by Eden Bradley
“Declan!”
His thumb replaced his tongue and continued the caressing of her clitoris. “I won’t stop unless you tell me to.”
Her head fell back onto the arm rest of the sofa. When his tongue plunged into her pussy a groan escaped her lips. He laved her clit, setting a slow pace this time. Long and slow like he was licking an ice cream cone. A moan floated on the air. Encouraged, he quickened the pace, rasping, teasing her clitoris until she finally screamed. Her legs quivered. He plunged two fingers into her, marveling as the contractions of her orgasm squeezed them.
“Thank you...for not...stopping.”
He grinned. “My pleasure. If you’d wanted me to stop you would have managed to say something.”
She nodded feebly. “I need a minute but then I want some whipped cream myself.”
His cock jerked. He’d imagined her full lips wrapped around him, sucking him until he lost control. If he hadn’t been so determined to make sure no one else had played this game with her he could have been here months ago. Lesson learned. Now that he had a taste he wanted more. A lot more.
She pushed herself off the sofa and nodded to the towels. He obliged, stretched out on the sofa, his cock pointing to the ceiling. He’d never been on the other end of the whipped cream can so the cold that hit his cock with the first squirt surprised him. Not enough to diminish his erection because the sight of Carm’s tongue darting between her lips to scoop up some of the cream perked him right up.
He leaned against the armrest, reclining enough so he was comfortable but sitting up enough that he could see her. Starting at the base of his cock, she licked up the side until she got to the whipped cream on the head. One side done, she licked up the other side ending with the dessert topping. She continued until all the cream was gone, each pass sweet torture.
Once all the dessert topping was gone she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock then slid her mouth down almost to the base. With his eyes closed the pressure of her mouth as she slid up felt like a tight, warm, wet pussy squeezed him. He opened his eyes. The sight of her head bobbing up and down between his legs quickened his body’s response.
“You need to let me know now if you want me to come in your mouth or not.” Most women didn’t like men coming in their mouths. Something about the saltiness and the overall taste. He hadn’t met one yet that would let him.
A firm grip around his shaft replaced her mouth as she looked up at him. “Not yet. For now come on my chest.”
He nodded and she wrapped her lips around his shaft again. Her head bobbed faster, her lips tightened. She used her hands too, her lips following them down the length of him. A big tingle started inside his body.
“I’m coming.”
She leaned back, arching to force her breasts up. He wrapped his own hand around his cock and milked it until all of his semen glistened on her breasts. He collapsed back to the sofa.
“Can you hand me a towel?”
He arched up to pull the towel out from under him. She took it and wiped herself off, tossing the soiled towel back in the direction of the laundry area.
“You said not yet.”
She grinned. “We just had sex for the first time today. Got to give you something else to look forward to.”
~ * ~
Fortified once again after some appetizers and sports drinks, Carm sorted clothes while Declan waited on the sofa. The whipped cream had worked better than expected. Why hadn’t she tried that before? How comfortable was he with losing a bit of control? After their day of sex they would have to talk about things like that.
She snuck a peak at him. He watched her intently as she worked which worked perfectly for her next plan. She bent over at the waist to pick up a towel. Still bent over, she wiggled a little as she picked up a second towel. When that didn’t work she spread her legs an inch, bent over and touched her toes. A growl from the living room brought a smile to her lips. The tell-tale creak of the floor made her wet.
He turned her around, captured her lips in a rough, deep kiss that left her breathless. Eager hands roamed her body at the same time his tongue caressed hers. He squeezed her ass, his fingers biting into her flesh. A sense of power rushed through her while he pulled her towards the sofa again.
She went to lie down. He shook his head.
“Bend over.” He pointed to the armrest.
A sizzle went through her body. She complied, bending over the armrest, her hands planted on the sofa cushion. He rummaged in the end table for the condoms she’d put there that morning. Unable to see him, she waited, grower wetter by the second as thoughts swirled in her head. His rough hands fondled her breasts, slid down her stomach. A finger slipped inside her. A satisfied grunt from behind shot a shiver through her.
Pressure on her ass as he spread her cheeks, propelled momentary panic through her. They hadn’t talked about what she wouldn’t do. She could tell him to stop. Before she said anything he plunged into her pussy. Her breasts dangled above the sofa as he rocked her back and forth, driving into her as deep as he could go, balls slapping her with each thrust.
The sex was fast and frenzied this time. His hands on her hips pulling her back to him faster, faster. Pressure built, begged to be released. With his hands free, he used a finger to rub her clitoris as he drove into her. With each thrust she got fractionally closer to coming. So close she ached. With one last thrust the floodgates opened. Convulsions racked her body and he kept pumping faster, harder. She felt his desperation. Allowed him to rock her at the pace he needed until he cried out his release.
They collapsed onto the sofa. Heavy breathing filled the apartment. Before he apologized, before he could ruin the moment she kissed him.
“Wow again. If we keep doing this I’m going to need to find some other words for wow.”
He grinned. “Keep bending over like that and you can guarantee a repeat performance.”
“So my plan worked.”
“We should talk about stuff like that for future reference.”
