And There He Was (Sensual Rekindling Erotica)

by Meghan Boehners

  Add in the fact that as she pulled up, the friction made her pussy shiver, the quivering already helping to build what she knew would be a more powerful orgasm than anything she had experienced before. He reached for her breasts and pinched her nipples, sending little electric shocks directly to her G-spot. She braced her knees and slid her ass up, changing the angle, then drew him all the way out to the tip, tightened her vagina, then plunged down again.

  “Ah, Kate! No one has ever done this before. Your pussy is so tight, so warm,” he cried out through gritted teeth. She was at a loss for words, the physical feelings to all-encompassing She wasn't Kate anymore, but instead just a wall of flesh and muscle and nerves and fucking.

  He flipped her off him, then led her to standing, pushing her over the bed, her ass facing him. With one hand he guided himself in and took her from behind, the other hand caressing her back. She used her hand to find her clit and he pounded into her.

  Thrusting, thrusting, she shoved her ass back in rhythm with his hot cock, the pleasure so great, the force of his tip against her cervix making her scream. Grabbing a pillow, she bit it, her fists tightening, her finger finding her clit a swollen, hot mess ready to.

  “Oh, oh, oh, nnnnnnnng, David, I am – “ And she screamed and screamed and thrashed and thrust, all frenzied lust and hot cream as she felt wetness on her feet, knew she was spurting, knew he was creaming into her and pouring his seed in her, knew her pussy was one hot volcano of their juices as he cried out.

  “Kate! Oh, God, I am coming in you! Oh, Kate, honey, oh...” His voice trailed off into grunts and groans, no more words either as she saw fireworks and electric bolts, and as her entire body struggled to come hard enough to emit the force of her orgasms, simple flesh too inept to know how to handle the writhing power of what they were creating.

  He pounded and pounded, she slammed her ass back, he pulled her hair and took one hand to tweak her right nipple, the pain all blending with the creaming and the explosion to make her scream a guttural sound that made him slam harder, until the only feeling she had left was a blissful, drained feeling, all slick and pussy walls and cock and David.

  They slowed, little quakes inside her bleeding every drop of orgasm from her nerve endings, his cock still filling her from behind as he slumped onto her back, pinning her to the bed, their wetness and his muscled body all she felt now. Her brain was empty, her pussy was spent, her breasts were swollen and heaving, and she was, completely and utterly, sated.

  “No one has ever done this for me. To me,” he whispered in her ear, hot breath affectionate and lovely.

  She turned, his cock falling out of her, and pressed her naked front against his. “And no one else ever will,” she replied, a wicked grin plastered across her face as she kissed him.

  The End

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  Traffic was a bitch on I-95, and I knew I'd be late. Some dark-haired asshole who looked like an FBI-type in a Beemer and Oakley mirror sunglasses tried to cut me off when I was three cars away from the tollbooth as I eased off the turnpike onto the interstate. Came within an inch of my bumper. White hot rage shot through me, along with a flushed, hyper-alert sense. No way. I sat in this fucking line for 20 minutes and now Mr. Entitlement USA thinks he can cut me off?

  He waved and shrugged, like he was oh-so-innocently asking for a small favor. I shook my head slowly, glad I was wearing sunglasses, too, because the red-hot death ray would have shot out my eyes and burned him to a gristled little crisp.

  He smirked and shot forward, tapping my bumper. Fuck you, buddy. My car is crappier than yours and I am insured. You hit me, you're slumming.

  I eased up and turned the wheel slightly to the left. No way I was hitting him. Ever vigilant, I made it so that in this game of chicken, I would win. Move an inch, take an inch. Like sex, I was doing to get what I wanted.

  Right now.

  He backed off and I moved forward, victorious. BAM! Take that. Someone with less determination than me right behind me let him in. I looked in my rearview mirror and realized he was flipping me off.

  So I shot him the bird back. Fuuuuuuuuck you, dude.

