Easy

by Donna Alam

  Suddenly, his hands are under my arms as he pulls me up from my knees. Turning me swiftly, he folds his arms around my waist, turning me to face the kitchen table. His cock twitches against my ass, his lips on my neck as he whispers,

  ‘I can’t wait. I want to be inside you when I come.’ His hands slide down my back and over my ass, pulling at the band of my panties, causing the fabric to dig tight between my legs. He isn’t gentle, and my voice comes out strangled, shocked by the sudden action—stunned as he pushes himself against the crack of my ass. I breathe a sigh of relief as he moves back.

  Taking my hands in his, I allow the weight of his body to bend my body across the table. My torso pressed against the solid wood, he curls my fingers around the far edge.

  ‘Don’t let go.’

  His hips press into me, holding me against the hard edge to remind me of my position. Remind me of my Friday’s expectations—all the things I’d tried to ignore. Well used. Well worn. Well fucked. I want those things. I want them all.

  ‘Such pretty decoration,’ he murmurs as he pulls back a little ways, running his hands across the rounds of my ass. ‘Did you choose these for me?’

  My body jerks as his finger slide between the fabric-covered ass cheeks.

  ‘What?’

  My tone is terse, maybe a touch panicked, as I turn my head over my right shoulder to try to look at him. Need burns in my gut, fanning out further down. But what he didn’t know—what he hadn’t experienced yet—was that I’m prone to go off the boil quite quickly. Off the idea of sex.

  Concentrate the fuck on what’s bent over the breakfast table, not my underwear.

  If he notices my frustration, he doesn’t say.

  ‘They’re virginal, almost.’ His tone is tinged with humour, accompanied with a feigned widening of his eyes. ‘I wonder why you chose white?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ My frown deepens. ‘They were on top of my underwear drawer.’

  ‘You expect me to believe you never gave it a thought?’ Dan’s amusement deepens.

  ‘Well, yes,’ I reply, embarrassment deepening colouring my mood. ‘Because it’s true. Do you think this is special or something? You and me, tonight?’ I move to straighten, to address his almost derisory tone, but find myself prevented by a large palm placed low on my spine.

  It isn’t intimidating or a threat, but it’s definitely an instruction. I surprise myself by remaining quiet and keeping still.

  ‘That’s quite disappointing,’ Dan drawls, leaning forward and expanding my limited view. ‘I feel very much put out.’

  Put out. I snigger lightly. I wish he would. I’m seriously cooling; the thought of faking an orgasm before going home to finish the job myself is almost heartbreaking. I had such high hopes—

  ‘Ow!’ His hand meets my right ass cheek at speed, the dishes on the other end of the table rattling. His hand is censorious, not sensuous like I’d expect it to be. This isn’t kinky fun—now I’m just startled. And very annoyed.

  ‘What the hell?’

  ‘Do you think this is some kind of joke?’ His words are spoken quietly, yet the chastisement stings. A lot like my ass. ‘That’s not how this is playing out. You don’t get to pull my strings.’ His hand tangled in my hair, he pulls to emphasize the point. Right at that moment, every strand seems wired to my core.

  I whimper—at least, I think I do—but it doesn’t sound quite right. The noise is heavy and loaded with something I don’t recognise. As he pulls away, smoothing my knotted hair off to one side, he pools it over my shoulder and onto the wood.

  ‘This isn’t just about you, and what you want,’ he says quieter still. ‘This isn’t just about reaching the point where you come or where I get off. Tonight should be far more than baring just our skins. We are more than just the sum of our sexual parts.’

  Despite his earnest tone and my near nakedness, my mouth was speaking before I’d engaged my brain.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to go all Holism on me,’ I said through a strangled laugh. I lay my cheek and embarrassment against the wood. Why can’t I help my smart mouth? Sarcasm is unbecoming, or so my father says. That aside, it makes me sound reactionary, not like someone who’d actually read Gestalt. Drunk on my stupidity, I can’t seem to stop. ‘Get it? Holism? ‘Cause I’m all—’

  ‘Holes.’ He answers for me, his tone cold. ‘Yes, I understand. You have three of them, available for anyone willing to put up with your attitude.’