“I agree, but not here.” She got off the sofa, took his hand and pulled him up. At the stairs she stopped. “You know where it is.”
“You’re following me this time?”
“We both know what happens if you look at my ass too long.”
“Good point.”
Muscles sore yet languid, she collapsed on the bed. If he wanted to have sex again she was more than willing, after a nap. And a talk. She propped up pillows against the head board then she curled up under the covers, pulling the blanket to cover her breasts. He got in beside her.
“Why didn’t you just ask me out?” He asked.
Straight to the point, she liked that even though it was a hard question. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”
He coughed. “Why wouldn’t I say yes?”
“You didn’t apply for laundry day for months. I thought you weren’t interested. Besides, I’m the owner of the building and your boss. Why didn’t you ask me out?”
When she said it out loud she wanted to groan. She was his boss. He didn’t strike her as the type to lodge a sexual harassment complaint. Maybe if the sex wasn’t to his liking he’d discuss it with his partner. But he didn’t seem like the type to cause trouble or hurt someone on purpose.
He drew lazy circles on her arm with his finger. “You’re my boss. Is that why you gave me weekends off?”
“No! Maybe. You do have seniority now that I hired Bob.”
He gathered her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart soothed her. Meeting in the elevator would never be the same. Every time she saw him she would remember the day. She hoped he meant what he said earlier and this was not a one-time deal.
“Last load of the day are the bed clothes again,” she said.
“Nap first, laundry second.”
~ * ~
Stripping the sheets off the bed meant if they were going to have sex again it would have to be in a different room. While she wa
nted to christen every room in the apartment, she didn’t know if she had the energy. The nap had been wonderful. Waking up in Declan’s arms brought home how much she missed that about relationships. Not that she wanted a relationship with him. Unless he wanted one with her. But a few more rolls in the hay would be nice.
The dryer buzzed signaling the end of laundry day. The bed clothes were done. There were still some kinks to work out but she would have more laundry days if Declan would play. Dressed now, she felt awkward sitting on the sofa beside him. Maybe the nudist colony a few miles up the road had something. Walking around naked all day had been freeing and fun.
“Do you want help making the bed?”
Her stomach grumbled. “That’s okay. I’ll do it later. Right now I’m a little hungry.” She smiled at him.
“How about I take you out to dinner?”
Her legs trembled. “We’d have to stay clothed.”
He chuckled. “I can handle it if you can.”
“I’d love to.”
He took out his spare key and the spare key she had put in the envelope. They were tied together with a piece of black twine. He put them on the entry way table then opened the door for her.
“You do this laundry day every month? We need to get through the rest of that bowl.”
She grabbed her purse from the entryway table. “Actually, I do laundry every week.”
“Perfect. So do I.”
~ * ~
CHERRY TUNE-UP
by Adriana Kraft
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
~ * ~
ONE
Bobbi Jo Martin hung back in the shadows under the Highway Thirty-Seven Racetrack stands. Acrid smoke, fumes and dust from a long night of racing swirled in the hazy light but couldn’t entirely block her view of her childhood best friend. There he was, Jack Day, strutting toward a red pickup with a buxom brunette hanging on each arm. She cringed—they must be the spoils that went to the winner of the feature race.
Deflated, Bobbi Jo shuffled toward her rental car. She’d had no contact with Jack for nearly ten years, but she just knew he’d help her with her current problem. When they were kids, he had never, ever let her down. She glanced one last time at the two women scrambling into the pickup. A solution would have to wait.
Her skin chilled, then suddenly turned hot. She needed him, damn it. She slid behind the wheel of the car, started the engine and rested her head on the steering wheel.
Bobbi Jo had a surprise for Jack—but would he welcome it? He had to relieve her of her virginity. Her childhood sweetheart had to teach her how to be a captivating lover—and there wasn’t much time. Two weeks from tonight would be her wedding night, and she had to be skilled at lovemaking by then.
She banged her fist against the steering wheel. Why did he have to be involved with those two women tonight, of all nights? She’d hoped to set up a chance meeting in a public place. Now she’d have to go directly to him.
Would he want her? Goosebumps pebbled her arms. She couldn’t let him reject her. He had what she wanted.
Bobbi Jo leaned back in the seat and shook her head. “No,” she said aloud. “Jack Day has what I need.”
Was that fear churning her insides? Or was it lust? She managed a half-smile Maybe Jack could help her figure out the answer to that question, too.
~ * ~
Cussing softly, Jack Day tugged on the socket wrench. The rusted nut gave way and Jack grinned. Once again, strength and oil had overcome the erosion of time. He was nearly ready to pop a rebuilt clutch and starter into his 1968 Firebird. Then he’d check the engine’s timing.
He stretched out his legs and groaned from the sudden ache in his muscles. The Beasley twins hadn’t left until mid-morning. Maybe he was getting too old for all-night celebrations.
“Is anybody under there?”
Jack startled at the sound and hit his head on the metal frame. “Damn!” With all the tools strewn about and his legs sticking out, wasn’t it obvious?
He glanced toward the front of the car and saw two feet peeking out from sandals under two shapely, well-tanned legs. The feminine voice had an oddly familiar ring to it, but he couldn’t place it.
