Naughty Bits

by Lacy Danes

  Lowering his head, he kisses her, lightly, and she can taste her own juices on his lips. Then he is moving lower, his mouth all over her skin, sucking one rigid nipple into his mouth.

  “Ah!”

  She can hardly believe how close she is to coming already. Her hands go into his damp, thick hair, holding him close to her breast. He is sucking so hard it hurts. But it feels too good for her to care.

  Yes, suck harder….

  Pleasure, warm and sweet, washes over her body, a trail of heat from her breasts to her sex. Her clit is throbbing.

  “Touch me,” she says demandingly.

  He moves lower and spreads her thighs wide with his hands. And then his mouth is on her, his wet, clever tongue sliding over her pussy lips, pushing inside. And she is squirming, panting. Pleasure is driving into her body, making her shudder. And when he pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks, she comes, bursting, her hips lifting up off the bed.

  “Ah, yes, fuck me!”

  His fingers drive into her, and pleasure coils anew in her belly, tight and hot, then crashes over her like a pummeling wave. And she shatters, coming and coming, her hips bucking into his mouth, his hand.

  She is still shivering when he raises his head. He is smiling. He lifts her and moves her up on the bed, then asks her, “Condoms?”

  She nods her head, but it is a moment before she can speak. “In the small silver case, next to my suitcase.”

  She watches as he leans over next to the bed where her open luggage sits on the floor, clothes spilling out onto the tiles. He finds the silver cosmetics case, unzips it, and after a moment of digging, pulls out the folded strand of foil packets left over from the last trip she’d taken with her ex before…

  She isn’t going to think of that now.

  He is opening a packet with his teeth, and this seems purely sexual to her, animalistic. But perhaps that’s simply because her body is still trembling with the aftershock of orgasm. Or the keen anticipation of knowing his cock will be inside her in only moments.

  Yes.

  He kneels over her on the bed, but before he can sheath himself she reaches up and takes the silver ring between her fingers, tugs on it.

  He groans.

  “It’s called a Prince Albert piercing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never seen one before. Not in person. Did it hurt?”

  He laughs. “Yes, it hurt.”

  She smiles, doesn’t tell him she likes knowing that for some reason.

  “Will it feel different?”

  “You’re about to find out.”

  He slips the condom onto his cock, and she spreads her thighs for him.

  “Yes, that’s it. Wider.” His voice is low, strained.

  He is kneeling between her legs, and she loops them over his strong thighs. He slips one hand under her ass and pulls her up, onto his shaft, entering her.

  He pauses, the head of his cock inside her, and she swears she can feel the curve of the metal ring, a lovely added texture. Her sex is pulsing with pleasure, her whole body is pulsing; a steady beat of lust centered at that point where the thick metal ring, the head of his cock, pierces her body.

  She shifts, trying to take him deeper. His hand comes to her cheek, caresses her jaw, then he is holding her face a little too roughly. And he slams into her, one deep, hurting thrust.

  “Oh!”

  She goes loose all over, her body turning to pure liquid fire. Pleasure, pain, it’s all the same as he pulls back, rams into her again. Then he is fucking her, his cock sliding in and out, hard and hurting and so damn good she is ready to come again in moments.

  The first wave makes the walls of her sex clench around his swollen cock.

  “So fucking tight,” he murmurs.

  And then he is driving harder into her, and she is coming apart, her climax pounding into her, overwhelming her. She is lost, drowning in pleasure, shaking with the force of it.

  And he is still fucking her, fucking her, driving her orgasm on. Moments later he tenses, shivers, cries out as he comes, one hand gripping her ass, his nails biting deep. The other hand still holds her face, so that she is forced to look at him. And she loves the way he just comes apart, his mouth so full and soft as he groans, his eyes closed, his head falling back.

  And still his hips are moving, his cock still hard somehow. And she is coming again, her body tensing, clenching. He senses what is happening, reaches down and takes her clit between his fingers, pinching, tugging. Pleasure, intense, freeing, surges through her, driving deep. And she is left panting and weak. And as sated as she has ever been in her life.

