sawyer touched her, and she still would after six years or sixty. Conscious of the other chefs working nearby, Jori nudged Sawyer gently in the ribs with her elbow and Sawyer released her.

  “I came in to check on tonight’s desserts—”

  “Babe, that’s why you have an assistant.”

  As the head pastry chef, Jori not only planned the dessert menu but also made most of
them herself. She’d only started handing more responsibility over to her assistant since she and Sawyer started dating. They made it a point to spend one night a week away from the restaurant, and one whole day at least every other weekend. Today was supposed to be that day.

  “Anyway, Erica caught me. Now I’ve got to make two dozen Christmas sugar cookies.”

  “What? Where is she?” Sawyer’s tone made it clear that her sister and co-manager had overstepped by commandeering Jori.

  “She is right here,” Erica said as she entered from the hallway that led to her office. “Do you have something to say?”

  Sawyer stepped closer to Erica as if squaring off. “You’ve got Jori baking cookies on her day off. This couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “No. It couldn’t. And I need her to deliver them when she’s done.”

  “We don’t even do delivery. What the hell is going on?”

  “Sawyer, it’s no big deal.” Jori turned the dough onto the counter in front of her and picked up a rolling pin.

  After the birth of Erica’s daughter, she and Sawyer had put aside their sibling tension and agreed to run the family restaurant together. But they still had the occasional power struggle, and Jori hated being in the middle of them. She wanted to side with Sawyer, stand by her woman and all. But she knew how stubborn Sawyer could be and she often thought the solution to Sawyer and Erica’s problems was somewhere in the middle. If they could both just give a little ground, they might find it, too.

  “Yes. It is.” Sawyer planted her hands on her hips. “This is the kind of stuff I should know about, Erica. You’re always going to think of yourself as sole manager.”

  “Get over yourself, Sawyer. This was a last-minute order from a very important customer. I’ve already discussed it with Jori and she agreed to make the delivery.” Erica walked out without waiting for a response.