The Housewife and the Film Star

by Doris O'Connor

  When the room finally stopped spinning, he was watching her out of half-closed eyes, and she tasted herself in the slow lingering kiss that followed.

  "I knew you would be a screamer."

  She slapped him playfully on the chest, all too aware that her cheeks were aflame again.

  "You're way too sure of yourself, buster, but this seems hardly fair on you. You said it was your turn."

  He rolled on his back, arms behind his back, his erection standing up proud and with a small laugh raised one eyebrow.

  "Well, I'm all yours, my sweet. Go ahead, surprise me. You know you want to."

  He sucked his stomach muscles in sharply at her tentative touch, and his cock twitched upwards. Encouraged by his body's immediate reaction, her touch grew bolder. Focusing on his small nipples, she used her own mouth and teeth to tease them upright. His groans grew more and more urgent as his body tensed underneath her, and his hands fisted in the bedcovers in a seeming effort not to touch her. Emboldened further by the blatant need in his eyes, she slowly rubbed her breasts along his torso. The feel of his chest hair on her sore nipples was sweet torture for her, too.

  "Jesus, woman, you're killing me here," His hands went in her hair, and pulled her down for a kiss. A rush of feminine power shot through her, and she pursed her lips and licked her forefinger in an imitation of what she'd like to do to his cock.

  He swore, and she giggled, happiness suffusing her at this moment.

  "Moi?" she asked, her voice so husky she hardly recognized it. "It's not as though I am doing this," and she scraped her fingernails down his tummy. The action left red marks in its wake, and she got a silent thrill at the primitive signs of ownership on her man. Her man…What an exhilarating thought. They might only have this weekend, but it hardly mattered. Right here, right now, he was at her mercy. Sylvia followed the hairline down toward the base of his shaft, and then cupped his balls and squeezed slightly. His hips bucked of the bed, and his penis grew larger still. The single drop of moisture on his swollen tip glistened and called to her.

  "My, what have we here, Sven? Is this all for little old me?"

  A strangled cough was his only reply, and, when her mouth closed over his tip and licked that drop away, his animalistic grunt vibrated through her as his eyes locked with hers. With deliberate slowness, she ran her tongue up and down his velvet hardness, and then swallowed as much of him as she could. Her hand cupped his balls, and she massaged his perineum, matching her movements in tune to his ragged breathing.

  "Fuck, girl."

  His muttered protest made her double her efforts, and she was rewarded with small jets of pre-cum on her tongue. Salty and musky he tasted delicious and somehow familiar. Sylvia had never been a fan of going down on a man, but with Sven this, too, was a feast of the senses, as his thigh muscles tensed, and he swore again. Just as she thought he would let go, he sat up, and pulled her off his cock with a yank to her hair. Her scalp stung, and he immediately gentled his hold and massaged the ache away with his fingertips.

  "No, not like this, not this time. I want you to fuck me properly, baby. Now, please."

  He released her and reached underneath the bed. Sven handed her a condom, and his lust filed gaze drew hotter still, the crystal blue of his eyes darkening to a deep blue, as she made short of work of sheathing him.

  As if sensing her sudden unease, he pulled her in for long kiss. His teeth nibbled along her bottom lip. "Straddle me baby. You set the pace. It'll be all right, trust me."

  Sven grabbed her hips, and guided her on top of him carefully until the tip of his cock sat just at her entrance. Taking a deep breath, she lowered herself slowly, ever so slowly down his length. Desire reached fever pitch against the sensation of his hot length filling and stretching her, until he was buried to the hilt. She held herself perfectly still, their eyes locked on each other, and his hands framed her face.

  "You're okay?" he asked, the concern in his voice once again proving her undoing. It was a heavy aphrodisiac indeed to have a man this focused on her needs, even though he must be exploding with the need to seek his own release now.

  "Yes, this feels incredible, but I don't think I can move."

  He dropped a kiss on her nose and smiled.

  "Sure, you can, baby. Just move a little bit. That's it, Jesus. Yes, like that."

