Mine Until Morning

by Jasmine Haynes

  Royce made a noise, cleared his throat, and glanced at her. He’d be damned if he’d let a woman touch him without even looking at her. A buxom blonde, 209

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  Sheila was, laughingly, the epitome of the Swedish masseuse. “There, now,” she said in a flat American tone, “doesn’t that feel good?”

  Well, hell yeah, it did. She had strong fingers, finding every knot in his neck, shoulder blades, and back, working them out.

  “And Carlos is seeing to your lady friend’s needs.”

  He cracked an eyelid. Isabel was receiving the same rubdown from a tall, handsome black man. She smiled at Royce.

  His masseuse worked her way along each of his arms, a real deep-tissue massage that was almost painful at times, ending with his hand and fingers, then starting over again on the right side.

  He had to admit it was luxurious. Isabel certainly knew how to pamper herself. She sighed, and he glanced up. With her arm stretched along the side of her head, her towel had slipped, revealing the plumped periphery of her breast. Moving over her back, curling down her side, Carlos’s fingers dipped dangerously close to the luscious flesh. Royce’s mouth watered. Everything Isabel did was sexual, the way she moved, breathed, sighed, especially combined with the exotic feel of Sheila’s fingers on him as he observed Isabel’s sensual contentment.

  The woman started on the soles of his feet. Hell, after five miles, he relished the deep rub. She worked his calves, first one, then the other, loosening places he hadn’t realized had tightened up. She worked his thighs the same way. Next to him, Isabel savored equal treatment.

  Sheila’s fingers slipped between his legs; a pinkie brushed his balls. He tensed.

  And met Isabel’s gaze. Her eyes slid over his body to the hands kneading his thigh. Her lips curved.

  His thighs done, the woman’s hands moved to his ass. Isabel watched as she squeezed each buttock, then dipped down over his cheeks. The towel slid, and a waft of air brushed his backside. Isabel raised a brow at him. He knew what she wanted. He spread his legs slightly. Isabel’s nostrils flared like a filly’s as his masseuse’s touch slid deeper between his legs, grazing a sensitive spot of flesh before caressing his nuts. It was as if Isabel were commanding the hands that stroked him. His cock was hard, his balls filled to aching. He wanted her mouth on him, Isabel’s. He wasn’t a prude, but he’d never cheated on his wife, and the sex he’d had since 210

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  the divorce had been sedate, comparatively. Until Isabel. She loved variety, in position, location, and he’d enjoyed her inventiveness. Yet he was well aware she held back for him, toned herself down.

  Now she was escalating, subtly yes, but leading him nonetheless. As if this moment were a test to see how much he could handle. Before she fed him more. His blood was hot. The dark fingers pushed Isabel’s towel inevitably closer to the roundness of her buttock, revealing more of her creamy skin, inch by inch. Royce’s cock twitched. She closed her eyes, knowing he was watching and getting harder and hotter with each new foray across her flesh. In that moment, there was no jealousy, no time for it. The scented mist in the room, the firm fingers on his thighs, ass, balls, the rosy sexual hue of Isabel’s skin as her arousal grew, the moan Carlos elicited from her, oh yeah, it was hot.

  Sheila dug into his butt muscle, forcing his cock hard against the table, then slipped down and squeezed his balls. He couldn’t control the groan that fell from his lips.

  Isabel regarded him with eyes a deep, burning blue. Royce felt the most extraordinary urge to climb off the table and fuck her senseless as Sheila and Carlos continued to stroke, caress, and massage them both. This was what Isabel wanted, to illicit crazy urges from him. Facing Royce, Carlos’s fingers climbed up her thighs, rubbing higher, higher, then disappearing beneath the edge of the towel, between Isabel’s legs. Her eyelids drooped. Royce wondered if the man could feel how wet she was. Because he knew she was creamy, he knew her, could smell her arousal as if he’d touched her and held his hand to his nostrils, steeping himself in her scent. Christ, he was close to spontaneous combustion. 211

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  6

  HIS EYES WERE DARK LIKE PEWTER, PENETRATING, HIS MUSCLES rigid with sexual tension. Isabel shivered watching him. Royce was all male, and Sheila felt it. The masseuse’s nipples were tight beads against her white smock. If Royce had rolled over in that moment, Isabel was sure Sheila would have taken his cock in her mouth and sucked him until he arched off the table and came down her throat. Isabel’s breath quickened with the image alone. This was a special spa. With its expensive appointments, elegant décor, fresh fruit, healthy drink concoctions, expensive champagne, and talented therapists, it was no cheesy massage parlor. But the establishment offered a list of services that weren’t posted. If you knew to ask and you had a good reference. Isabel had arranged many a client’s stay here.