  I resist the fuck you balanced on the end of my tongue, replying lightly. ‘You know, that wasn’t very nice.’

  ‘If it’s nice you’re after, go next door. Ask for Charles.’ His body barely touches mine, his hand splayed on the table next my face. ‘My ex-wife tells me he’s an adequate lay, though a little straight-laced. He doesn’t do arse.’

  My first reaction is to assert that I don’t either. But I don’t—can’t. Not with his mouth at my ear, his words snaking down my spine and ending in a shiver. Even as I mentally slot away the small insight into his life.

  He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t speak again, though I’m aware of the sound of his breathing as I focus on the hand in front of me. Long, elegant fingers. Strong wrists. For a fleeting moment, I imagine the veins in that beautiful hand strained and standing to attention, his hand wrapping around my throat. Inching forward, I lick the very tip of his thumb, sliding my hand to almost circle his wrist. Wriggling a little for leeway, I pull on it, bringing it between the table and my chest.

  ‘I won’t be manipulated,’ Dan says, though he offers no resistance.

  ‘Bear with me, please,’ I whisper, pushing to a stand.

  His body moves with mine, one hand still pressed flat against the table. The hand I hold captive, I cover with my own, slipping both down my body as I widen my stance. His breath hitches as his fingers brush the triangle of white lace between my legs. His hand curls instinctively to cup, but he doesn’t move an inch more, maybe waiting for me to make my point.

  I wriggle a little against him, one part discomfort from what I’m about to admit, and one part needing to feel his touch again.

  ‘Be my marionette,’ I whisper. ‘For just a minute, let me lead.’ I slide our hands under the waistband of my panties. ‘My underwear choice may have been more conscious than I care to admit. Or maybe I was just trying to hide this.’

  As his fingers meet my bare skin, they curl in a caress.

  ‘Bear with you because you’re . . . bare.’ A low cavernous laugh rumbles against my back.

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, trying to bite back a giggle. On a whim, or so I’d told myself, I’d made a waxing appointment. But it seems to appeal. Truthfully, to more than just him. ‘Do you think I’m trying to disguise the wickedness within?’

  ‘I should say more like match the inside to the outer.’

  His finger rubs against the newly waxed skin, satin soft. It’s just the most delicious of feelings—I can barely think. Drowning in a sea of silk, of sensation, I moan a low sound.

  The finger stops its teasing, dipping between my smooth, wet lips. And my knees almost give way as he whispers into my neck, ‘Turn around. Let me see.’

  As I do, he slides my panties over my hips and down my legs, his body following suit. Sunk into a low squat, his eyes are hot on my skin.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ he murmurs, his breath a caress on the space between my legs. ‘Get your arse up on that table. Let me see if this tastes as pretty as it looks.’

  Chapter Four

  LOUISE

  ‘Beautiful.’

  His words hold a reverence I’m not used to as his hot breath blows over my skin. With my butt cheeks parked against the edge of the table, I want to be bold—to spread myself out for him—but I just can’t seem to find the courage. I shouldn’t have worried as, hands on my knees, he presses them wider.

  ‘No need to hide.’ My thoughts scatter as his warm tongue licks along my inner thigh. ‘Sit back. That’s it,’ he murmurs as I move myself more so
lidly against the wood.

  ‘Daniel,’ I start nervously. My fingers grip the table edge tight as he lifts my legs wider again.

  ‘I like it when you say my name.’ His gaze travels up my body. ‘Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got you. You can fall on my watch.’

  My thoughts scatter, robbing me of sense. Is it his endearment, or the way he looks at me as though I’m edible? Whatever the reason, I find fingers uncurling as I lean back. Allowing myself to be positioned, I watch him, propped against the table on my forearms.

  Cool air and warm breath brush my bare skin, and I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning, my stomach muscles taut in anticipation of his lips. I want this—I can’t remember the last time I felt like level of need for anything. I don’t know—

  Anything. I don’t know anything, my thoughts turning to dust at the swipe of his tongue, everything taut and aching from just one lick.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ I demand quickly. ‘Oh, God. Do that again.’

