by Ayla Ruse
She always prided herself on being a smart girl, so she scooted once more until her lips encircled his crown. Encouraged by his groan, the sound reverberating through her pussy, she wrapped her hand around the solid root of his cock and proceeded to lick and suck him, thrilled that this time, finally, she could touch and explore him on her own.
It was difficult, trying to discover this side of the man she loved while he feasted on her pussy, but try she did. She tightened her fist and bobbed her head over him. She wanted more leverage so she shifted up onto one elbow and his hips tilted back to help her. The next thing she knew, he was flat on his back and she was prone over him, his having lifted her hips and settled her, straddling his face. He wrapped both arms around her hips and held her tight against his face, his tongue lashing at and into her pussy, her body writhing on top of his.
She didn’t shirk her duties, but thrilled at this amazing new position as it allowed her more room to love his cock. He moved his hips, little thrusts into her mouth, and she picked up the rhythm he wanted, not realizing at first her own hips mimicked the movements against his mouth.
He pulled her overly sensitive clit between his lips and lashed his tongue against it repeatedly, and she flew apart. In her excitement, her hand tightened on his shaft and her head worked fast over his cock, sucking and licking and groaning all at once. Before he let her go, he thrust up, hard, one of his hands at the same time pushing her head down so it felt like she nearly swallowed his cock. Then he was coming. Thick, bitter ropes of sticky cum entered her mouth and shot down her throat. She didn’t fight him, but gurgled and held on, her own hips pressing down on his mouth, riding out her own last drops of climax.
Soon his hand on her head slipped away and his cock softened between her lips. His arm holding her hips to his face didn’t relent, however, and she was too blasted tired to move, so she lay her head on his thigh and toyed with his cock.
“One more time,” he panted, this time deftly flipping them over and shifting so his hips weren’t directly over her head.
“I can’t. No more, please.”
“You’re mine now, Elise. If I want you to come again, come again you shall.”
With this promise, he set his mouth over her and proceeded to do just that.
Epilogue
One year later…
“Elise, did you like that journey to India?” Raphael asked, relaxing in a chair near the back entrance to their private island home.
“Yes,” she murmured, “you know I did.” She teased him with a smile. She danced before him, naked, in the bright sunlight. Her body was tanned, her nipples hard, dark points and her pussy, now waxed smooth from their recent travels, beckoned him. “I was happy to see Miguel at the mercy of that prince.”
“Me too. It may have been wrong to sell him, but I like knowing he’s miserable better than knowing he’s dead.”
“It is better. And the prince said we can visit whenever we want to show him how much in love we are.”
Raphael smiled at the twinkle in his woman’s eye. She was more a pirate than she’d believe. “Come here, mi amor,” he told her, enjoying the way her body swayed toward him. “Enough about my cousin. I love watching you dance in the sunlight. See what you do to me?” He referenced his cock, hard and past ready to have her again. She ran her fingers over him and spun slowly, undulating her ass before turning back.
“You tease, mi Elise. Have I told you lately how you tempt me?”
“Tell me.” She straddled his legs and shifted against his body.
“You tempt me to be a better man, a selfless man, a man who loves you more than life itself.”
She sighed and settled her body over his cock. “And your love, Raphael, is what has set me free. Use my temptations, mi amor, and give me freedom to love you forever.”
He wrapped his hands around her hips and thrust up, causing her to make that gasp that made his cock pulse. “For you, cariño, anything.”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Paramour: Raspberries and Wine
Ayla Ruse
Excerpt
Chapter One
“Hold on, I’ll be right there,” Stacy Dalton called out when her doorbell rang. “Good Lord,” she muttered, snagging her heel on a throw rug, “he’s early.”
She double-checked the little details as she hurried to the front door. “Dining room table set, check. Dinner almost ready, check. Wine out, check. Dress, hair and make-up…” She trailed off as she inspected herself in the hall mirror. “Check. Well,” she whispered to her reflection, “here goes nothing.”
She opened the door and her smile froze. Damn, he’s not early after all. It’s not even him.
“Um, hi? Can I help you?” she asked the young man at her doorstep. She peered over his wide shoulder to see if Martin had pulled up yet.
“I hope so,” he said, his deep voice instantly capturing her attention. “Are you Stacy Dalton?”
She paused and gave him a more thorough inspection. He stood tall, maybe six feet, and wore an expensive suit. His short dark brown hair was neatly styled, but it was his eyes, deep hazel and intense, that held her attention once she stopped looking all over the place. Captivating. He smiled then, and she thought she might melt. She trailed her gaze over him again and blushed when he cocked a smooth brow.
“I am,” she finally answered.
He held out his hand, and she gave him hers, momentarily surprised by the kiss he placed on the backs of her fingers. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Graham Rosen. Martin Rosen’s son.”
“Oh,” she sighed, then registered what he’d said. “Oh! Oh, please come in.” She wondered what had happened.
He stepped over the threshold and she closed the door, turning at the same time as Graham.
“How is your dad? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, but didn’t you get his message?”
She shook her head, confused.