  And then he proceeded to follow me. Fine. Whatever. We were trapped in gridlock for the cloverleaf onto I-95, so I pulled out my makeup case. I always ran out the door a few minutes late, so I'd learned to prioritize. Powder, blush, mascara, lipstick. Done. I'm sure in a few years I'll need a hell of a lot more makeup, but at 21 the worst I need is a little undereye concealer if I party all night and come into work a little hung over.

  Not true today, though. I got what I needed last night. My boyfriend, Darren, finally put out. That man has a tongue that could lick the moon if he really tried. Damn. Too bad he has to drink a six pack before he's willing to go down. My clit appreciated the effort, and it was a nice change from our boring, vanilla sex. I mean, missionary position is nice once in a while – what woman doesn't like to have a broad man's back to grab onto and scratch when she's screaming and coming like a freight train with a full load – but every single time?

  If I climbed on top of him and rode his pole he practically yawned. Getting that tongue to flick my pussy took a ton of alcohol. And when I suggested using a strap-on last night, that had, apparently, been the last straw for poor old Darren. His baby blue eyes had bugged out of his head.

  “Lindsay, you're nuts!” I'd never seen a person actually spring out of bed, but Darren managed it, naked and loopy from the beer. We hadn't even had intercourse yet; he'd finally gone down on me and I'd been moaning with pleasure just a few seconds ago.

  “No – it's just a thought. I figured we could be adventurous.”

  “By shoving a plastic dick up my ass?” Now he was scrambling into his jeans. He yelped – catching some pubes in his zipper as he rushed. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.

  Ah, damn, I wasn't going to get his cock in me now, was I? “Well,” I crooned, climbing across the bed on all fours, letting my breasts dangle and rub against the sheets, sending tendrils of lust down to my increasingly-wet pussy, “everyone has fantasies, you know? I just thought I'd – ”

  “No fucking way, Lindsay. I'm done. It's bad enough you want me to – ” he waved vaguely at my crotch – “put my mouth on, on that. But now you want to be the man and fuck me with a dildo you wear around your waist? You need to see a shrink.”

  Now I was pissed. “If anyone needs a shrink, Darren, it's you. If you have to liquor up in order to, well, lick her up, then you might be gay. Go find a nice bar with men and explore a little. Have a nice life.” I'd been screaming the words as he walked down my apartment hallway and slammed the door just as I said the word “life.”

  And that had been my night. The end of a weird 6 weeks with Darren.

  So no undereye concealer today. I'd gotten off and ended a relationship. Today was about being reborn, cleansing myself, and just breathing. It was Friday and I had decided at the last minute, before running out the door, that I would go on a little trip, alone, to my parent's cabin in Vermont. Packed up some good erotic romance novels, my sex toy collection, and some Junior Mints, all neatly crammed into my laptop bag. Sitting in a cabin, watching porn and reading some good, raunchy shape-shifter crap was my idea of a cleanse.

  This asshole in the Beemer kept following me as I pulled off the interstate and went down the back roads to the office.

  And then pulled into my parking lot at work.

  He parked in a spot right by the main door. The spot that said “Reserved for the Vice President of Marketing.”

  I was the new marketing assistant.

  Oh, shit.

  The asshole in the Beemer was my boss. Mark.

  All I was trying to do was get to work on time. The damn turnpike is always crowded, but there's always someone at the front of the line who will let me in. A $50,000 contract at
work was at stake; if I was late and lost the client, I'd lose my job.

  I drove up past the 40 or so cars in line and figured I'd edge in. And then I saw Lindsay, the new marketing assistant, in her little red compact car. Damn. It's like the universe read my mind. Just this morning the alarm clock had woken me out of a hot dream, with Lindsay the leading lady. She was only six years younger than me, and that auburn hair drove me wild. Were the silky curls leading to her womanhood auburn, too? Could my tongue blaze a trail through that blazing hair? My cock pushed against the zipper of my pants and I shifted in my seat.

  Surely she'd let me in – she knew how important this client meeting was. I eased my dad's Beemer into place and tried to get ahead of her.

