Raising her hand, she smacked down hard on his asscheek. An indistinct sound of need came from him and she could feel him swelling inside her. The pleasure nearly overwhelmed her. She brought her hand down again onto the warmed skin of his ass, stinging her own hand as well as his flesh.
It spiked at her, and the orgasm rolled across her body, from nipples to toes, so strong she shut her eyes against the perfect matching blue of the sky and his irises.
As the waves receded, she opened her eyes. He was holding himself above her on just one arm, not crushing her with his weight. The strength of him, contained and used for her pleasure, caused another surge of lust in her. She tightened her hold on him, pulling him into her, forcing him harder and faster into her and was rewarded by his breath roughening, uncontrolled.
“Ma’am, please may I come?” he gasped, the words coming from deep in his throat, his voice strained and desperate.
“Yes.” Digging her fingers into the firm muscle of his buttocks, she felt it when he came, the sensation amplified by his groan. His seed seemed to push up into her and the head of his cock stretched her, filling her. His muscled body was solid and still, apart from his chest heaving with exertion. He was a stone creature, entirely alive and utterly impossible.
His breath was steamy on her neck, his soft lips touching her neck in a sweetly erotic kiss. They remained locked together for some minutes, both silent.
Eventually, when their breathing had slowed, he eased off her and reached for his shirt.
A flush swept over her. He would clothe himself without saying anything and leave her, shamed by her controlling desires.
Instead, he took the tail of his shirt, leaned forward and touched it to the wetness between her legs, using it to gently dry her. With careful, respectful fingers, he helped her replace her chemise and corset. She was modestly covered now, from wrist to ankle, as befitted a widow. Jasper was still naked, only starting to don his own clothes now he’d assisted her. But knowing he had seen and participated in her need to dominate made her feel like she was the more exposed.
“I think you have earned double your usual wages, today,” she said, smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt as though she could so easily remove her awkwardness.
His laugh was rich and deep and she didn’t know what to think. He looked up from buttoning his smalls, stared straight into her eyes and shook his head.
“I never needed the money. I always only wanted to serve you.”
That stole the air from her lungs. All this time.
He was braver than her. He had disregarded class and pride to put his heart, delicate, bloody and obscene, into her hands.
She’d never held anything so precious.
They walked back to the village, her hand resting on his arm, all distant decorum. He usually carried any of her finds around to the back door of her tiny cottage and by unspoken agreement, they took the alleyway to the back of her house. There was nothing for him to deliver though, and he hesitated when they reached the steps.
“Well. Good day, Mr. Hamilton,” she said as they stood either side of her door, her hand still on the arm of his coat.
An expression of conflict flickered across his face, but he quickly restrained it. Rosina felt every ounce of the control this action took him, moved by his dedication to duty over emotion.
“Good day, Mrs. Grant.” He turned and walked slowly away, shoulders almost imperceptibly slumped forward.
She looked after him, waiting until he was half a dozen paces away.
Then quietly, she said, “Yes.”
He stopped and tension in his body was evident beneath the line of his coat. “Pardon?” he said, turning to face her.
“I believe you had a question earlier, Mr. Hamilton. The answer is yes.”
A smile, quick and glorious, enveloped his face. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
AT THE END OF THE WORLD
Winter Blair
Jasmine could smell the ocean long before she saw it and the sweet-salty scent buoyed her hopes. She followed the wheeling, screeching seagulls across paved roads overgrown with weeds and parking lots full of abandoned cars. Eventually she could hear the rushing of the waves upon the shore, and her weary legs found new energy. She half ran to the beach, collapsing on her knees and thrusting her hands into the warm, wet sand.
Hot tears streamed down her face. The ocean stretched out before her, gray and glittering, the sky above blue and clear and perfect.
It was a good day to die, really. As good as any other. Jasmine dropped her pack on the sand and impulsively stripped off her clothes. Naked, she waded into the water. The waves buffeted her with gentle pressure. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the wind against her exposed skin, the cool water swirling around her legs, the roaring of the surf crashing on the shore.
“The net was a brilliant idea, Max!”
Jasmine opened her eyes, heart pounding. Was she hearing voices? She’d been alone for a long time. Had her mind finally broken? She turned and looked up the beach and gasped. Two men grunted and strained as they dragged a net behind them, hauling hundreds of flopping fish from the water and dumping them onto the sand.
They might be a hallucination, but if they weren’t, she had put herself in the most vulnerable possible position, naked and defenseless. She dashed back to the beach and pulled on her clothes, now unpleasantly damp and sandy.
The men had noticed her. They jogged down the beach toward her, both wide-eyed and slack jawed, as if they, too, suspected they were hallucinating. One man was tall and lanky and pale, except for the lobster-red sunburn peeling on his shoulders, nose and forehead. The second man was shorter, younger, with velvety brown skin and long, dark dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail. They both wore shorts and sandals and nothing else, their bare chests somehow mesmerizing to Jasmine. How long had it been since she’d seen a man’s bare chest?
She drew her bowie knife from her pack and brandished it. “Stop where you are.”
Both men halted, raising their hands. “We’re not infected,” the pale one gasped.
