Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 2

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Zion stood at the top of the stairs talking in a language I couldn’t place, but his tone said he was very upset.

  I walked over to him. “Are you okay?” I asked after he hung up.

  Instead of answering, Zion grabbed me and kissed me. His mouth was everything I’d imagined it would be: smooth and deep, like the finest cognac. I rubbed my tongue against his. His beard tickled my skin as our mouths moved around, desperately seeking the best angle for our passion until we came up for air.

  Zion cupped my face. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Three little words; all it took was those three little words, and I lost my courage. I wasn’t beautiful.

  “I know you’re scared of what we feel for each other, but I’ve been single for three years, ever since my wife left, and you’re the first woman to make me feel alive again.”

  Damn! Damn! Damn! I was hoping I would be just another notch on his belt, and then it would be easier to resist him, but no, he was a good guy.

  “Are you still in love with your wife?”

  His eyes took on a faraway look. “I don’t want to talk about her when I’m rock hard for you.”

  I took a step back. “I need to feel a connection to something other than your cock. Was that her on the phone?”

  “No, that was my project manager in Dubai who just fucked up royally, but I don’t want to talk about him either.” Zion grabbed my face. “We have more than a sexual connection. I know we just met, but sometimes that’s the way it happens.”

  I knocked his hand away. “Is that how it was with your wife? Because that’s how it was with my parents; fireworks are amazing, but they don’t last but a minute. Sometimes, a slow simmer is better.”

  Zion caressed my face again. “So we’ll take it slow,” he conceded softly.

  That’s not what I wanted to hear. He wasn’t giving me anything I could work with.

  “I’m just as scared as you are, but the fact that I haven’t felt this way in three years makes me put a lot of stock in what we feel. Don’t you trust it?”

  “I don’t even know what it is.”

  Zion shrugged. “Why does it have to be defined now? It can be the beginning of something that will define itself. It can be the start of a wonderful relationship, or it can be the salve we both need right now to get us to the next chapter in our lives.”

  I didn’t want to be a footnote in anyone’s life. Carlton and I would write our story together. It would be a boring book that nobody else wanted to read, but at least I’d know how it would end.

  “Take me back to my hotel, please.”

  Zion dropped his hand and ran it over his face. He suddenly seemed tired. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can talk about the sale of the house.”

  His voice was so cold it chilled me to the core.

  Tropical nights and pent-up sexual urges were not conducive to sleep, and I gave up after a few hours and lay staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Zion. He’d actually looked dejected when I had refused him. How could he have gotten his feelings involved with me so quickly? I was not a very emotional person because life had taught me that feelings always led to hurt. I didn’t care how much we’d connected; I wasn’t swayed by this supercalifragilisticexpialidocious magic between us. I would do what I knew was right. I just had to appease my body in some way because she wasn’t being very practical.

  My hands traveled down to my wet pussy, and I rubbed my clit hard and fast. I just wanted the ache to go away, for thoughts of Zion to disappear. I beat her like I was punishing her for my sins, and I came quickly and loudly. When my breathing slowed, I opened my eyes and froze. Zion stood at the foot of my bed, watching me. I’d left the lamp on, so I could see him clearly, and he had his cock in his hand.

  I kept my eyes on his face.

  “I stood outside your window for a long time feeling like a pervert,” he said in that deep voice I’d come to love so much. “I told myself, she doesn’t want you, man, just get over it. But I can’t get you out of my mind, and I’m really afraid if I don’t have you, I’m going to lose said mind. When I heard you say my name, I couldn’t resist anymore. Do you really want me to go, Naima?”

  His question hung in the air between us. I was glad I hadn’t thrown off the covers and he couldn’t see me. I always masturbated under the covers like I couldn’t even bear to look at what I was doing to myself. I held the sheet to my chest and sat up.

  “When I was twenty-one, I was in a very bad car accident,” I told him.

  “I know. Your mother called my parents and asked them to pray for you.”