  No dice. So I stared at her, hoping she'd recognize me. When she finally looked at me, her cool gaze turned me on even more. Rich hair the color of copper pipes, with painted lips so full they could take on my erect cock – and more. Her pert nose rested perfectly under a pair of sunglasses, skin the color of new milk. And I could see a hint of breast in her cleavage under the suit jacket she wore, unbuttoned and hanging under her seat belt. And beneath the steering wheel I knew those long, lean legs were pushing pedals, while my hand wanted to reach down, slide up her calf, over her thigh, and stroke her off.

  My hand actually reached for my own damn thigh and nearly unzipped my pants and stroked off right then and there. Instead, I clamped down on my own steering wheel and smiled at her, then shrugged.

  She shook her head “no.” Ah, come on! I shot her a nasty look and beeped my horn, a friendly tap. She turned away and grabbed her steering wheel.

  So it was going to be like that, huh?

  Winning games of “chicken” was my specialty. I tightened up and pushed forward, inches at a time, trying to get her to let me in. She fought back, though, and I tapped her with the BMW's bumper. My parents would kill me if I cracked it, though. I'd have to let Lindsay win.

  This time.

  She got through and I flipped her off reflexively, not even thinking about it, but she saw me and returned the bird. A flash of anger and arousal filled me like a balloon at a helium tank. Could she piss me off even more?

  Could I want to fuck her even more?

  We'd settle this at the office. Maybe it was time for a performance review for Ms. Lindsay. A very detailed, intimate performance review. And as long as we took care of things after hours, it would be fine.

  Wait – no. Down, boy. You're a VP now. Twenty-seven years old and a fucking VP. No piece of ass, no matter how intelligent and hot, would derail that.

  Or would it? My cock itched to sink into her. To claim her. To show her, exactly, who was the boss.

  Mark parked his car and I pulled into a spot way, far across the parking lot, as far as I could get from him. Oh, shit! I just got into a road rage contest with my hot boss!

  And I'd won. An evil grin stretched over my face. He was new, like me, and eager to prove himself. Like me. I had decided before I graduated with my bachelor's degree that I would never sleep my way to the top. Mark had made that very, very hard these past few months. He looked like a young version of David Duchovny, tall and lean, calm and together, with a droll manner and laughing eyes that were intelligent and – under the surface – passionate. Maybe even kinky.

  If he had half the kink I hoped was there, then I'd quit my job just to fuck him.

  Whoa! Where was that coming from? I wasn't about to lose my career over some hot guy. No, no, no.

  What the hell was I doing, fantasizing in the parking lot like this? My boss had just tried to cut me off on the turnpike and I had played a game of “chicken” with him. And won. And we'd flipped each other off.

  I might lose my job even if I didn't fuck him.

  A heavy sadness overwhelmed me, tinged with anxiety. Walking into the building was hard. “Hi, Linsday!” shouted Lou, the old security guard who manned the front desk. I waved back and pulled out a cheerful smile. Lou beckoned me with one finger.

  “Watch out,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Mark just blazed through here, and he seems pissed.”

  “Oh, yeah? Thanks for the tip, Lou,” I said, walking slowly toward the elevator. The four-story ride felt like a walk to Death Row. I got off the elevator and scurried to my office, hoping no one would talk to me. Once I was safe behind my own closed door I booted up my laptop and tried to bury myself in email.

  That worked for about 45 minutes.

  And then Mark barged right in to my office, scaring me. I jumped up and my jacket slid off my shoulders, falling around my elbows. Shrugging my arms worked, but it also made me heft my breasts, which Mark zeroed in on immediately.

  Subtlety wasn't his strong point. He'd been eyeing me for months, since we both started.

  “So what the hell was that on the turnpike, Lindsay?” he growled, pacing back and forth in front of my desk. He was wearing an expensive Brooks Brothers suit, a pinpoint white oxford, and a tie that probably cost more than a week of my salary. Dark brown hair cut perfectly to frame his strong jaw. Chocolate eyes that begged me to turn them dark and impassioned.

  But he wasn't winning this one. “I could ask you the same thing! Cutting me off like that. I'd been in line for 20 minutes. Just because you drive a BMW doesn't mean you get to cut like that.”