“We haven’t seen infected around here in months,” his companion added.
Jasmine took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing pulse. The cool, salty sea air was soothing. “Most of the infected are dead now. I haven’t seen one in months, either.” She slid the knife back into her pack and heaved the pack onto her shoulder, keeping the knife within easy reach. Just because these men weren’t infected didn’t mean they were trustworthy.
But god, did she want them to be.
Both men lowered their hands. “I’m Paul,” the pale one said. “This is Max.”
“Jasmine.”
“Jasmine,” both men breathed, as if the sound were holy.
The trio stood awkwardly for a few moments, blinking at one another, before Max said, “Are you hungry? We have a lot of fish.”
Jasmine let out a gust of laughter. She opened her mouth to reply, but instead she found herself falling toward the beach, her legs buckling beneath her. Strong arms caught her, and the world spun like a carnival ride. Max lifted and carried her while Paul’s fingers pressed at her wrist. “She’s dehydrated. Damn, what I wouldn’t give for IV fluids.”
“Water will have to do,” Max huffed as he walked briskly. “She’s strong. Jasmine, you’ve made it this far; don’t give up now.”
The world was hazy as they brought her into a house and laid her on a sofa. Jasmine was just aware enough to notice it was the type of luxurious beach house that, before the end of the world, would have been featured on one of those television shows about celebrity vacation homes. Someone pressed a glass of water to her lips and she drank. “Small sips,” Paul advised, taking her pulse again. She swallowed what she could, though it took every bit of her strength to drink, every bit of her concentration not to let the water dribble from her lips down her chest.
She dozed, eventually, and woke later when the salty wind off the ocean was cold and the house was bathed in darknes
s. Someone had tucked her into a bed with silky-soft sheets. Half a dozen candles flickered on the dresser, lending the room a surreal quality. Beside her, Max sat with a book balanced in his lap, a tiny LED light illuminating the pages. When she stirred he dropped the book onto the bedside table. He was wearing a polo shirt and khaki trousers now, a look that was incongruous with his dreadlocks.
“How do you feel?” He brought a cool, wet cloth to her forehead.
“That’s nice,” Jasmine croaked, her mouth dry.
Max brought the glass of water to her lips, and she drank greedily, swishing it against her tongue and wetting her lips. The water tasted faintly of the ocean, but that somehow only made it more delicious. She sighed with pleasure. “I hope I’m not drinking your supply.”
“We have more than enough. It’s been a wet spring.”
Jasmine pushed herself up to a sitting position to make drinking easier. She gulped down the entire glass. “Where can I relieve myself?”
Max showed her to the massive bathroom, lit with cinnamon-scented candles, where the toilet miraculously still flushed. And there was toilet paper! She laughed at such luxury. “I didn’t think I’d ever live like a normal person again,” she admitted to Max when she was done. “Do you think I could take a shower?”
“The water’s not hot.”
“Better than nothing!” She stripped off her shirt and headed for the shower.
“I should probably keep an eye on you, in case you’re still weak,” Max volunteered, his voice cautious. “I can just wait out here…”
Jasmine whirled to face him. He was a good-looking man, maybe ten years her junior, muscular, with a square jaw and sensitive, long-lashed eyes. Before the end of the world, she would have thought him too young and attractive to look at her twice. But now, of course, things were different.
“Do you like women?” she asked.
Max swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Among other genders.”
“How long since you’ve seen a woman who wasn’t infected?”
He shrugged, averting his gaze. “Months.”
“And how long since you were intimate with…anyone?”
He fidgeted. “A year, at least. Since the day of the outbreak. Paul’s straight.”
Jasmine reached for his hand. His skin was hot, his fingers calloused. She drew him into the bathroom. He wasn’t as tall as Paul, but still tall enough that she had to stand on her toes to kiss him. His lips were soft and salty. He seemed reluctant at first, but when she flicked her tongue against his mouth, his lips parted and suddenly she was engulfed, the dam broken. He drew her against him, pulling her hard against his chest, his hands pressing at her back with a desperation that was so familiar. She, too, clutched and gripped at him, thrilling at the contact, her skin long denied the pleasure of touching another person.
She broke away so she could turn on the shower. While her back was to him, Max fiddled with her bra hooks and her breasts sprang free. She slid the bra to the floor and turned to face him.
Max’s breath came in great, shuddering gasps as he stared at her chest. “You’re so beautiful.”
Then they were pressed together again, tearing the clothes from each other’s bodies, and naked they stumbled together into the shower and laughed at the cold water on their hot skin. Max’s mouth found her right breast, his tongue circling her areola, his teeth biting at her nipple until her back arched and she cried out in pleasure, clutching at his hair.
Her hands found his cock, long and hard and magnificent, and she knelt in the stream of water. She used both hands to caress the length of his circumcised manhood, and then drew it into her mouth. She hadn’t tasted a man in so long; she hadn’t known she could miss it so much. He tasted like the ocean, salty and musky with an edge of biting licorice. She rolled him in her hands and licked him with her tongue and let the length of him slide along the roof of her mouth. The water soaked her, washing away the accumulated dirt and grime and loneliness of a long year.