  My eyes flew up to his. I hadn’t realized he knew so much about me. But there was still more to tell. “The accident left me with very bad scars on my chest, legs and back, and that’s made me very afraid to get close to anyone because I fear they will think I’m ugly.”

  “You don’t need to be giving yourself to any man who would think that,” Zion said stoically.

  “Well, I was afraid, and I believe that sex should only be in marriage.” I looked away from him. “I’ve never done this, Zion.”

  “I’ve never done it either.”

  “No, I mean I’ve never had sex.” I kept my eyes averted and waited, while everything inside me cringed in embarrassment.

  “Don’t play games with me, Naima,” he growled.

  “I’m not playing.” I still couldn’t look at him.

  “Do you want me to leave, Naima?”

  I looked at him. His eyes were filled with shock and questions, but he didn’t ask them because he knew I was embarrassed enough. Anything he could have said would’ve made it worse. In that moment, I felt my heart open just a little. I realized that I wanted him to take me, that if I waited to be completely comfortable with the idea, it would never happen. I was glad he was there, forcing me to confront how I felt about him. Slowly, I pulled back the covers.

  Even more slowly, I opened my legs. I wondered what Zion thought as he looked at me. Did he see the ugly, raised scars, or was I like my house? I hoped he only saw my large breasts, the curves of my hips, the untouched valley between my thighs.

  “You’re beautiful,” Zion gushed.

  In that moment, and just that quickly, I fell hard for him. It didn’t matter what I had always believed; this man looked at me and found me beautiful. I watched him slip out of his jeans and T-shirt. He stood still while my eyes devoured him. He had a hairy chest, and the hair tapered down to a hard chocolate cock, which excited and terrified me at the same time.

  He crawled in bed, and for a long time, we just held each other and talked while I got used to feeling a man next to me, and having his hands roam my body. We talked about our fantasies; I had a lot of them. Some were dark and deviant, ones I’d thought would always remain in the deepest recesses of my mind.

  Zion started kissing me as I confessed. God, his mouth was a treasure trove of infinite delights, and I soon lost the ability to speak. Zion’s dark head slipped lower and he kissed my scars, in a wet, connect-the-dots trail to my pussy. He kissed the insides of my trembling thighs over and over again until I grabbed his head and smashed his face against me.

  His tongue fire-licked my clit, once, twice, and just that easily, I came, my body convulsing like we had been at it for hours. I was so starved that my non-solo orgasm barely made a dent in my hunger, and even before I had climaxed fully, I raised my hips and rubbed against his face.

  I soon learned that Zion knew how to eat, and he liked it, ass and all. He flipped and turned me like a rag doll, and I bent to his will. I lost count of how many times I came, but when I was reduced to sobs, Zion just held me.

  I fell asleep, and awoke with my hand wrapped around Zion’s cock. I looked up and he was just looking at me. He was so controlled. While we watched each other, I stroked him. I saw his control slip, piece by piece, until he shattered. With a loud groan, he pushed me back and hovered over me for just a second.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.�
�

  I grabbed his hips. “I’m not some blushing teenager; I’ve had cock, just not a real one.”

  Zion smiled. “There’s nothing like the real thing mama!”

  He smoothly plowed into me. There was no other way to describe it, and as I dug my nails into his back, I knew that indeed, there was nothing like the real thing. The feel of him deep inside me went beyond my wildest fantasy. He knew my body better than I did. He touched places I never even knew existed. It was a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious fuck. The funk of it filled the night and my head until I was giddy.

  But then it changed, and I felt a rush of emotions I’d never felt before. This man had been so kind to me, even as he fucked my brains out. There was a tenderness, an understanding of my pain, and when I came, I released years of pain. Zion had restored my faith in men.

  Afterward, I lay in his arms, but there were no more tears, no questions. He could walk out of my bed and out of my life forever, and I would be okay. Maybe not right away, but scars healed, and I could take the broken pieces of my life and make something beautiful.

