by Jolie Du Prè
Without tongues, they held their mouths open on each other’s, waiting for first penetration. As he moaned, she flicked her tongue in. His hands moved off the sink, sliding up her rib cage, around her breasts. He broke the kiss and tugged her shirt up, lifting her bra. His mouth closed on her nipple, hands grabbing her hips, pulling her tight against him. He sucked and she ran her lips, her cheek along his feathered hair.
When he rose again to her mouth, she needed more than one kiss. Kate yanked at her belt, tried to unzip her jeans. His hand that clasped her ribs, slid hard down her waist, over her stomach and dug past the protest of zippers, into the place that begged for him, that had demanded him from first sighting.
His finger flicked at wetness, raising a moan in her, a deep breath in him. His finger slid into the opening, and quickly he turned them, pushing her against the sink, his finger penetrating deeper. Flicking. The jeans slid down. He bent over, his mouth on her breasts, biting her ribcage, a tongue down her stomach, the finger flicking so that she kept backing up on the sink.
She saw only fluorescence and shadow and heard another zip. A struggle of fabric. She reached to help, to stop him, but the finger flickered, inflaming her pelvis, nerves zipping down to the arches of her feet. She kicked off the jeans at her ankles and wrapped her legs around him.
“Polo.” His name defined every desirous moan the world could conjure. That satin tip she had tasted yesterday now pushed against her labia. He wetted it with her moisture. She knew before he entered that the thrust would shatter cells and set rivers of fire along her veins. He played a moment at the entry, played and teased, until she grabbed his neck and drew his mouth to hers.
Now. His first thrust emptied his own chest of the long-held, guttural moan. His cry of pleasure was released in her mouth. She held him with her legs, rocking over the sink. She wanted more skin. Fumbling with buttons, she sought his chest, stopping as each new wave of blood shocked her. As her hands met chest, his heart beating under her palm, he pulled her up off the sink, and she rode him down to the cold tiled floor.
Atop him now, his chest bared, his hard penis waiting inside her, she circled his nipple with her tongue. Flicked her tongue across it, and he thrust upward. His hands roamed from breasts to waist, grabbing her again, grinding her over him. They would hear, she thought for a moment. Outside the door, they would smell the climax that poured from her.
She moaned and bit back the sound. There were screams people kept inside. Need that was starved for fulfillment. She followed Polo’s rhythm. He was young. He wasn’t yet tired of the world’s demands. He gave without question, asking nothing in return. He was still the spark that lit the world.
He thrust into her because it felt good. She gripped him, arching back. Sometimes it felt like swallowing the sun, or a royal blue ocean bubbling through. He would smile when they finished, that briefly hesitant but uncontainable smile. And she’d be wearing him home and to the office every day, in the smile they didn’t understand, the one that kept her striding forward through every tomorrow they tried to steal.
Polo. He moaned with his final thrust, and his body collapsed, arms spread over the tiled floor. Grace and beauty and surrender. He wasn’t afraid. The world was open and she was stepping into it.
You Just Might Get It
Julia Barrett
“Oh, my God! This is so yummy! Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“Of course I did, Kate. I can’t leave a damsel in distress dripping on my doorstep.”
Kate put a hand over her mouth to hide her grin. She didn’t think it would be polite to smile with a mouthful of sandwich.
“No, I mean this . . . supper. It’s really nice of you and it’s amazing.”
“You saw me make it, it’s nothing really. Took all of five minutes.”
Kate watched Eric take a bite of his own sandwich. Egg yolk ran down the back of his fingers. Kate looked on, her mouth suddenly dry, as he turned his hand over and licked the bright yellow yolk with a pink tongue. Kate almost licked her lips in response, but she caught herself. She swallowed, hard, instead.
“I’m so embarrassed to be locked out again.”
“Not your fault,” replied Eric, grinning at her. He reached over and delicately rubbed her lower lip. “Egg,” was all he said.
Kate could feel herself blushing.
“These sandwiches hit the spot, but you either have to be prepared to use a lot of napkins or do a lot of licking. And I’m out of napkins.”