  For today, she’d ordered a sensual his-and-hers massage. A tease. They were to play it by ear, and if Isabel wanted to up the stakes, she’d give them a signal. Sheila was definitely earning her commission. Royce’s muscles bunched and flexed with every pass of her fingers. She stroked, rubbed, kneaded until his breath puffed through his nostrils. But he didn’t turn over. He simply let his gaze burrow into Isabel.

  Carlos squeezed her thigh, dipped down to lightly graze her pussy. She drew in a breath, savored the strokes of both Carlos’s hand and Royce’s dark eyes. Her insides were liquid. She could have come from the atmosphere alone; Royce’s musky scent, Sheila’s hard nipples, her own breathy exertions, and Carlos’s cock hard along her thigh.

  This was heaven. A relaxing massage accompanied by the rise of desire. The canyon fuck had been hot but fast. This was slow and luxurious. She loved watching her man being pleasured. She knew the taste and feel of his skin, the sounds he made, the hardness of his cock, the pulse of his veins when she held him in her mouth. But when she was savoring his body, she couldn’t see. It was so beautiful to watch.

  Carlos hit a knot at the base of her spine, and she almost yelped. He worked it until it melted away.

  God, she needed cock. Now.

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  Months ago, even weeks, she’d have turned her head without a second thought to take Carlos’s very nice cock between her lips and suck him. That wouldn’t do for today.

  It was time for the second half of her surprise. “Carlos,” she said, “prepare the sauna.”

  He gave her a handsome smile and opened the glass door, the heat from the room wafting over them. Pouring a carafe of water onto the coils, he sent a tower of steam whooshing into the air, turning the dry sauna into a steam room. Isabel climbed off the table, towel still wrapped around her, and held her hand out to Royce. He rose, holding his towel tented over his cock, and folded his fingers around hers.

  Leading him inside, she closed the door, and the heat and humidity enveloped them, as sensual as a touch. Condensation trickled down the glass. Putting her palm to his chest, she yanked off Royce’s towel and tossed it onto the wooden bench behind them.

  “Hey.” A corner of his mouth lifted in either a smile or shock. “They can see us.” He jutted his chin at the massage room outside.

  “Yes, they can.” She wriggled and let her own towel drop, her bare ass facing the door.

  His mouth curved, and that was definitely a smile. “Dirty exhibitionist slut.”

  She laughed. “I resemble that.” There were a lot of words in sexual play that were hot and sexy, not demeaning and degrading. It was all in the context.

  “Now sit.” She backed him up and pushed him down onto the towel she’d thrown on the bench.

  Isabel loved being in charge, which wasn’t the same as being a dominatrix. Climbing on top, she straddled him, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders.

  “You made me crazy out there,” she told him.

  He raised one brow with a decidedly devilish cast even as he said most
innocently, “Me?”

  She leaned in, brushing his ear with her lips. “You squirmed. Even your flesh quivered.”

  “It did not.”

  “You wanted to roll over,” she whispered, “and let her suck your cock, didn’t you?”

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  He planted both hands on her cheeks and held her away. “I wanted to fuck you.” He gave the word a deliciously guttural intonation. The heat rose between them, their skin glistening, slippery. “You wanted to pull her smock off and suck her nipples.”

  “I wanted my cock buried in you while you sucked Carlos.”

  Oh God. This what she needed, the down-and-dirty images, his desire for the same over-the-top, sexy, nasty, filthy things she loved. Grabbing his ears, she pulled him close, clamped her lips on his, and kissed him hard. He opened his mouth, and she twisted against him, thrusting her tongue deep. He groaned, his cock surging. The coarse hair of his chest rubbed her nipples. She backed off long enough to say, “Pinch me.”

