"You taste so incredibly good. I'm going to have you, I'm going to suck you 'til you scream, and drink every drop of your come."
"Women don't come like that."
"You will, your cream will fill my mouth. Then I'm going to fuck you until the only name you can remember is mine."
His words alone were enough to make her come. She held off only with the knowledge of how much better the orgasm could be if she waited. He pushed her to the bed.
When she reached to remove a shoe, he stopped her. "I want the shoes on."
Wearing only her frilly underwear and stockings, her breasts falling from the bra cups, and with him still fully clothed, she should have felt vulnerable. Instead, she felt sexy and decadent. She climbed onto the bed, lifting her ass proudly. He cupped a globe, squeezed. Then she rolled over and lay on her back.
"Oh my God."
He concentrated on pushing her legs apart, exposing her. "Hmm?"
"There's a mirror up there."
He glanced up over his shoulder. "So there is." Rolling to his side, he propped himself on an elbow, and together they looked at her in the mirror. He pulled her leg toward him, heightening her wanton display. Caressing her thigh, running a finger from her knee to the edge of her curls, he gazed up into the mirror. "Now we can both watch. Touch yourself. Put your hand right here."
In the reflection, she saw him lift her hand and place it between her legs, his covering hers, forcing her to draw light circles on her already sensitized flesh. "You're so damn beautiful."
Though his voice was in her ear, the mirror distanced them. A man dressed in black, his hair dusted with silver. A woman in lacy lingerie, her breasts and pussy bared to him.
Yet they looked so right together. Dark cloth next to creamy flesh. His big tanned hand guiding her smaller, lighter-toned fingers. Two halves of a whole, neither complete without the other.
He sucked her earlobe into his mouth. "Make yourself come, baby."
A pulse throbbed at her throat. The warmth of his hand left hers, and in the mirror, the woman rubbed her glistening pussy. She wet her lips with her tongue and fought to keep her eyes open as the heat and tension built. So slippery, she was sure she'd never been this wet. Stephen nuzzled her hair, whispered things she couldn't understand, maybe wasn't supposed to understand. Her hips danced in the mirror, rising to rock against her fingers. She burned, trembled, tossed her head on the coverlet.
"What do you think about when you're all alone in your bed and your body's aching? Who do you imagine?" His murmur wafted across her face, rustled her hair.
"You." She gulped in a breath. "I imagine it's you touching me."
"Say my name."
"I imagine it's you licking me, Stephen. Your tongue playing me. Your cock reaching deep inside." She strained off the bed. "Oh God, Stephen, I want you so badly."
He rose to his knees beside her and peeled off his shirt. Unzipping his jeans, he pushed them past his hips and took his cock in his hand. "All your little noises, do you know what they do to me?"
"No."
"Yes, you do." He stroked, his long, hard flesh, the skin stretched tight at the tip. "Your little sighs and tiny moans, I hear them at night when I'm in bed." He stroked his erection. "I have to take out my cock. You make me come even when you're not there. You drive me crazy." He leaned down, bracing himself on one hand, and matched her rhythm. "Do you know how long I've waited to watch you? I've dreamed this a million times. I've ached to see you just like this for real."
His voice wrapped around her much as his hand wrapped around his cock. He worked her with the words. She panted, dizzied by watching his speed in the mirror, watching her body writhe on the bed.
"Stephen, fuck me, please fuck me. Make me come. Oh God, please, Stephen."
She screamed his name and her body gushed, exploded, came apart at the seams. His voice flowed over her like warm wet come, filling her up. She buried her face against the coverlet, the rough material tantalizing to her skin, her hair stroking her throat, her blood pounding through her veins. She rocked her hips against her finger, little body jerks making her gasp as she floated down.
He lay beside her, trailing fingers up and down her thigh, leaving a path of sparks.
"You didn't come."
He shook his head. "Remember what you said, it's better if you hold off? You're right. If I'd let myself come, I would have missed you." He kissed her lips lightly. "I didn't want to miss a moment of that." He rolled to his back and took her hand, raising it to his lips to suck her taste from her fingers, then he clasped it to his chest. "Do you see what I see?"
She saw him, pants below his hips, cock hard and high, chest dusted with hair, and black eyes willing her to see what he wanted her to see. She looked at her own body, nipples a rosy pink, still tight, creamy thighs begging to be wrapped around a man, parted wantonly. The curls at her apex darker, damp, a streak of moisture across her hip. Her belly quivered.
Then she drank in the sight of him. Dark, crinkly hair sprouted at the base of his cock. A tan line bisected his belly, the crown of his penis crossing it. Dark hair sprinkled with gray covered his chest and his flat, brown nipples tempted her to lick them.
Before she could move to take one in her mouth, he stroked through her curls. "A woman's glory. Her power." He found her hot throbbing clitoris. "Do you feel it?"
Sensation streaked through her limbs. "Yes."
He rolled between her legs, put his mouth to her pussy. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she arched into his tongue, making him take her hard. She watched his head move in the mirror, felt his lips touch and tease, his teeth graze her flesh, his tongue lap at her juice. He shoved both hands beneath her and held her tight as he sucked on the center of her need. Her legs rose, trapped him to her as if she could hold him there forever. She arched and strained against him, as if his tongue were a cock.