  LIKE LIGHTS IN THE NORTHERN SKY

  Dorianne

  Valentina was wearing long johns, sweatpants, snow pants, a T-shirt, a sweater, a parka, boots, ski gloves and a toque, yet she had never been so cold. In this moment it was hard to believe she had ever lain naked in the sun, sweat slicking between her body and a man’s. The memory came from far away, though not from long ago.

  “Here we are,” said Johnny as they crested a ridge. Below, a wooden lodge nestled into a tiny snow-covered valley. The group started down the hill as fast as their aluminum snowshoes would allow.

  Later, with a cup of hot cocoa in her hand, she sat down on the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace in the common room. Her toes were tingling, beginning to warm. Before leaving Charlotte she had taken a stress-reduction class, and now she mentally traversed her body, paying attention to each slowly relaxing muscle.

  “Like a spike?” A loud voice startled her. “Oh, sorry. Thought you were home but you were out for a sec.” Johnny, their host, grinned with half his mouth. The other half managed to look sympathetic. “Spike or no?” He gestured with a bottle at Valentina’s mug.

  “Oh, sure.” He sloshed some liquor into her drink. She took a sip. Mmm, whiskey.

  “You do like that!” Johnny said, pleased.

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you.” After the long, cold hike (and before that, days on planes and buses, nights of bad TV in cheap hotels), this was very satisfying.

  Johnny met her eyes and his crooked grin widened.

  This was why Johnny loved his work.

  Of course, you had to make a living somehow. But part of his pleasure in running the lodge were tourists like this lovely woman. The pink in her cheeks was darkening into a smooth light brown that matched her eyes. Not that beautiful women were the kind of tourists he especially liked. The people he preferred weren’t here so they could boast about adventures to their less-hardy friends. They were looking for something. Exploring the world in order to locate themselves in it.

  Lisa laughed at the look on his face when he returned to the kitchen.

  “Found someone, have we?” she asked. Lisa always knew when he was smitten.

  “Just a woman who seems sad, it’s nothing, I won’t—”

  Lisa cut him off. “You don’t have to promise anything, darling. As always, as ever, I love you but don’t own you. If this woman could use a little Johnny, well—it’s my opinion that everyone could use a little Johnny. Now I’ve got to get these cookies out to our guests. I bet I can spot the sad woman. She’ll get two cookies.” Lisa left, ignoring his blush. He made some tea.

  His wife always teased him, but now it seemed clear that she was openly advocating adultery. Not that he always had these attractions. Most groups of tourists didn’t include anyone as appealing as Valentina. But sometimes they did.

  Lisa returned with an empty tray. “So sad!” she announced in a loud whisper. “I would give her three cookies if there were enough.”

  Johnny stared at her and set his mug down on the window-sill. “My wife…” he said, stepping toward her.

  “My husband,” she rejoined, coming to meet him. Her eyes were bright black and twinkling, like pebbles in the bottom of a brook during the spring runoff. He lost track of any question he was about to ask and instead stroked her cheek.

  She closed her eyes briefly, and then kissed the tip of Johnny’s thumb. She snaked her arm around him, wrapping his hair around her hand. It circled her palm twice before she reached the nape of his neck. She pulled his face toward hers.

  Her lips tasted like campfire smoke and chocolate, every time, even after all these years. Their first kiss was almost two decades ago, as teenagers on the reserve, and still she made the blood rush away from his head. She’d become an expert at him, discovered things he liked, things he would never have thought to ask for.

  Lisa’s kissing became more aggressive, her mouth forcing his to open wider. Her tongue tested the sharpness of his teeth. He moved closer to inform her thigh about his erection.

  She bit his lower lip, a chuckle low at the back of her throat. Then she dove for his neck and bit him there too. Johnny growled and backed her up to the countertop, pushing her onto it and reaching under her skirt to pull her panties down. He sank to his knees but Lisa hooked one foot under his armpit, stopping him.