Kate had been waiting on the stoop, drenched and shivering, hoping for somebody, anybody to show up, when Eric arrived home. For the fourth time in a week, her electronic key card hadn’t worked and she was stuck outside the building. She’d run out in the rain to retrieve a book from her car, barefoot, wearing a threadbare T-shirt and baggy jeans, only to find she couldn’t get back in. If Eric hadn’t come by when he did, she’d have had to walk several blocks to the neighborhood grocery store to call a friend. She’d left her cell phone sitting on the kitchen table, along with a card where she’d written down the security company’s phone number after the last time she’d gotten locked out. Eric was nice enough to let her in, for the second time in two days, and kind enough to invite her over for something hot to eat. She’d changed quickly and toweled off her hair, but it was still damp. She felt the wet curls against the side of her face and she automatically brushed them back. She watched Eric’s eyes follow the movement of her hand. Kate deliberately looked down at her plate. She picked up a piece of arugula that had fallen from her sandwich and popped it into her mouth.
“So, you’re a chef?” she asked, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with her thoughts.
“I was, but I’m not working as a chef right now,” Eric replied.
Kate looked up. “Oh? Why not?”
“Coming up with a business plan. Doing some research.” He stopped to take a big bite. “I’d like to open my own place, but I need to figure a few things out.”
“Such as?”
“Oh,” Eric chewed thoughtfully. “Location, size, marketing, staffing, theme . . . maybe. I want to be very cautious. Most restaurants go out of business within the first year. I don’t want to be one of them.”
“I can understand that,” said Kate. “Nobody wants to lose their shirt.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he winked at her. “I can think of any number of situations where I’d like to lose my shirt.”
Kate felt a grin tug at the corners of her mouth. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think the man was flirting with her.
“It’s okay, Kate, you can smile. You have a lovely smile.”
“Yes,” she allowed herself a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Just lovely with egg sandwich all over my teeth.”
Eric reached a long arm across the table and delicately tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Yes, even if you did have egg sandwich all over your teeth, you would still have a lovely smile.”
Kate shivered. No man had touched her like that in five years. Not since way before her divorce. He was definitely flirting with her. Eric had to be, what? At least ten years younger than she was. God, maybe fifteen. Why was she doing this? Sitting here at a table in a man’s apartment, eating his food, allowing herself to be disarmed by his charm, fantasizing about things forty-one-year-old women weren’t supposed to do with twenty-something-year-old, very attractive men.
“You’re a nurse, right?” Eric asked.
“Yes.”
“Just, yes? Not ‘Yes, I work intensive care,’ or ‘Yes, I do oncology nursing’? Just ‘yes’?”
Kate smiled again. She couldn’t help it. “I don’t talk much about my work. It freaks some people out. I’m a hospice nurse.”
“Oh, so you see dead people.”
Eric’s delivery was so deadpan that Kate nearly spit out a mouthful of bread.
“Yes,” she laughed. “I see dead people. Where’d you pick up the hospice humor?”
“Friend of mine. Sh
e’s a medical social worker. I guess you have to laugh or you couldn’t do the job, right?”
“You got it,” replied Kate. She took a sip of the fresh-squeezed orange juice he had poured for her. She raised her glass to him. “Nice,” she said. “I ought to buy myself a juicer.”
“No need,” said Eric, “You can use mine anytime you want.”
Eric lifted his eyes and studied the woman seated across the small table from him. Her damp curls surrounded her head like a halo. The first time he’d seen her, in the window across the courtyard, her hair had been damp, just like this. Sweet. Very appealing. He wondered if she had any idea her kitchen window looked directly into his. Probably not. She’d only moved in ten days ago. Eric assumed she was still busy unpacking. That was one of the reasons he’d invited her to dinner, one reason among many. He wondered, briefly, how old Kate was. It was hard to tell. She could be anywhere from twenty-nine to forty-five. But he wasn’t about to ask her and he didn’t care. Her age didn’t matter to him. Her laugh did. Her big, brown eyes did. Her luscious lips. Her wide, white smile.