  He cupped her breast, squeezed her nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger. She almost shot off his lap, the sensation was so good, shooting straight down to her clit. She would have taken him right then, one second more of this passion, one moment less of coherent thought. But there was something more she needed and wanted. More of the tease. More of his initiation into her way of life. Easing off his lap, holding his gaze, she slid to her knees before him.

  The sight of him almost overpowered her intentions. “You have the most magnificent cock.” He was perfection, her Adonis. He stole her breath. With all the men she’d taken in her life, he reigned supreme. She gazed up into his beautiful face, her reflection shining in his silver eyes. She closed her fist around his cock, and, with her thumb, rubbed a drop of precome over his crown. He glanced up, past her, blinked, drawing in a deep breath, his cock flexing.

  She knew without looking that Carlos and Sheila had followed her instructions to the letter, woman nestled back against man, framed in the glass door. Watching.

  Any moment, Carlos would raise his hand to Sheila’s nipple. Pinch her. Just as Royce had pleasured Isabel.

  She was a voyeur and an exhibitionist. She’d done more things than Royce could begin to imagine. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was, but neither was she the girl he used to know or the woman he wanted her to be. But oh God, she could show him so many things.

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  ISABEL BENT TO HIS COCK, SLIDING HER LIPS DOWN THE LENGTH, engulfing him.

  Royce put his hands to her head, holding her to him as she devoured his cock. God, the woman could suck. Her mouth was heaven. He tried not to think of how she’d become so good, the number of men who’d taught her. She knew his sensitive spots, had guessed them right from day one, their first fuck six months ago, the night he’d found her.

  In many ways, she was the careful creation of other men. God, he wanted her to be his creation, but all he’d done was give her a beginning. She grazed her teeth along his shaft. A shiver shot through him. He closed his eyes, his body involuntarily arching deeper into her mouth. When he opened his lids again, beyond her, through the glass door streaming with humidity, Carlos undid Sheila’s smock. The man’s eyes were obscured through the misted glass, but Royce was sure he looked directly at them. Petting the masseuse’s trimmed pussy, he dipped, forced a knee between her legs, spread her, then played her with his fingers.

  Royce groaned. It was Isabel’s lips on him, the way she worked his balls with her pinkie, how she seemed to be touching every part of him. And it was them, Sheila spreading herself, laying her head back on Carlos’s shoulder as he thrust his fingers up into her pussy.

  Christ, it made his blood sizzle, his skin burn, his mind explode. As Isabel sucked him, his body pumped against her, driving deep. He let his head fall back against the sauna wall, the sweat dripping down his face, his chest, and gave himself up to the sensual sound of her mouth fucking him and the muted images of Carlos strumming Sheila’s clit.

  Isabel had laughingly called him vanilla, said she wanted to turn him into pistachio crème. He didn’t know if he could do it, if he even wanted to, but for this moment, it was so damn fucking hot.

  Suddenly, Carlos shoved Sheila up against the door, her palms flat against the glass. Yanking aside the woman’s smock, he impaled her from behind. She opened her mouth in a cry, a moan.

  Royce felt himself go mad with lust. Isabel was right. Watching was a high. He didn’t know if he’d like it about himself later, but right now he didn’t fucking care. Hauling her up by her forearms, he put his face to hers. “Fuck me. Do it now. I need it now.”

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  The blue of her eyes as brilliant as a jewel, she reached inside a towel folded on the bench and withdrew a condom. Isabel, so prepared, everything planned, even her seduction.

  “Let me do it,” she whispered, holding him.

  He could barely nod. The act was so expertly done, placing the condom just so, rolling it down his length. Even at such a simple task, her touch was erotic, unbearably exiting, and yet it took too damn long.

  “Christ, woman, you make me fucking crazy.” Pulling her over him, her body slippery with perspiration, his, hers, theirs, he spread her legs, covered his fingers in her juice. “God, you’re wet, so fucking wet. I love that about you.” He concentrated on the feel of her, the slickness of her pussy, the scent of her filling his head. “I touch you, and you’re wet.”