  She didn't catch the rest of his groaned words, too lost in her own body's reactions. Her hips moved of their own accord, feelings too overwhelming to name assaulting her. This position drove him in deep with every roll of her hips, and she climbed the rungs of arousal with dizzying speed, as the needs of her body took over. The slight soreness just added to her excitement, and a fresh gush of her natural lube aided the up and downward slide of his cock as she rode him. Their sweat slicked bodies moved in unison until he flipped her over and thrust in earnest. They came together in another earth shattering climax that seemed to go on forever.

  Absolutely exhausted, she fell asleep cocooned in his arms, his steady heartbeat under her ear the sweetest lullaby.

  ****

  The unmistakable smell of bacon cooking mixed in with the strong aroma of brewing coffee tickled Sylvia's nose, and she blinked in the sunshine that streamed through the slightly open windows behind the king-size bed. Oh that smells good. Her stomach clenched painfully, reminding her how hungry she was. She stretched lazily and winced at the delicious soreness all over, as she gingerly sat up. Guess a night of mind-blowing sex did that to a girl. She crept out of bed to use the en-suite bathroom, and stopped dead seeing her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, and she had whisker rash all over her face and her breasts. She looked like a woman who'd had a good seeing to and enjoyed every minute of it. Once she'd relieved herself, washed her hands, and splashed some water on her face, she re-entered the scene of the crime. Sylvia picked up Sven's abandoned shirt and pulled it over her head. When her stomach grumbled loudly again, she decided she had to investigate where the delicious smells were coming from. And who was cooking, was it Sven? She buttoned up his shirt and inhaled deeply. His scent still clung to the fabric and she smiled to herself again.

  Making her way out of the bedroom, she crept along the hallway, and looked longingly at the Jacuzzi bath she spotted in the bath room. Curiosity getting the better of her, she peeked into the door further along to spot a child's bedroom. Thomas the Tank covers and curtains not unlike Timmy's made her smile. The basket of trains and assorted tracks on the floor, the teddy bear on the bottom bunk, a pair of wellington boots, and a child's life jacket tucked under the double bed on the other side. A fourth single bed higher up, she noticed. Interesting … whose boat was this?

  The sound of Sven whistling got her feet to move again, as did the fresh sizzle of bacon coming from the galley of the narrow boat. As she rounded the corner, her heart leapt to her throat at the sight of Sven butt naked, barring an apron tied round his bits, expertly flipping another slice of bacon.

  Good lord he cooked, too.

  ****

  Lost in thought, Sven flipped the bacon expertly. His smile widened at the thought of waking his little firecracker up with a kiss. Maybe it was just his self-enforced celibacy that had made last night incredible. Yeah, that had to be it. It was just sex. Okay, it was the best sex he ever could remember having, but it didn't mean a thing, other than he hadn't had it in far too long. The Dom in him had rejoiced at her natural submissiveness and the dizzying speed of her responses. He'd have to tread carefully with her, though. His little lady carried some demons around with her, that much was clear, and until she was ready to talk about them, their play would have to be light. Sven frowned at the turn of his thoughts. Clearly he'd suppressed his dominant side for too long, if one night had such an effect on him. He would just have to make the most of the weekend, so that neither party was left with any regrets, and she would be out of his system. And if she wasn't, well he would just have to convince her that being his fuck buddy every time he was
in town would be good thing. Who are you kidding, man? She is never going to go for that sort of arrangement.

  But if he laid his cards on the table, so she knew this wasn't forever, then maybe, just maybe they could enjoy a relationship of sorts anyway. With a bit of luck even a Dom/sub relationship of sorts.

  The feminine gasp behind him made him spin round, and his body reacted instantly to the sight of his firecracker stood in front of him. Sylvia tugged at the hem of his shirt self-consciously, and a slow blush spread across her skin at his blatant appraisal of her. She had to be naked under that shirt. Her suitcase was still unpacked on the deck where George had placed it last night, and his hands had made short work of her underwear. He would have to buy her some more—now there was a thought.

  "God morgon, älskling."