  He pulls out of her and she expects him to move away. But after tugging the condom off, he rolls onto his side, pulling her close. Her head against his chest, she can hear his heart hammering beneath her ear. His body is warm. He smells more like the ocean than ever.

  They sleep. When she wakes it is fully dark. She has no idea what time it is. It doesn’t matter.

  She slips from the bed and brings a bottle of wine—a fruity red from Chile—back to the bed, along with a plate of fruit and some pastries she bought that morning from a vendor on the beach.

  Moonlight washes through the half-open shutters, blue and silver in the dark room. And she can see that he is awake, watching her.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.

  “Hey.”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “No. Stay here with me. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” He sits up in the bed, takes the wine from her, uncorks it and drinks from the bottle before passing it back to her.

  She has set the plate on the bed, and he takes the knife she laid on the edge of the plate and peels an apple, then cuts it into pieces and offers her one. She bites into the apple, the cool sweetness filling her mouth. She follows it with a long sip of the wine. Everything seems utterly sensual to her: the fruit, the wine, the scent of sex in the air, the heat of his body next to hers. And outside the windows, the pulsing beat of the ocean crashing on the shore.

  They sit on the bed and feed each other, pulling the pastry apart with their fingers. It’s sweet with honey. They wash it down with the wine. And when they’re both full, he pours a little of the wine on her naked skin, then licks it off until she is wet and aching, begging him to fuck her again.

  He turns her onto her stomach this time, pulls her up onto her knees. She is shivering, as he uses his fingers to part her pussy lips, at the sound of a foil packet tearing.

  He enters her with his fingers first, sliding right inside. She surges back onto his hand, pleasure shafting through her in long, rippling waves.

  “You’re so wet, so ready.”

  “Yes…”

  He pulls his fingers from her and in a moment the head of his cock is pushing inside her. He is so big, filling her inch by inch, the ring sliding against her G-spot. His arm wraps around her waist, his other hand going into her hair, grasping tight, pulling her head up. She feels taken over, commanded. And she gives herself over to it, to him, as he begins to fuck her, moving slowly at first, then harder, faster. Pleasure seeps into her system, flooding her belly, her arms, her legs. And her sex is clenching, swollen, ready to explode.

  When his hand moves down, massaging her wet cleft, pressing onto her clit, she comes, hard. Waves of pleasure wrack her body, stinging, swift as the ocean current. And she is shaking, nearly sobbing with the power of it.

  She is surprised when he pulls out of her, left empty, bereft. But his hand is there, his lovely, soft fingers, pushing into her, pulling out, wiping her juices all over her pussy lips and back, over her anus. He leans in and plants wet kisses down her spine, and she arches her back, loving the sensation. She is hypersensitive all over, her skin, every part of her body, from coming so much, from his touch. He parts his lips, swirls his tongue over her lower back, and at the same time he slips one finger into her anus.

  “Shh, relax,” he whispers.

  And sh
e does. This is the first time that hole has been breached, but at this moment, it is utterly sensual. With his other hand he teases her clitoris into a hard nub once more. She can hardly believe her body is still able to feel pleasure. But it moves through her in a warm wash of desire, longing.

  He presses his finger deeper. “Breathe,” he tells her, his voice quiet, soothing. There is sex in his voice, his own desire held tight.

  She does as he asks, breathing in, pulling in that scent of ocean and sex and him. And she is shivering once more. He moves his finger in, slides it out. She has never felt anything quite like it, a sense of fullness, and yet, she wants more.

  “Fuck me. Please.”

  He plays her anus with his finger for another few moments, making her surge back, taking more of him in.

  “Please,” she begs again.

  His hand moves away and she feels the head of his cock at that tightest of holes. And she is wet again, trembling with a need that rages through her. He spreads her buttocks, pushes the tip of his cock in. And at the same time, he rubs her clit in small circles with his thumb, pushes a few fingers into her sex. Pleasure, wild and keen, cuts into her like a knife. She cries out. He answers by pushing into her deeper, fingers and cock all at once. Inch by exquisite inch, telling her to breathe, to relax.