  “I’m always ready for you.”

  As he was always ready for her. He stroked his cock along her cleft. She shivered.

  How many men had made her tremble this way? How many men was she always wet and ready for?

  “Fuck me, baby,” he pleaded, closing his eyes to expunge the questions. She kissed him then, her lips piquant with the flavor of his pre-come, salty, slightly sweet. She loved to kiss him after she’d sucked him, sharing the taste, the smell.

  Then Royce had no time for thinking, only feeling, as she took him inside, her pussy closing around him, owning him. Her body was meant for loving, muscles deep inside contracting around him.

  “God, baby, you’re so good, so sweet.” She crooned to him, words, sweet nothings.

  Behind her, the door slammed in its frame. Carlos was in his element, pounding Sheila, her cries penetrating straight through the glass.

  “Look at her,” Isabel whispered. “Imagine you’re fucking her, holding her breasts. Squeeze them, baby, pinch them.”

  She put his hands on her breasts as she rode him. “Pinch Sheila’s nipples, baby honey.”

  Her nipples were tight, hard beads beneath his thumb and finger as he pinched until she moaned, writhing on his cock. His hands slipped and slid over her breasts, her hips, her belly, her thighs, all that heat, the sweat, the glide of 216

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  their bodies against each other.

  “Ram your cock into her, sweetie. Fuck her from behind for me.”

  He fucked her, only her, wanted her, only her. But he couldn’t deny the heat burning in him as Carlos shouted his orgasm, the excitement rising as Sheila laid her face against the glass. He felt the woman’s cries become a part of him, building the ache in his balls. Yet it was Isabel who owned him.

  “Make her scream for me,” Isabel crooned, and the sound of her voice seduced him. Wrapping his arms around her, tight, binding her, he lifted, turned, laid her flat on the bench, and pounded his body against hers, steeping himself in the scent of her sweat, covering himself in it like a lion making his mark. She arched, threw her head back, and shouted his name. He had no will, no control, and he wasn’t sure it was a good thing. Yet her body simply dragged him with her into orgasm.

  HE WAS STILL BURIED INSIDE HER, BUT SOMEHOW MANAGED TO turn her in his arms so the bench no longer dug into her flesh. She loved the slip-slide of his sweaty flesh against hers as he breathed. Their hearts beat together. She was wet, warm,
cared for.

  “Was it fun?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “As good as the slot canyon?”

  He laughed softly, just a rumble against her breasts. “Do I have to choose?”

  “No. That’s the whole point. You can have both.”

  His answer was to hug her close.

  She wasn’t sure he believed her yet. She had other ways to prove it to him. 217

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  7

  ISABEL SNUGGLED AGAINST HIM IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE CAR HE’D

  ordered to take them from the airport to her flat. She was a woman who loved her little luxuries, and she traveled in style. He’d made sure the limo had a bottle of champagne on ice. Royce had to admit he enjoyed having someone else battle Sunday traffic into the city, especially with a game at Candlestick, the 49ers’

  home stadium. The sun on the water was brilliant, blinding, gorgeous, but the day was a damn sight chillier than what they’d left behind in Palm Springs. She rubbed her face against his shoulder like a contented feline. “Thank you for a wonderful trip.”

  “My pleasure.” More than she could know. He stroked her arm. Every experience she gave him was precious, the hike through the canyon a gift. She leaned forward for a sip of champagne, then toasted him. “And thank you for that exquisite massage at the spa yesterday.”

  He took the glass from her fingers, swallowed a generous mouthful. “You paid for that one, so I thank you.”

  Her lips pursed, slightly, almost imperceptibly, but he was aware of every nuance. He hadn’t said what she wanted to hear. So he gave it to her. “It was hot.”

  She smiled, but her gaze was a shade off enthusiastic. She needed him to gush. He couldn’t. The nasty little session had been excruciatingly hot, but in the mind-numbing heat of the sauna, condensation dripping down the glass door, blunting the edges of the image Carlos and Sheila made, it has also been fantasylike. Not quite real.