“My dad sent his regrets. He… Well, he apparently ran into my mother yesterday. They’ve been divorced for several years, but it seems like they hit it off again. He went to the mountains with her today. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”
Stacy remained still, her hands clasped in front of her. His words reminded her of what her ex-husband had said to her nearly six months ago. ‘I ran into an old flame…we hit it off… I’m leaving you for her…’
“Mrs Dalton? Stacy? Are you okay?”
Her lips firmed and she made the ends curl up. She would not cry. This was only a freak coincidence. She would not break down in front of this nice man.
The next thing she knew, strong arms embraced her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying against a stranger’s chest. He held her tight to his warmth and carried a smell that made her want to snuggle closer. She didn’t even think of backing away, especially since his hold didn’t relent. She forced the tears back and chided herself for falling apart.
Finally, she pushed at his chest, trying to ignore the rock-hard muscles beneath her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down like that.”
“It’s okay,” he said easily.
“No. No, it’s not,” she told him, moving out of his arms. She grabbed a few tissues from the sideboard and dabbed angrily at her face. “I’m not upset because of your dad. I’m happy he’s with your mom. I haven’t really seen him since high school, after all. He probably did leave me a message. I’ve been so busy the past couple of days, though, I haven’t checked the machine.”
“Are you upset because of the timing—because it’s Valentine’s Day?”
She scoffed. “No. Valentine’s hasn’t meant anything to me in years.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, confused.
“Don’t worry. I’m a woman. We get upset over nothing, right?” she said, embarrassed and trying to make him drop the subject. “Well, thank you for stopping by.” She opened the door for him. “Wait? Why did you come here if your dad already left a message?”
<
br /> He smiled and didn’t speak until she met his gaze full on. She was struck again by his height, his sharp looks and by the subtle but intense way he seemed to study her. She didn’t want to look away.
“Stacy, I felt bad for my dad cancelling on you like he did. He also mentioned he’d not seen you in many years. I’m only in town for the day, and it is Valentine’s, so I thought to take you to dinner.”
She blinked up at him. He wanted to take her to dinner? She almost said okay, then remembered where she was, who she was, and that this man before her was barely older than a boy. If he were Martin’s son, he couldn’t be more than in his mid-twenties. She studied the hint of laugh lines around his eyes. Okay. Maybe late-twenties. But that’d be pushing it. Martin must have had Graham right out of school. She shook her head to focus her thoughts.
“Sorry, but no thank you. Your father and I weren’t going out anywhere. I was making dinner here.”
A smile bloomed across his face, lighting up his eyes. “I thought I smelt something delicious.”
He stroked his thumb across her cheek. His touch startled her, but as soon as he pulled back, she strangely wanted him to touch her again.
“Since I’m here and your date cancelled, invite me to dinner.”
Looking at him, she knew she should refuse, but no reason came up to stop her. She nodded before she found her voice. “Sure. Stay for dinner. But”—reality sneaked in—“you probably have a girlfriend. It is Valentine’s Day. I appreciate what you want to do, but you don’t have to make up for your father. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure you will. And I don’t have a girlfriend. Eating with you will save me a night of boring paperwork.”
She bit her lip, debating. She’d made a very nice meal and if he left, she’d throw it away since she didn’t have much of an appetite right now. Such a shame to waste all that food. He would be doing her a favour by staying, she rationalised.
“In that case, please, come in and make yourself at home.”
She turned and led him into the living room, taking in how he might see her humble residence. When her husband, Harry, walked out on her, she’d decided to start over. She’d sold her half of the house to him and moved back to her little hometown of Yearling, Georgia, settling in a cosy two-bedroom house that was almost twice as old as her forty-three years.
Her furniture was sparse, but clean and tasteful. “Why don’t you sit down. I’ll get you something to drink. Would you like wine, beer?” She gritted her teeth, praying he’d decline the latter offer. She knew most men in this rural town drank beer with everything, but she’d bought the wine—pricier than she normally drank—hoping that the holiday would encourage a better palate.
“Water would be nice,” he said, surprising her. “I’ll take my wine with dinner, and beer is best with pizza or burgers.”
She couldn’t help her smile. “I’m the same way. Plain or over ice?” she asked, already turning and moving towards the kitchen.
“Ice, thank you.”
Stacy filled glasses with ice and filtered water from her refrigerator, wondering at this new guest. She’d never dated such a handsome man. The ice clinked and she realised her hands shook.
“This isn’t a real date, you fool,” she chided herself. “He’s only being nice. I’m too old to be thinking of him as attractive.”
Pulling in deep breaths, Stacy centred her nerves and took their water out. She sat in the straight-backed chair kitty-corner from him, smoothed down her dress, kept her knees close together and tucked her feet beneath the chair.
“So, Graham. What do you do?”
The man had removed his suit coat and laid it over the arm of the couch. He’d settled on the couch, sitting all the way back, one long leg stretched out a little farther than the other.
When his eyes met hers, she shivered. “I work in the restaurant business.”
“Oh. So are you a waiter or a cook?” She didn’t want to insult the man, but he was so young, what else could he do in a restaurant?