  But she is already liquid all over. Liquid and wanting everything from him. Anything.

  He takes it slow and it seems to go on forever, his cock working its way into her ass, his thumb circling her clit, his fingers dipping inside her.

  Just when she is beginning to think he is too tentative with her, he steps up the pace, sliding in and out of her ass, her pussy, filling her, stretching her. Lovely, painful. She is dizzy with sensation, in a state of overload. But all she can do is thrust back against him, pleasure infusing her, emptying her mind. She is nothing more than these sensations, this body being fucked in every possible way. And she is loose and free in a way she has never been before.

  This is what she’s needed, what she’s been searching for, she thinks fleetingly, even though she didn’t know it until this moment.

  Pleasure builds, deepens, rolls over her body in long waves. Excruciating. Sharper, heavier, until she is completely weighed down by it. She collapses on the bed, but he is still fucking her, relentless, his hand working her mercilessly. She is coming again, shards of pure pleasure stabbing into her. She is sobbing, crying out, shaking so hard her teeth are clattering together. Coming so hard she can’t think of anything at all but the exquisite sensations moving through her body, a body which no longer belongs to her, but to him.

  He tenses, growls, pumps into her ass. And it hurts, his pumping cock—and to know that it’s over, this experience.

  He lies on top of her. He is shivering as hard as she is. He wipes the tears from her cheek, doesn’t say a word. They lie together for a long time, and at some point, they sleep.

  Dawn comes as it always does on the Veracruz beach, with an edge of chill to the otherwise warm and sultry air. But he is warm beside her, the sound of his breath a quiet sigh.

  She lies on her back, remembers why she needed to leave Corpus Christi. Remembers her broken heart, which is no longer broken.

  Her stranger has healed her, somehow. He is like some magical creature, except that the physical reality of him is all too real—his sleeping form next to her, the lovely ache in her body.

  As she watches him, his eyes open. They are that same elemental brown. He is so much of the earth, and of the water. She reaches out, runs her fingertips over the waves tattooed behind the tiger on his shoulder. Yes, he is of the water, too. Their time together is made up of the elements and suddenly she needs to be back in the water with him. She feels desperate, a little sad.

  “Come with me,” she whispers.

  He nods, sits up, runs a hand over his stubbled jaw. Smiles at her. And she knows everything is all right again.

  She takes his hand and leads him, naked, out onto the beach and down to where the surf crashes on the sand. The sun is just coming over the horizon, an arc of fire in the deep, silvery sky.

  They move together into the water, and it is soothing, womblike. The waves surge, wash away, caressing her skin, her naked sex. He pulls her deeper, until the water is waist-high. He holds her there, moves his hand between her thighs, pushes his fingers inside her. She spreads for him, reaches down to torment his cock. She runs her fingers over the cool metal of the ring piercing the head of his cock, tugs on it.

  He moans, buries his face in her hair, pushes his cock into her hand. And they float in the water as they did that first time. Only yesterday, and yet it seems a million miles away.

  He works her with his hand, fingers deep inside her, his thumb pressing on her clitoris. His hips thrust into her fisted hand, her fingers tight around his beautiful cock. They move together, breathe together, long, gasping pants as they build toward climax.

  Pleasure, swift and sure, thrums through her body, taking her higher and higher. And the warm ocean all around them, rocks them, the wild scent of it in her nostrils.

  As her body begins that first lovely clench, he murmurs, “I’m coming.”

  “Yes,” she answers.

  And their bodies buck and writhe with desire unleashed, as wild as the sea. His come floods her hand, hot and thick as honey, while she comes apart. Loose and shivering, her climax moves through her like the waves, rolling, thunderous. As powerful as the tides moving on the earth.