  “The McClintock campaign was this morning. You made me miss the beginning of the meeting. A $50,000 contract.” He looked at me like I was the stupidest thing on the planet.

  Ah, fuck. I'd forgotten about that. “How was I supposed to know who you were? I didn't realize it was you until you pulled into your parking space, Mark.” Now my arousal was turning to irritation. If he was just going to bully me, then forget it. My sex toys, Junior Mints, and YouPorn were all I needed.

  He walked around the desk and reached toward me, his hand firm against my right forearm. “I tried, but you were in your own world.” He smiled with his eyes, but his mouth was set in a strong, angry line. The mixed signals were confusing.

  “I can't read minds, you know?” I shrugged, willing away the surge of lust that his touch brought out in me. My eyes lingered on his belt buckle, looking down, down to find the upright bulge I wanted to ride. A pool of warmth filled my panties, which I wanted him to remove.

  With his teeth.

  “You can't?” His voice was like warm velvet. “I thought you could. That's why we hired you. For your – ” his eyes traveled down my body, then back up, his face flushing and eyes darkening with desire. “-- mind.” His hand began caressing the inside of my elbow, brushing lightly against my breast. I inhaled and nearly moaned.

  “Lindsay, I think you can read minds.” He pulled away and sat up on my desk, legs spread toward me. “What am I thinking right now?” Maddeningly, his face showed virtually no expression. His eyes and body, though, burned for me.

  My clit wanted so much more than it had gotten from Darren last night. To think I'd been satisfied – no, convinced myself I'd been satisfied – by Darren's pathetic tongue, when this man was standing in front of me, wearing a neon invitation that screamed “Fuck Me Right Now”? Hah.

  “I think you want me to fuck you.”

  He grinned. “I think you have that backwards.”

  A thought hit me. If we were going to do this, let's do it all the way. Reaching into my laptop case, I fumbled to find my target. Got it.

  Clutching my new strap-on, I slowly pulled it out and into view. “No. I don't have it backwards at all. I think – ” I said, stepping between his legs and running the tip up his thigh, “--I want to fuck you.”

  Now, this was the point where I either got fired or I got laid. Well, Mark got laid.

  Someone was going to get fucked either way....

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  Perfect! Katie had just put the finishing touches on the livin
g room and stood back to admire her handiwork. Candles were in place all around the room and cast a soft lighting that complemented the baskets of flowers and greenery that she had set out.

  The holiday tree was still up and decorated, so the rest added just the right ambiance. Now, all that was left was to put out the tray of snacks to go with the champagne that was chilling in the ice bucket on the coffee table.

  Mike would be here any minute and she wanted things to be perfect. He had hinted at having a surprise for her and she was more than a bit curious about what that could be. She couldn’t figure it out, especially since he had given her a diamond engagement ring for Christmas. What could he do that would top that?

  Katie went back into her bedroom and checked her look in the mirror one more time. She was pretty satisfied with what she saw there. Her makeup was flawless, accenting her green cat eyes and her full red lips. She had chosen to wear her raven colored hair down and it reached the middle of her back in heavy, sexy waves.

  The best part, though, was the wicked red silk teddy she was wearing. It laced up the front with ribbons. The kicker was the lacy see-through cups that encased her breasts. The attached garter straps held up black fishnet stockings and her feet sported black, strap back heels that accentuated her shapely legs.

  After making a few minor adjustments, Katie slipped on the floor-length red silk robe over her ensemble and went back to the living room to wait for Mike. She unlocked the door so that she could arrange herself on the sofa in front of the fire. Finally, there was a soft knock on her door.

  “Come in – it’s unlocked,” she called out.

  Mike opened the door and stepped inside. No matter how long they'd been together, or how many times she'd looked at him, she always marveled that she was with such a gorgeous, caring man. Michael O'Flannery looked like a younger version of Colin Farrell and Pierce Brosnan combined, with “black Irish” features and a soccer player's body. Thick, strong legs, arms that knew how to handle a woman, and piercing green eyes made for a man she could stare at for hours.