  His response is a low rumble before he licks me once again. ‘You taste so sweet,’ he whispers, groaning as he kisses me as he would my mouth. I throw my head back, the vibration ricocheting through me like a blast. The long swipes of his tongue and the scratch of his stubble against my inner thigh, it’s not long before I’m writhing against him, begging for him to be inside.

  ‘Not yet. I haven’t finished tasting you yet.’

  He bends around me, bringing the wine bottle he’d placed on the table after pouring us both a glass. My insides tense with nervous anticipation. The wine is chilled—what will that feel like when he pours it over me? But then he kisses me again, long and deep, his tongue working magic over my clit.

  I cry out. Curse. I try not to ride his face—try to get a grip on this desperation. This throbbing need.

  ‘What did you think of the wine?’ His mouth pulls away from my pussy, his gaze tracking up my body, his mouth glistening and wet. The sight of him there, kneeling between my legs, his tongue flicking out to taste me from his lips, is obscene. I can’t look away, and my thoughts are like marbles, rolling about. He can’t really expect any sense.

  ‘It went down really well.’ Innuendo I haven’t the bandwidth for makes him smile anyway.

  ‘You’re fucking perfect.’ The corner of his mouth hitches in a secretive smile. I startle as he pushes two fingers deep inside my body, his mouth latching onto my clit. ‘And you taste like cream.’ His words are whispered between flicks and sucks.

  ‘Oh, God. I need . . . ’ All of it. I need all of him.

  ‘You’re so warm and so fucking wet,’ he finishes . . . dousing me in wine from the forgotten bottle between his legs.

  My body bows in shock, but he holds me in place as the wine flows. The coolness is startling, and I cry aloud, my cries drawing out as his hot tongue returns to my flesh. He licks the spilled wine with murmurs of appreciation. Words of encouragement as he licks my pussy and thighs. Tart on his tongue. Slippery. Cool. Warm. Fucking irresistible.

  Wetness sits under my thighs as he pulls back, raising the bottle again. For a brief second, I think he’s returning to the table. But then, I read his intent. The cool neck touches my heated centre as he drags the glass the length of my core.

  ‘How does it feel?’ he demands, his gaze bright and avid as he watches the progression of the bottle until the opening is balanced at mine.

  ‘Hard.’ My word is pure encouragement, my teeth gripping my bottom lip against the urge to tell him I want it. Do it. I want you to. Fuck me with it.

  ‘What else?’ His gaze is hungry, desire shining there as he teases me with the very tip. In and out, he drags it, my desire to be filled absolute.

  ‘It’s cold.’ My word comes out more groan as he slides it in a little deeper, my insides clenching around the neck.

  ‘Not for very much longer,’ he replies, dragging the bottle out. Bringing it to his lips, he drains it of the remaining liquid, his eyes intent on mine. ‘I know which taste I prefer’. He pulls the bottle away, his tongue licking a drop of something from his top lip. My breath hitches as he returns the bottle between my legs.

  ‘And now?’ he asks, teasing me with a slide and retreat.

  ‘Not fair,’ I rasp in return, dropping my head back as my insides scream for more.

  Dan pushes the bottle a little deeper, and I’m wanton in my acceptance, spreading my legs and moaning. I welcome the invasion—crave more—as his lips return, sucking my clit into his mouth. It’s almost too much, too much visually, at least, as my eyes fall between my legs and the dark thatch of hair. As though sensing this, his eyes track up my body, the midnight blue darker with the weight of his intent.

  He pushes it farther still, where my body has warmed the glass. The pressure is sublime, the feeling intense as he fucks me with it slowly, my nerve endings firing white hot at the sensation of the smooth glass and his hot tongue. Licking, tasting, his mouth—his actions—push me to the brink of climax, my gasps all vowels and no sound. I want to push my hands in his dark, silky hair. I want to gather him to me so he finishes the job.

  ‘Do you want to come?’ he asks, his smile leaking between my legs.

  ‘What kind of question is that?’ I groan then squeak as his teeth find my clit. A warning. ‘Yes—yes, I do,’ I pant, my words much more contrite.

  ‘Not badly enough, perhaps.’

  ‘No, I do. Please, I do want to come!’ My arms will no longer hold me, my head banging against the wood.