When he’d arrived home and found her soaked to the skin and shivering on the stoop, he got to play the hero. That was twice in two days. There was no way he’d pass up an opportunity to spend time with her. He’d hoped she’d accept his offer of dinner, and he’d been pleased when she did. It was no big deal, one of his easy meals: oven-toasted rustic bread with melted gruyere, roasted tomatoes, baby arugula and a soft-fried egg. Simple and sensuous. The sandwich was messy and it required the use of all your fingers. There was a lot of runny egg yolk and licking involved. Eric hoped he could segue that licking into something else entirely.
God, there was a lot to like about her. Not only was Kate easy on the eyes, she was intelligent, articulate, mature, and she appreciated his sense of humor. Plus she blushed at the drop of a hat. Eric found that adorable. She wasn’t jaded or flighty, like so many women he’d met recently. He’d bet the farm she hadn’t grown up in California. Probably Iowa or Illinois. Someplace rural. An old-fashioned country girl.
“Where’d you come from? I mean, where are you from, originally?” he asked.
“Blair, Nebraska. It’s a little town near the Missouri River. I went to school there. Dana College. You?”
“Minneapolis.”
“You’re kidding? You don’t have a Minnesota accent.”
“Yeah, well, I worked hard getting rid of that. I can do it if you like.”
“You mean like . . . Minnesooooota, North Dakoooooota, ya think? Like that?”
It was his turn to laugh. “More or less.” He looked at her plate. “Finished?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. The sandwich was great. I can cook, but I guess it never occurred to me that such simple ingredients could taste so good together.” Kate reached for his empty plate and set it on top of hers. “Let me help clean up. That’s the least I can do.”
He watched as she rose from her chair and stretched. He enjoyed watching. Her breasts were pert. Not large, but pert with perky nipples. Two handfuls. That’s all he needed.
“You have a long day today?”
“Not too bad. Really. It would have been better if I hadn’t locked myself out. But . . . what can you do? I was sort of hoping to curl up in a hot bath with a good book, but I left my book in the car and then the key . . . well, you know the story.” She carried the plates to the sink.
Eric followed with the empty glasses. “You can still have a hot bath,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess,” she replied, rinsing off the plates.
He set the glasses down on the counter and ran a hand lightly through the chestnut locks that hugged the back of her neck. He watched goose bumps rise as he trailed his fingers along her shoulders, and heard her sharp intake of breath. He waited momentarily to see if she’d move away, but she remained still.
“I mean, if you’re interested, you could have a hot bath . . . with me.” He lowered his mouth to the tender juncture between her neck and her shoulder and lightly moved his lips over her soft skin. God, she smelled sweet. Like fresh, spring rain. He felt her breathing quicken, and he wondered if she would bolt, but she stayed where she was. He moved his hands down her arms and wrapped his hands around hers beneath the running water. His long fingers twined through hers. She didn’t pull away.
Kate raised her head and stared at his reflection in the window. Her eyes were wide. “Eric,” she said softly, “We’ve only known each other for ten days and even at that, this is the most time we’ve spent in each other’s company. I’m not sure . . . I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Eric stood behind her, meeting her gaze in the window. “I think it’s a very good idea,” he replied. “I’ve been thinking about it since the day you moved in, and I saw you across the courtyard. Through this very window.”
“You can see me?” she asked.
“Just your head,” he chuckled, “When you’re in the kitchen. I like your hair damp like this. I like the way it curls around your face.”
Another intake of breath.
“Eric . . . I . . . what about . . . I mean . . .” Kate began to pull her hands away. “We’re not the same age.”
“No, we’re not,” he answered. “And that’s an issue because?”
“It’s an issue because I’m older than you.” Her voice was husky.
“An issue for whom?”
“You? Me?”
Eric kept his voice low. “Kate, if it was an issue for me, I wouldn’t be standing here, trying to keep from pressing against you because I’m so hard it hurts.”