  “We cook for paying guests here,” she said under her breath. They could hear the guests’ lively conversation on the other side of the door. “I don’t think the health inspector would approve.”

  “You expecting him tonight?” asked Johnny.

  “No,” she smirked.

  “I’ll scrub the whole room first thing in the morning,” he said, and freed himself from her foot, finally nuzzling his face into his favorite warm space. He inhaled her earthy scent and licked dewdrops off the curls of hair. He felt her ankles cross against his back, pushing him forward. He nosed through her thicket and found the button of her clit to flick, testing the agility of his tongue until she shivered, and then he slowed down into long, languid licks.

  Lisa’s head hung back, hair brushing the countertop. She knew Johnny would extend this until she wanted to squeeze his head between her thighs in frustration, and only then would he give her the forceful circling that she needed to come. But she didn’t know much else, her thoughts fuzzy with sensation. One thing did occur to her—not only was she getting head, but he had promised to clean the kitchen.

  The others were sharing vacation anecdotes and Valentina made an effort to contribute. She offered her story of becoming suddenly ill with food poisoning while on a horse ride in the Dominican Republic, falling off her mount and being carried back to the dirt road where a jeep took her to the hospital.

  She got a few laughs and some sympathetic comments. But when someone else took over she lost focus on the conversation, drawn into other memories of that trip—primarily how furious her ex had been. Of course she tried some authentic local food instead of sticking to the tourist restaurants, and of course she made herself sick. He didn’t want to hear about how she desperately craved food that resembled what she had eaten during her childhood in Mexico. There were Mexican restaurants all over North Carolina, he claimed. But he only ever agreed to go to Tex-Mex chain places, and that just wasn’t the same.

  During their last fight he said she was lucky she wasn’t illegal or he’d have her deported, and then she smashed a mirror. She left him, and left Charlotte, heading north. She had been heading north ever since.

  She wondered suddenly why Johnny hadn’t come back. He seemed so kind; he looked right at you as if you were a whole person, not just the role you played in his life as a client, a tourist. People didn’t usually look at you like that. You were their coworker, their patron, their girlfriend, but just that. His lopsided smile, and the slight wrinkles indicating that he smiled often, were charming.

  Who was the woma
n with the cookies? An employee or something more?

  Valentina moved toward the kitchen, not sure what she wanted—water, maybe. At the door she hesitated. She heard something, a noise she recognized. Two people trying to be quiet.

  The woman was certainly more than an employee.

  There was an armchair, empty for being far from the fire. She settled into it. She would stop anyone from entering the kitchen and disturbing them, she told herself. She didn’t quite admit that she wanted to keep listening.

  The next day they skied to a place with kennels to go dogsled-ding. The wind whipping her face as the dogs raced her along was cold but exhilarating. Valentina was almost used to the temperature, and the physical exertion helped keep her warm. Once or twice Johnny winked at her, which made her feel even warmer, in certain places deep within her parka.

  When they returned to the lodge Lisa was setting the table for dinner. Valentina said, “I didn’t get a chance to mention it this morning, but breakfast was delicious, thank you.”

  Lisa laughed, a sudden loud chortle. “I’m glad you enjoyed it! Johnny left me a beautifully clean kitchen to work in.” Johnny blushed, the skin on his cheekbones turning from the color of oak to maple. Valentina didn’t fully get the joke but she smiled, knowing something about what happened in the kitchen.

  Lisa and Johnny, working in concert, placed a multitude of serving dishes about the table. Valentina admired how they never got in each other’s way. She and her ex had stumbled over each other until the day she left.

  Johnny sat beside her on the end of the bench as the other tourists shoveled chili, fresh-baked buns and kale salad into their mouths. Lisa took a step toward the kitchen but Valentina asked, “Won’t you eat with us?” Lisa glanced nervously down the length of the table.

  “She’s a little shy,” Johnny said softly. “There’s a seat for you,” he said a little louder. Lisa sat down hesitantly across from Valentina.