His smile told her he was humouring her. She wasn’t offended, even though she thought she should be.
“I’ve done both, then moved on. But I’m curious about you, Stacy. You’ve recently moved back here, right? What’s your story?”
She twisted her lips. She didn’t want to go into details but knew he’d want an answer, especially if he’d grown up here. Yearling was such a small town, everyone knew everybody’s business. She was the stranger now.
She lifted her chin and gave him short, straight-forward answers. “I grew up here and went to Yearling High. Your dad was three years ahead of me, but we were in band together—that’s how we knew each other. After college, I moved to Atlanta, eventually got married, divorced and decided I’d had enough of the big city and came back here.”
“Short and sweet, hmm?” he asked, looking at her as if he knew there was more to her story.
There was, but no way she’d spill her secrets—especially to such an inexperienced young man. But his gaze made her uncomfortable, as if she would indeed start talking and never stop. She had to get away.
“That’s it,” she replied, more cheery than was necessary. “Listen, I think the food’s about ready. Why don’t you go to the dining room”—she pointed behind him—“and I’ll bring out dinner.”
He stood with her, not letting her escape. “How about you dish up the food and I’ll pour the wine. No need to make you do everything.”
“I don’t mind,” she argued, taking quick steps to the kitchen.
“I can see that. But my mouth is salivating from whatever you’re going to serve, and call me greedy, I can’t wait to see what you’ve made.”
She couldn’t bring herself to argue with him. She strongly suspected she’d lose. “Okay. The wine’s on the counter over there”—she indicated—“and the glasses are in the cabinet right—yes. There.” She stopped and watched as he competently pulled down two with wide bowls. She had several different sets of wine glasses, and he’d chosen the correct one to go with the red she’d bought.
“Malbec, hmm?” he said. “Nice. And we’re eating…chicken, did I see?”
“I know most people usually serve white wine with chicken, but this is a Romano, and I like red better anyway.”
“No complaints,” he said, coming up behind her, steadying her hand as she spooned the sauce over their chicken.
He continued, “And good call. I agree. Do you need any help?”
“Um, no. Thank you.”
“Salad?”
She cursed silently. “Yes. It’s in the fridge. All I have to do is add the dressing.”
“I’m on it.”
She couldn’t help it. She smiled. In a few minutes, he was at the opposite side of the counter, the wedge salad plated, and spooned over the pecan ranch dressing while she added steamed asparagus to their plates.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” she teased.
“I’ve done this before, remember.”
“I confess, when you told me restaurant, I thought…”
“A fast food place?” He flashed a grin and she giggled.
What the hell?
She didn’t giggle. She bit her lip and made sure she’d not forgotten anything. If her outburst bothered him, he didn’t let it show.
“That’s okay. I’ve worked in those places, too. You could say I’ve been around food my whole life.”
“Really?”
He nodded, leading the way to the dining room with their salads, crossing her path only to retrieve the wine. “My mom’s a chef, so I learned early on the nuances of food. What about you?” he asked as they sat down.
She noticed he sat at the head of her simple rectangular table. She’d intended the setting for her, but she didn’t say anything. In truth, she couldn’t imagine him sitting anywhere else. “No chefs in my family, but I love food, period. I have to work out every day or else my eating would make me explode.”
He paused and
glanced her way. Stacy couldn’t hide the blush that fanned over her cheeks. He lowered his voice. “From food? Interesting.”
She wasn’t sure if he’d meant his comment in the sexual way she’d taken it, so she hurried on. “Anyway, when I was in college I was sick a lot and the doctor told me my eating habits were atrocious. Don’t all college kids eat bad?” she asked, then wondered if he’d attended. She hurried on, not meaning to put him on the spot. “Turns out I have a fickle system. I took some cooking classes to learn to eat better and fell in love not only with the food but with the whole process. I don’t cook like this all the time, but when I’m able, I do. I’m also working on putting together some recipes. I want to make a book to market to college kids, to help others see how they can eat right and how easy it really is.”
She stopped talking, realising what she’d revealed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like that.”
“No, Stacy. I like your idea. I think it’d sell well. If it weren’t for my own knowledge of food, I’d have eaten like a pig while I was in college. I’d love to see some of your recipes.”
“You would?”
“Of course, why do you say it like that?”
“It’s just that, well, when I was married, my husband didn’t like the idea. He said people in college wanted to eat bad, that was the point, and that a book like mine wouldn’t sell.”
Graham stared at her. “You’re better off without him,” he stated simply.
She had nothing to say to that, so they fell into a comfortable silence.
After a few minutes, Graham picked up the conversation, asking about her interests in music and television. It wasn’t long before they were sharing things they, amazingly, had in common. By the time they finished dinner, Stacy viewed Graham in a new light.
He spoke to her as if they were on a real date and he was genuinely trying to find out what interests they shared. He watched her as if she were the beauty of the night. He would reach over and brush her hand to make a point, to get her attention or sometimes just to rub her skin. God help her, she loved his attention and started to crave his touch. His long fingers would stroke her with firm pressure at times, then a soft caress at others.