Staring at her reflection in the window, he watched her eyes close. Her lips parted and a tiny sound, almost a whimper, escaped her. His wet hands left hers, and he wrapped his arms around her narrow waist, drawing her backwards, drawing her close, pressing her shapely bottom against his erection. He wasn’t lying to her. His cock throbbed behind the zipper of his jeans, eager and aching to be buried inside the heat of the woman in front of him. If, and this was a big if, Kate would give him the opportunity.
Eric didn’t find many women this intriguing at first glance. When he prepared a meal, he refused to settle for anything less than the best quality ingredients available. He felt the same about women. He didn’t like drama. He didn’t like guessing. He wasn’t attracted to gigglers. He preferred a mature woman. One who knew what she wanted, where she was going. A woman who knew her way around her own body, who knew what she liked and wasn’t afraid to show a man how to give it to her. Younger women tended to be too self-conscious for his taste. It often seemed to him as if many of the younger women he’d dated acted like being in bed with a man was an audition tape. They tried to turn love making into a performance. A big turn-off for him.
The minute he’d spotted Kate across the courtyard, he felt something. A tug in her direction. It didn’t hurt that she had short hair. For some reason, Eric had a thing for a woman with short, dark hair. Not to mention her other assets. She met all his requirements. Kate was smart. She had a lovely smile and a contagious laugh. And she possessed sweet, perky breasts with those eternally erect nipples. They’d poked so enticingly through the thin material of her wet t-shirt when he’d found her on the stoop that his cock had begun twitching immediately. She had a slender waist and nicely-flaring hips, and she possessed incredibly long legs that could wrap around a man while he pumped into her. He wanted those long legs wrapped around him. Tonight.
When Eric pulled her to him, and she felt the ridge of his erection pressed against her bottom, she nearly swooned. A voice in her head spoke up. How silly that would be, it said. Don’t swoon. Say yes. When was the last time you had an offer like this? Years ago, lady. Years ago. Say yes, Kate. Say yes.
Eric turned her around slowly and looked into her eyes. A wet finger stroked her cheek, asking permission. He opened his mouth as if to say something.
“Don’t speak,” she ordered. “Just kiss me before I change my mind.”
“With plea
sure,” Eric growled, and his mouth descended upon hers. Hot. Hungry. Demanding.
Kate’s lips parted beneath his onslaught and her tongue touched his. She felt his hands in her hair, gently but firmly positioning her head where he wanted her, allowing him the deepest access to her willing mouth. Her body automatically molded itself against his hard length. Before she knew it, her arms were around him, her nails digging into his shoulders while the man liberally explored her mouth. Taking his time. Tasting.
Soft sounds escaped her throat. Whimpers. Moans. Sounds she hadn’t heard herself make in a very long time, except in her dreams. Eric’s mouth left hers and trailed along her jaw line. She threw her head back. He took the hint and nipped his way down her neck, his movements slow, deliberate. His lips warm and insistent. Kate felt his hand on her waist, beneath her shirt. His touch seared her skin as he moved his palm upward, seeking her breast. His hand closed around her, fingers toying with her sensitive tip through the lace of her bra.
“Oh God . . . ,” she gasped. “Eric . . .”
In an instant she found herself lifted onto the countertop. Her T-shirt was suddenly pulled over her head and tossed aside. Kate watched Eric use a free hand to tug off his own shirt. She reached for his lean, sculpted chest and felt a ripple run just below his skin as her fingers touched him. With little effort, he undid the front clasp of her bra and freed her breasts.
“You’re so lovely,” he murmured, staring at her in unabashed appreciation. He lowered his mouth to a rosy nipple. His mouth felt hot against her, and he sucked urgently, rolling the tight bud between his tongue and his palate. Nipping at her. When he licked his way to her other peak, Kate leaned back, wrapping her long legs around his waist, drawing his lower body closer. She heard him practically growl with desire. She could feel how hard the man was as he rubbed rhythmically against her through their jeans, even as he concentrated on her other nipple with the same exquisite attention to detail. Kate’s head dropped forward, her breathing shallow, rapid.