With a grunt, Max pushed her away before he could climax, his hands drawing her up to standing again. He kissed her hard, the water making it slippery and sensual. His erection pressed against her stomach. He cupped his hands under her ass and lifted her against his waist, his hard cock sliding against her wet cleft, pressing against her clit, sending an electric shock of pleasure through her. She clutched at his shoulders, moaning, and tilted her hips so the next stroke brought him sliding into her, piercing her, filling her all the way to the core, pleasure surging through her like the waves crashing on the beach.
Max pressed her against the wall of the shower and slowly withdrew, thrusting into her again with the same agonizing slowness. Jasmine writhed and groaned. “Please please please,” she found herself pleading. She wanted all of him inside her, fast and hard, filling her in a way she hadn’t been filled in a year, since the world ended.
Grinning, he lowered her legs so her feet were touching the floor and flipped her over so her face and breasts were pressed against the cold tile. His penis found her vagina again and he penetrated her slowly, taking delight in torturing her, denying her that which she so desperately wanted. Every nerve singing, Jasmine screamed in equal parts pain and pleasure. His fingers reached around and pressed against her clit, so that her legs parted wider, welcoming him. Gently, he again withdrew and thrust with that terrible, amazing slowness, pushing himself all the way into the deepest part of her and holding her there, pinioned against the wall, helpless against the slow agony of his thrusts.
Finally, clutching at the arms holding her, Jasmine climaxed, gasping and moaning and clenching down hard around his cock. Max cursed and she felt him shudder and spurt inside her. They remained standing together in the water, pressed against the shower wall, for many long seconds. Jasmine felt his erection deflate within her and he slowly withdrew. She moaned, her vagina still sensitive, her nerves still tingling.
She turned around and they kissed tenderly, the water sluicing away their combined juices down the drain.
The bathroom door opened and Paul appeared. “Are you all right?” He turned even redder than he’d been before, his eyes growing huge. “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” he stuttered, quickly shutting the door.
Jasmine gave Max one last kiss. “What about Paul?”
Max smiled. “What about him?”
“I’m sure he’s missed a woman’s touch as much as you have.”
Max’s smile grew broader. “You’re right.”
They soaped one another, taking their time cleaning every inch of each other’s slippery bodies. By the time they were finished, Max had another huge erection. Jasmine bit her lip and averted her eyes to avoid the temptation. She should make sure Paul received a first helping, after all, before Max received seconds.
When they exited the shower, Jasmine eyed her discarded clothes with a frown. “Is there anything else I can wear?”
With a flourish, Max opened the door to the walk-in closet. “This belonged to the lady of the house. We left it alone, hoping…well, hoping that you would come along.”
The closet was filled to the brim with designer dresses, shoes that cost a month’s rent and jewelry of the type only seen on the red carpet. In the old world, anyway. In this new one, they were all as worthless as the grains of sand on the beach. Jasmine picked out a long, black silk gown, a pair of strappy heels glittering with crystals and a necklace heavy with what she liked to think were real diamonds. She brushed her wet hair and admired herself in the full-length mirror. She’d never thought of herself as a beautiful woman, though she’d never had trouble getting a date. Now though, her wide hips and uneven breasts and thick ankles seemed inconsequential. If rarity was beauty, then she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
Max gaped at her as she swished past in her black gown, out the patio doors and down the beach to Paul, sitting alone in the sand, the tide brushing his toes. He had changed into a pair of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. He sat with his knees pulled up to his c
hest.
Jasmine knelt beside him and stared up at the night sky. The lights of humanity had been dark for nearly a year, but she was still astounded by the beauty of the Milky Way, that swirl of winking stars. A satellite blinked a path across the sky, oblivious that no one was receiving its data.
“I came here to die, you know,” Jasmine confessed. “My plan was to walk into the ocean. I’d had enough of living alone, because what’s the use of life if there are no others to share it? I just wanted to see the ocean one last time.”
“Max and I have been together for six months,” Paul said. “He’s young and strong and a good choice for you. He’ll make you very happy and take good care of you.”
She reached over and laid her hand on top of his. “We don’t have to live by the old rules anymore, Paul. This is a new world where we can all take care of each other.”
He glanced at her sharply, his brows drawn together. His skin looked silvery in the moonlight, his eyes so pale they were almost colorless, like a vampire’s. Jasmine cupped his face in her hands. His stubble was prickly Velcro beneath her palms as she drew his face toward her and kissed him.
For a few seconds, Paul melted into the kiss. Then he jerked away. “But what about Max…?”
Jasmine nodded to the house. Paul followed her gaze to find Max waving at them both from the patio, a huge grin on his face. He was wearing a long, plush robe that did little to disguise his massive erection.
Paul chuckled. “I guess that answers that question.”
Jasmine kissed him again, and this time he didn’t pull away. She crawled on top of him, straddling him, pushing him down onto the sand. His hands brushed her breasts, skimmed her body and kneaded her ass. “What do you miss the most?” she asked, whispering in his ear to make him shiver.
“The taste of a woman,” he moaned, sliding his hands up under her dress to press his fingers against her bare skin. “Drowning in her juices.”
Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 2 Page 6