  "Hi."

  He chuckled to himself at the way her eyes strayed downward to where he knew he was tenting his apron. She hurriedly brought them back up to his face and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear in another self-conscious gesture. And fuck him if he didn't find her natural shyness the sexiest thing ever. She clearly had no idea how hot she looked standing there with her hair still mussed from his fingers, her soft skin marked by his stubble, the scent of sex and arousal wafting across the room to him in the breeze. Jeez man, think of something else, after last night she won't be up to a quick roll yet. Or a nice, leisurely wake up fuck, for that matter. No, he would have to pamper her a bit first.

  "You beat me to it. I was going to wake you up with breakfast in bed. I figured you'd be hungry after last night."

  As if on cue, the rumble of her stomach made them both laugh, and some of the tension left her shoulders.

  "I take that as a yes, baby. Now come here."

  Turning the hob off with one hand, he drew her into him. Barefoot, she barely reached his shoulder, and, silencing her soft gasp with his kiss, he lifted her on the worktop. His protective instinct kicked in at the slight wince she tried to hide.

  "Sore?"

  "A little, yes. I can't think why."

  "Sorry. I guess I was a bit demanding last night."

  "No shit, Sherlock." Her breathy reply made him smile ruefully. He pulled her closer into his chest, relieved at the way she leant into him.

  "I thought you were going to feed me. Least thing you could do in the circumstances."

  His smile turned into a full blown belly laugh at the expression on her face at his next murmured words. "Trust me, lady, breakfast is only the start." He popped a slice of bacon into her rounded mouth, and sealed the deal with a kiss.

  It was much later—after he'd run her a bath in the Jacuzzi, his whole body tense after hearing her feminine sighs of bliss as he lowered her carefully into the fragrant bubbles—that the truth hit him. He'd forced himself to walk away and into an ice cold shower, willing his erection to go down. One weekend was never going to be enough. In the short time he'd known her, she'd gotten under his skin, and he was fucked if he knew what to do about it.

  Chapter Eight

  Fuelled with bacon butties, fed by his hands in-between laughter and kisses, she must have dozed off in the soothing bubbles. Shame he’d been too much of a goddamned good guy to take her again on the counter, soreness be damned. As she stepped out of the Jacuzzi, she could feel vibrations under her bare feet. Was the boat moving? She shrugged into the fluffy bath robe Sven left to warm on the towel rail with a sigh of satisfaction. Oh, she could get used to this. When was the last time she had been pampered like this? By a man no less. Richard would have deemed it beneath himself to do anything for her. The rules in their relationship had been clear. He brought home the money, so it was her duty to see to his every need. She was his slave to his every demand, and she'd learned very quickly that it was in everyone's best interest for her to always be one step ahead of him. Life had been good enough, as long as she was. When she wasn't … a cold shudder went through her at the thought, and she resolutely pushed it away. The man was dead and buried, had been for three years, so why could she not shake the memories?

  And why did she feel so guilty at the relief his death had brought, mainly for Timmy being spared from the man's temper? Stop it, girl, just stop it. Go and find Sven, and persuade him to make you forget again.

  If his strained smile when he'd stalked away from her earlier was anything to go by, it had taken a considerable amount of willpower for him to not join her in the bath earlier. The mere thought of a wet Sven quickened her breath, and she walked a bit faster to the bedroom. One glance out the porthole confirmed that they were indeed moving along the canal. She could see the foot path. The glorious Saturday afternoon had brought out families for an afternoon walk, and she smiled at the excited screeches of a little girl. She was chasing a family of coots off the path and into the water before her doting daddy scooped her up and put the tot on his shoulders. The child's mother watched with such a look of love on her face, that it brought tears to Sylvia's eyes. Would she ever find that kind of happiness?