He stopped only to long enough to whisper a harsh demand. "Say my name. Beg me."
"Don't stop, Stephen. Please don't stop. Make me come again, Stephen."
He went at her feverishly. She cried out, his name, her needs. Heat and pleasure rose, a hard knot of almost painful need pulsing. She closed her eyes and let her desires burst in a riot of color and stars and passion. He rode the starburst with her, shooting her higher, taking everything, forcing another explosion quick on the heels of the first.
Her throat hurt from her cries, tears dribbled down her temples, and he still lapped gently, gathering the wave of moisture she'd released. It was almost too much. She tugged on his ears. "Come here."
He crawled up her body. His lips shimmered with her come, then he rubbed them against hers. "You came so hard I drank you up. Taste it."
Looking into the deep pool of his eyes, she licked her lips. Her taste laced with his. She wanted more of him. "Make love to me. I want you inside me."
He pulled back to shove off the remainder of his clothes. She kicked off her shoes. She wanted to feel every inch of him with every part of her body, even her feet.
He held out a condom. "Put it on for me."
She took it with trembling fingers. She'd touched herself for him, now she would protect him. And make him squirm while she performed the task. Ripping the package, she stared at the latex.
"Like this." He turned it the correct way, then guided her.
Once he'd started the process, the rest was easy. Tucking her legs beneath her, she leaned forward to take him in her mouth, rolling the condom on with her lips.
"Jesus. Who taught you that?"
She grinned. "Spice Channel. It tastes like strawberry."
Belly to belly, he put her hands behind her back and pulled her tight, trapping his cock between them. "Next time, I want to watch a movie with you."
Next time. She hugged the thought close. "I like the sound of that."
He turned slightly and rocked her down onto the bed, landing softly across her as he braced himself with one hand. "Take me inside," he whispered.
S
he parted her legs, reached between them and held him. She couldn't resist using him to stroke herself. "Just to get you all nice and wet."
His eyes gleamed. "Do anything you want."
She closed her eyes, fitted him to her. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I want you inside. All the way. As high as you'll go." She pulled herself up to press her breasts to his chest. "In one thrust."
He settled on her, gathered her butt in his hands, whispered, "Tally Ho;" then rammed into her.
She screamed.
He pulled back. "Jesus, shit, I'm sorry."
His face in her hands, lip to lip, she said, "That was a good scream." Her body vibrated around him. "Fuck me, Stephen. Hard and fast."
He moved inside her.
"Faster," she urged.
He rose to his elbows, increasing the pace, the beautiful friction.
"Does it feel good?" she whispered.
"Christ, yes."
"Then do it harder."
She raised her legs to his waist. With one hand behind her knee, he forced her even higher, his penetration deeper. She felt him touch her womb. His body pummeled her, thrust her across the bed until her head hit the pillows. She threw them aside and braced herself against the headboard, bearing down on him.
"You feel so damn good. So tight." He panted. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Fuck me, Stephen. Fuck me." She chanted the act, his name, over and over.
He lowered his head like a ram and took her with the mindless ferocity of an animal. She'd never had it better. She made those sounds he liked so much. She couldn't help herself. Their slick flesh slapped and rubbed as he angled and arched. With each thrust, rough hair and hard flesh pounded her clitoris. On the inside, he captured a sweet spot she hadn't known existed.
"Jesus, God." His teeth ground, his throat corded. "Fuck. Oh God. I love you." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm so fucking in love with you." Then he threw back his head and howled.
She came as he pulsed inside her. Came as he cried out his love. Came as he lost total control. She clung to him in the storm of sensation and kept on clinging when the tempest was all over. His warm flesh stuck to her, their bodies fused. He breathed hard against her shoulder, his head buried in her hair. He trembled against her, inside her, all around her.
He'd said he loved her. Everyone said that when they came. It didn't mean anything. He couldn't love her because he didn't know her. She couldn't love him either.
But this was fantasy. In fantasy, you closed your eyes and pretended everything was real. If you were really good, you actually made yourself believe that. For a little while.
She tightened her legs at his waist, crushed her arms around him, and whispered, "I love you, Stephen."
* * * *
He held her until his heart stopped pounding, until he could breathe without gasping and the quake of orgasm had subsided to a gentle lassitude. Inside her, his cock was still semi-erect. She'd drained him, but his body's thirst for her was unquenchable. His heart's desire was within his grasp.
As long as he didn't say a word. As long as he held her, eyes closed, the feel of her tantalizing his skin, her scent intoxicating him, her taste filling him up.
I love you, Stephen. She'd come with his name on her lips, teased him with it, begged him with it, fucked him with it, and made him explode with it. Then she'd loved him with it.
"Come home with me." Shit. Why the hell did he open his goddamn mouth when he knew the demand would ruin everything?
She stirred, snuggled closer. "You know I can't do that."
"I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. With my cock inside you." Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why the hell couldn't he shut up?
"Fall asleep here for a little while." She kissed his throat, then settled once more.