  She wraps her legs around his waist. He kisses her cheek, her forehead. And they stay there while the sun comes up, burning golden, then pink, then finally a white glow in the deep blue sky. They are quiet as the world around them awakens, the seabirds sweeping in over the waves. All she can hear is the ocean and the sound of his breath in her ear.

  He pulls back finally, watches her face quietly for a moment. Then he says, “I’m leaving today, heading down to Cozumel to do some diving.”

  “I hear it’s very beautiful there.”

  “It is.” He pauses. “Come with me.”

  She smiles, shakes her head. “I can’t. I need to go home. Need to get back to…my life. Deal with some things.” She only realizes as she says it that it’s true.

  He nods. “Do you even want to know my name?”

  “No. I’m sorry but…”

  “It’s all right.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “What about this time with you is there to be angry about?” He reaches out, runs a finger down her cheek. “You’re like something out of a dream. Maybe it’s meant to be this way. Dream time.”

  “Yes.”

  That’s it exactly. He understands.

  A wave crests, splashes against them. She blinks the water from her eyes, looks up at him. He leans in and licks the salty water from her lower lip, smiling. His eyes have a languid cast to them, but they are still dark, bottomless. And still seem to see right through her, into her soul. She shivers again, but this time it is not physical pleasure but something deeper.

  He knows her; she is sure of it. And it is both comforting and terrifying at the same time. It is why they are here together, as though a force that is far beyond them both has determined that this moment should be.

  She won’t question it further. Whatever else may happen doesn’t matter. She is satisfied with knowing this much.

  Gilt and Midnight

  MEGAN HART

  YESTERDAY AND LONG AGO, IN A KINGDOM FAR FROM here but right next door, there lived a handsome young man and his equally beautiful young wife. She had hair the color of sunshine, eyes like a summer sky and skin like rich cream. Her name was Ilina, and the young man loved her more than anything else in the world.

  Ilina, for her part, loved her handsome young husband. Pitor was strong, with muscled arms and legs that had no trouble chopping wood or building fences. His hair, the color of the forest’s deepest shadows, hung to his shoulders in ripples like silk, and his eyes shone like the night sky littered wi
th stars.

  If Ilina had one small wish, it was that Pitor could be as satisfied with their humble cottage and plot of land as she was, but though her husband worked long and hard, he hated the labor that brought them their food and the roof above their heads. No matter how Ilina tried to soften the small rooms with her handwoven tapestries or delicately embroidered pillows, night after night Pitor looked around their home with dissatisfaction on his face.

  “I love you,” she told him. “No matter if we eat on gold and silver or on wooden trenchers, Pitor, I love you.”

  But Pitor would not be satisfied, no matter what Ilina did. And each day when he came home from chopping wood in the forest, he grew angrier and more sullen. Nothing Ilina did could move him to smile.

  A time of drought and misfortune came upon the land. Pitor had to travel farther and farther into the woods to find trees he could chop for profit, until at last one day he’d traveled so far he couldn’t make it home before dark. Though he ached to return to his beloved Ilina and knew she would worry for his safety, he knew how foolish traveling in the dark would be. He made himself a small camp and prepared to spend the night. He dared not even burn one small portion of the wood he’d gathered, for not only would it be taking food from Ilina’s mouth to use the wood he intended to sell, but the risk of deadly fire in the dry forest was too great. Instead, he pulled his cloak around himself and hunkered down, unable even to sleep lest a beast attack him in the night.

  Nevertheless, weariness overtook him, and Pitor’s eyes closed. He dreamed of his love, of her touch and of her kiss, and woke with his cock straining the front of his trousers.

  “Ah, sweet,” said a voice from the shadows. “What a prize you hold between your legs. How I long for a man to fill me up with what you’ve got.”

  Convinced he was dreaming, Pitor sat up with a shake of his head. Laughter curled like smoke from the darkness. A woman stepped from behind a tree. The sight of her sent fear and desire coursing through him in equal amounts, and Pitor sprang to his feet, his hatchet ready to defend against her.