by Treva Harte
She pressed back against him, and he couldn’t resist. He rubbed his cock against her ass, pulling her hips tight to increase the pressure. He wanted to tear off this stretchy little skirt…to bend her over and plunge deep into her heat.
Not yet. Not until she was feverish with need.
One greedy hand wandered from her hip to her sex. His fingers touched her nest, teasing through the thin fabric of her undergarment. Ah, time to begin his tutoring.
“What do you call this sweet place, Daria?”
She stiffened. In embarrassment? “What do you call it?”
He nuzzled the space where her neck met her shoulder and dipped his fingers deeper. “In Prendarian, we use the word for nest.”
“There are…dozens of words in English.”
Why was she reluctant to tell him? Was she so shy? “Which of those words do you prefer?”
Her shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. “I don’t have a preference.”
“You agreed to be my tutor.” Her neck, so warm under his mouth, demanded a long, slow lick.
She gasped. “You’re not helping me bathe.”
“I’m not?” His fingers slipped beneath her undergarment and brushed the curls between her legs. “I seem to be washing your body more than my own.”
When he delved deeper, slick moisture covered his hand. The sonic shower dissolved it as he rubbed her, but more fluid leaked from her body. She tilted sideways suddenly, resting part of her weight against the wall.
He pressed her closer to the wall, closer to him. Wherever they touched, the electrons pulsed between them. “Tell me,” he urged. “Tell me the English words. I want to speak to you in our native language, Daria.”
“In my native language.”
She sounded fierce. She must resent Prendarian words, as many Earthers did. He truly didn’t understand. Language was merely language; communication had no race. But he respected her feelings. And with her ass pressed against his cock, her body oozing creamy warmth onto his hand, he would not debate. “As you will.”
She turned in his arms, dislodging his hand from her nest, then slipped her hands around his neck and pulled his head down next to hers. Her belly, softly rounded, brushed his stiff cock; her breath whispered in his ear over the soft whirring of the sonic waves. “Pussy,” she said. “Cunt. Twat. Snatch. Vulva.”
She must be blushing. He tried to lift his head to see, but her hands refused to release him.
Enough. He pulled her skirt down, and her scrap of an undergarment came with it. His hand wriggled between her thighs again. “You said there were dozens.”
“I can’t remember any more.”
He punished her by dipping a finger into her heat, then withdrawing. “Tell me the word you prefer. Or shall I use them all?”
She drew a deep breath. “I can’t…can’t think with your fingers there.”
He grinned. A Prendarian woman would have demanded a climax by now. Her artless ways made him feel very much a man. “Shall I stop?”
Her hands clutched at his arms. “No.”
“Then tell me the word. Give me the word for this little nest that weeps upon my hand.”
For long moments he felt nothing but the heat of her breath against his neck, the sheen of her intimate fluid rapidly dissolving in the shower. He kept his strokes light, teasing. She’d climax with a fury this time.
“Nest,” she answered at last. “I like…your word.”
Perhaps she wasn’t as opposed to Prendarian as she seemed. Or perhaps she truly objected to the English words.
“And you like my fingers in your nest?”
He felt her swallow. “Yes.”
“Does the shower make you tingle?”
She nodded, her face buried against his shoulder.
He found her bud with a finger; stroked it lightly. She leaned on him and whimpered. With his hand focusing the electrons, she must feel torment in her sex.
He touched her bud more firmly, and she gasped. “This sweet little spot--is this your pussy?”
“Clit,” she said breathlessly. “Pussy means…the whole thing.” Her fingers dug into his biceps. “And in…in your language?”
He kissed the top of her head. “English is one of my languages.” But he grasped her meaning. “In Prendarian…bud. Like a flower…waiting to open.”
He’d never understood the analogy before. Now, with Daria squirming against his body, writhing against his hand, it seemed she would literally bloom into climax.
Her breath rushed against his shoulder in shallow pants. Everywhere they touched, electrons whirled against his skin, raising sensitive nerve endings. Especially in his cock.
“Climax for me,” he demanded. What word had she used earlier? “Come for me.”
* * * * *
What people are saying about
Once a Thief
Doreen DeSalvo's Once a Thief is the most sensually erotic short story I have ever read. The foreplay between the two main characters in this book is absolutely scorching. I was glued to every page…In my opinion this book is a necessary sensual read.
-- Dianne Nogueras, Coffee Time Reviews
Once a Thief is both gritty and heartwarming. Doreen DeSalvo has written a very sensual story of redemption. The emotions are very real and nothing is held back as boundaries are crossed in this unique love story. If you like to push the limits, you don't want to miss this one!
-- Chere Gruver, Sensual Romance
Doreen DeSalvo has penned an intense short tale of attraction, sex and,
ultimately, of learning to look beneath people's surface.
-- Angela Camp, Romance Reviews Today
Once a Thief is now available at Changeling Press