He wanted her in his bed, not in the bordello room. He closed his eyes against the image of them in the mirror, limbs twined, fingers touching, almost one body. He knew the sight for the lie it was. She would rise from this bed and return to her husband's. She'd meet him again. She'd shower him with her passion, say his name, tell him she loved him. But she would always leave the bed before he was ready to let her go.
He loved her with everything in him, wanted her, needed her, knew he just might die without her.
But he couldn't do this again, couldn't live with the aftermath.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"You came in late again last night." Her husband leaned against the bathroom doorjamb, arms folded across his chest.
"Yeah." She smoothed face cream into her skin. "I haven't seen Virginia since she got married."
"Doesn't her new husband mind if she stays out until after three?"
Her heart stuttered. God, she hadn't even called Virginia when she got back from her honeymoon. Debbie gave a telltale pause in her morning facial routine. "He knows her well enough by now." Though she doubted he knew that the weekend of her wedding she'd masturbated for a room full of men.
"Still, you look pretty tired."
She could have slept another four hours, but she'd woken early to dreams of last night, her body still aching for more. "I'll go to bed early tonight."
"Do you really think this is good for you, Debbie?"
Suddenly they weren't talking about late nights with Virginia, Karen and Stacy. This was the closest he'd come to questioning her, the biggest threat he'd made to the status quo. She tipped her head, looking at him for the first time in ... weeks. New lines had etched themselves in the flesh beneath his eyes. Sadness leached the color from his irises. He looked older. Tired.
Unhappy.
Guilt clogged her throat. Shame closed her eyes. For a moment. Then she looked at him once more. Are you going to fuck me with Stephen's passion, Stephen's intensity? If he was asking her to give up Stephen, he was asking too much and giving nothing in return.
He simply didn't have that much passion in him.
"I think it's fine," she answered. "I can always make up for the lack of sleep another time."
She would never make up for a lack of Stephen in her life.
* * * *
Six days later, Debbie was no longer fine. She'd fallen into hell. There had been no invitation, not Monday, not Tuesday, not Wednesday. On Thursday, in desperation, she'd called Stacy, telling her she needed a polish change. What she'd really needed was a talk, Stacy's no-nonsense attitude to shake some sense into her.
Doesn't he want to see me again? Do I bore him already? Did he get what he wants and now he needs something new?
She'd known rejection would come eventually. All men tired of the same old thing. She just hadn't imagined it would be so quickly. Especially not after he'd said he loved her. I'm so fucking in love with you. They had to be more than mere words.
Now, it was obvious they were nothing more than orgasm talk. Oh God, how that thought made her ache inside.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" Stacy tugged on her hand.
I screwed up. "I did a pretty stupid thing."
Stacy stopped filing. "What?"
"I went back to the club."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"You know I thought you might go back." She shook Debbie's fingers a little, signaling her to relax.
Debbie couldn't do that. "I went back for one man." She took a deep breath. "I saw him there that first night."
Stacy continued filing, waiting.
"I think I'm a little obsessed with him." Her chest tightened. Tears ached at the back of her eyes.
Stacy pursed her lips; then picked up her clippers to cut away a stubborn hangnail. "Obsession doesn't have to be a bad thing, you know. Maybe you enjoy the feeling."
"He stopped sending me invitations. I think he doesn't want to see me again." Debbie yelped as Stacy filed away a chunk of cuticle.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. God, I did that last time, too, didn't I?"
This one was much worse. Blood welled and seeped along the edge of her nail. Stacy dabbed at it with the alcohol, c
ooing as if Debbie were a baby.
"It's okay."
The bleeding didn't stop, no matter how much pressure Stacy applied. Just like the pain in her heart. She'd wanted Stacy to bandage the wound with kind words, maybe even a few lies.
The pain wasn't going to go away. She was such a fool to think a temporary fuck from a guy she didn't even know would stitch the gaping wound that had festered around her heart for years.
* * * *
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Stephen almost hung up on Stacy, but he couldn't. The need to know what Debbie had told her drove him, controlling his actions. "What did she say?"
"She's a mess. I thought she was going to start blubbering right there in Quats solution."
He shouldn't have felt so damn pleased. "What's bothering her?"
"Why didn't you send her another invitation?"
"I did. A different kind." An invitation to meet him at the house where he'd installed her carousel horse. "She hasn't answered yet." She hadn't answered any of his emails after Tuesday, the day before he found the courage to ask for what he wanted. Maybe it was her silence that had forced him to stuff down his fear.
"You were supposed to make her life better, not make her miserable."
"I'm sorry she's miserable. But she's married. A fling with some nameless guy isn't going to solve her problems." The statement contained the only emotion he'd given away to Stacy in the whole godforsaken mess he'd let this turn into.
"Well, you can't give her a couple of times and expect that to build her confidence enough to make some serious decisions."
He couldn't let her tear his heart out either. To Stacy's credit, she'd never understood that his emotions were involved. To her, this had all been about Debbie's needs, Debbie's pain. He couldn't let her know his feelings were embroiled, too. Jesus, the woman would start trying to fix him, too.
"It's wrong, Stacy. I can't do that to her anymore. It was a temporary fix for a much larger problem."
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