  ‘Ask again,’ he taunts, giving my clit a sharp suck.

  ‘Please, Dan. Make me come.’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  The world closes at the touch of him. There’s no Dan or Louise. There is only my pussy, this table, this bottle, and his lips, pulling my orgasm from me.

  Chapter Five

  DAN

  Silence stretches out between us, much like my ex’s adored cat. I have other secrets. But how to begin? Naked and in bed, warm, and sated, there’s something about the moment. Something more than the glow of great sex. Is it comfort? Happiness? Whatever it was, I’d happily drown in it.

  ‘So ex-wife, huh?’ Folding her arms across my chest, Louise rests her head just below my chin. I find myself smiling. Though I can’t see her expression, I don’t need to, to hear her curiosity.

  I make a vague, noncommittal sort of noise in answer, wondering how long it would be before she presses again. Divorce is never a pleasant topic of conversation. Problem was, this is just the tip of the iceberg. My personal life, my businesses; she has no idea what a fucked-up state I’m in.

  ‘What’s this from?’ Her voice brings me back to the moment. I’m thankful she hadn’t pushed further, though I’m not entirely comfortable with her current train of thought.

  ‘Ah.’ She no doubt heard my consternation as I look down at the faint scar running across my ribs. ‘That is the result of being on the wrong side of edge play.’ I tuck my chin to my chest in order to see from the odd angle. So much for modifying the conversation.

  ‘Definitely some kind of edge.’ Her tone sounds pondering, and it tickles as she runs her finger across the pale ridge. I sit up a little to better see her, warmed by the small, worried frown on her face. ‘What happened? Did you have an accident?’

  I laugh but not at all pleasantly, slightly disconcerted she didn’t get the terminology. Was she that unexperienced? I wouldn’t have thought so up until now, perhaps.

  ‘An accident? I suppose you could say that. If accidents have names and last a number of years.’ I inhale a deep breath. ‘Annabelle, my ex.’

  ‘Ouch,’ she murmurs. ‘Must’ve been acrimonious if she tried to stab you.’ She purses her lips, almost as though she’d said too much

  Acrimonious is true, but she didn’t stab me, not that I’m certain she wouldn’t, if she thought she could get away with it. ‘Well, yes. She is a bit of a nut.’ Attempted murder or not, this was true.

  ‘But how ex?’ she asks, scrunching her f
ace. I shake my head, reluctantly finding her expression adorable.

  ‘Acta est fabula.’ Breath rattles in my chest. I believe it’s what’s called a laugh.

  ‘Daniel?’ There are questions in the softly spoken word. It was the first time she’d said my name, discounting sighs and moaned utterances. And the bit where she’d almost screamed it at the end as she came. It had been a rush; the bottle, my mouth. Her reaction. I’d have happily eaten her out all night.

  ‘The drama has been acted out,’ I translate, the words expelled with a sigh. ‘The marriage is well and truly over. It had been for a long time, apparently. It might’ve been kinder if she’d just said so, rather than finding them in our bed. Not this bed, obviously.’ I reach up and rattled the cuffs, not missing the hitch of her breath and the gleam in her eye. Kinky all right, just not well versed. ‘What’s left between us is a little paperwork and, of course, the customary awkwardness of things.’ I brush the hair away from her face, twisting a lock around my finger. ‘I made dinner. I hadn’t consciously planned to debauch you on the table the minute you walked through the door.’

  ‘I’m disappointed.’ She laughs softly. ‘Here I was thinking you’d put a lot of thought into this evening. Selected the bottle, especially.’

  ‘The bottle was one on instinct. A lot like taking your business card.’

  ‘You wanted to see me again?’

  ‘I was sorely disappointed when I woke, and you weren’t here.’ I keep my voice even, trying not to chastise.

  ‘I panicked. I’m sorry. For both then and now.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘For not responding. You couldn’t have been sure I would come.’

  ‘Couldn’t I?’ This one was pure salaciousness, along with my slap to her arse.

  ‘Ouch! Be serious.’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ I reply darkly. ‘I’ve put more thought into this than you’d probably care to know.’

  She shivers. Perhaps, it’s nervous excitement. Perhaps, it’s the finger I draw along her spine.