  Sheesh, girl, stop being maudlin. What was wrong with her today? One night of hot sex, kinky sex, no less, and she was turning into a romantic. Next she'd be making pie in the sky plans of happy ever afters with Sven. That was never going to happen. They moved in such different circles for a start. This was two consenting adults scratching an itch that's all. So he was sensitive, loving, and extremely generous, and Timmy had a bad case of hero worship from the two times he'd met him. It didn't mean a thing. Richard had been attentive, too, until she'd married him. The sight of her open suitcase left on the bed stopped that train of thought. One high heel was lying next to it with a note.

  Sorry, baby, I tried to find the other one, but no such luck. Will get you a new pair, as you're damn sexy in them, and I intend to fuck you wearing nothing but heels. Soon… S x

  Heat pooled low in her belly at the suggestion. The man was nothing if not direct. Time to go and join him. Riffling through her bag, she found some knickers and pulled them on. Skimpy jeans cut offs that she normally only wore round the house followed, and, not bothering with a bra, she topped it off with a yellow tank. A quick brush through her hair, an even quicker look and grimace in the mirror, and then she emerged into the sun, with only a few steps separating her from Sven at the tiller. In tight fitting jeans shorts and an even tighter tee, he seemed deep in thought, one hand shading his eyes from the sun. He looked sexier than any man had a right to look, especially considering how little sleep he'd gotten the night before. It just wasn't fair. He looked drop dead gorgeous, and she looked as though she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards.

  "Hey, you, where are we going?"

  The brilliant smile lighting up his face when his eyes connected with hers took her breath away.

  "Hej, min sköna, haven't turned into a prune then. I was beginning to worry. Thought I might have to stop this thing and give you mouth to mouth."

  The wicked grin that accompanied those words made her stomach flip over.

  "Well, damn, Sven, you should have said. I would have drowned myself on purpose."

  Their joined laughter hung between them, and she didn't waste any time stepping into his open arms. She wrapped her own around his waist with a contented sigh.

  "Where did you learn to steer one of these?"

  His low laugh wrapped itself round her senses.

  "It's easy. Here you try."

  "Oh good lord no, don't think whoever owns this boat would appreciate me crashing it into the wall of the canal. You should have seen me when I first started taking driving lessons. It was an unmitigated disaster, and I believe the wall still bears the mark. Rich had, well he … I mean… Never mind, suffice to say it's not a good idea."

  Shit, stop rambling.

  "Let me be the judge of that. I'm not your late husband."

  The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine as he pulled her tighter against him and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder.

  "Now, like I was saying, it's easy. Put
your hand here, and follow my lead. If you want to go right, push left, and vice versa. If you over-steer just straighten up. I'll be right behind you."

  "But Sven … I—"

  "Can do anything you put your mind to, as you've proven to me very successfully last night, so get on with it. I do believe last night is catching up with me, so I could do with a rest."

  And the dratted man stepped away. Arms folded, he watched her from under hooded eyes, leaving her no option but to take hold of the tiller. Her heart in her throat, she pushed gently, hopelessly over-steering just like she knew she would.

  "It's okay. Don't panic. Just straighten it up. That's right, just like that. Now push gently. No, the other way. You're going to end up turning us around, baby."

  "Well, if I did, it would serve you right. I did warn you."

  His amused laugh diffused some of her panic.

  "Don't give me sass, lady. Concentrate on your hands. I know how good they can be."

  Oh, the arrogant man!

  ****

  Sven chuckled to himself as he watched his little firecracker straighten her shoulders. She shot him a furious look. He knew she would rise to the bait. Her eyebrows drew together as she put all of her concentration into steering the boat. After a few more over-steering incidents, during which she turned the air blue with her colorful language, she settled into the task, and he relaxed into the view in front of him.

  The breeze ruffled her long hair. It carried with it her unique scent, mixed in with his shampoo, and his gut clenched painfully. The cut-offs clung to her behind like a second skin, and he was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a bra. Cursing the tight fit of his own shorts, he shifted himself slightly better to see her profile. She was concentrating so hard the tip of her tongue had darted out, and desire washed over him. He wanted her so badly he could taste her already, but he was pretty sure she would sock him one, should he try anything. So, he settled for watching her with a low groan. Her startled eyes connected with his, and she frowned, returning her attention back to the canal.