He rolled out and sat up halfway to peer at the intruder. Immediately, he took off his Highway Thirty-Seven Racetrack hat, rose to his feet and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I’ll be damned. That is you, isn’t it, Bobbi Jo?”
“It’s me.” Her voice was soft and shy. “How are you, Jack?”
“How am I? Shocked. It’s been how long? A decade, maybe.” Jack pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped perspiration from his eyes. “Let me take a look at you, Bobbi Jo.” She’d always been tiny, and he was glad her flowing blonde hair hadn’t changed color. He tried not to stare too hard at his childhood friend’s breasts. They’d filled out quite nicely—not too big and not too small. He couldn’t ignore pebbled nipples peeking through a mesh halter-top. Bobbi Jo Martin wore no bra, and that surprised the hell out of him.
“Like what you see?” Bobbi Jo’s voice cracked with emotion. She turned around slowly.
Jack wasn’t bashful about taking in that view. The black mini-skirt accentuated well-turned thighs and calves, but his eyes were drawn to her butt. His breathing stalled. Shapely wasn’t an adequate description. He might be able to balance his coffee cup on her rump. It was an ass that begged to be caressed. He willed his hands to remain at his side.
Bobbi Jo faced him and gave him a small smile, her voice still timid. “Do I meet with your approval?”
God, how he’d loved kissing those soft lips when she’d turned thirteen. He’d never quite tasted anything like them before or since. But they were uniquely Bobbi Jo, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them until now. Belying her external caution, her eyes contained an undecipherable sparkle. “You look super, Bobbi Jo.” He reached out a finger and grazed her cheek, leaving a smudge. “Oops, sorry.” He backed away, retrieved his handkerchief and dabbed at the dark stain on her cheek. “It’s just so good to see you.”
Bobbi Jo laughed. “Don’t worry. It’ll come off. And it’s good to see you, too.”
She hesitated and took a tiny step backward, but then she drew herself up and stood her ground. She was screwing up her courage about something—but what? Any other woman dressed like she was had only one thing in mind, but he didn’t think Bobbi Jo had come all the way from Boston, unannounced, to jump his bones.
“So what were you doing under there?” Bobbi Jo pointed at his Firebird. “I like your car. You sure keep it sleek and shiny,” she rattled on. He’d swear she was nervous about seeing him after all these years. “Why do you have to use a light to see in broad daylight?”
“You are full of questions.”
She folded her arms under her breasts and then over them.
It occurred to him that she wasn’t used to going without a bra. Was she trying to hide them from him? So why hadn’t she bothered with a bra in the first place? Anyway, her questions were stalling tactics.
He decided to play along. He picked up the light. “This is a timing light. I was getting ready to set her timing. Been tuning up the old girl.” He beamed her a broad smile. “She’s almost cherry, you know. Just about as perfect as when she came off the assembly line, maybe even better. When her stroke is right, she purrs like a kitten.”
“I bet you have that effect on all your women.” Bobbi Jo’s blue eyes conveyed an age-old invitation.
He swallowed hard. “Since when have you become a tease? Come on in the house. I want to get cleaned up. Then you can tell me why you’ve shown up on my doorstep after all these years.”
~ * ~
Bobbi Jo paced back and forth across Jack’s small living room while he showered. Maybe it had been a mistake to wear a mesh top and no b
ra. But the admiration in Jack’s eyes had almost been worth being nearly naked. Almost. How was she going to pull this off? He’d never take the initiative, no matter how much sexual innuendo she could muster and no matter how she dressed.
She stopped in front of two tall bookcases and frowned. Her dad had always said if you want something, you go after it. She’d be direct. It was the best way—probably the only way. She had no experience with seduction.
Jack’s library surprised her. She’d never known he was such an avid reader. History books, historical novels, auto racing, car repair, carpentry and masonry. Her eyes widened as she focused on the bottom shelf. Some of the titles made her blush. The Art of Lovemaking for the Novice. Maybe she should curl up on Jack’s sofa and study that book first.
There wasn’t time. Bobbi Jo glanced up to see Jack enter, and her heartbeat quickened. His dark hair, damp from the shower, curled over a dark green T-shirt that clung to his chest like it was glued on. There was no flab. He’d tucked the shirt into an equally tight fitting pair of dark jeans—worn, but clean. She avoided dropping her gaze to his waist.
His dark eyes were also appraising her. She blinked. The tiny scar on his left cheek, the result of misguided stone she’d thrown at him in a childish tantrum, twitched a warning. His nostrils flared slightly like she’d seen stallions do when they first caught the scent of a new mare. His lips thinned.
She flinched, remembering the effect those lips once had on hers. But they weren’t teenagers anymore. So why was her skin on fire? This time, his lips would lead to much more—much, much more.
“You want a beer?” Jack arched an eyebrow.
She nodded. She preferred wine, but at this point even a beer might help her nerves.
Jack retrieved two beers from the kitchen, offered her one and flopped down in an overstuffed chair. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” He paused and gestured toward the sofa. “You don’t have to stand.”