The expansive windows, the bedroom loft, and veritable gallery of original artwork steal you away from me. I suppose it is all quite impressive. Not what one would call rustic, but I never really think about it. I’m more focused on the company than the surroundings. Focused on you and you alone, I light us a fire. Once the cabin has heated up a touch, we might remove our winter jackets. We might follow that by removing our clothing, and then our underclothing as well.
Setting the kettle to boil, I prepare a pot of tea to warm us from the inside out. With the teacup hot against them, I begin to feel my lips again. Now, if only I could feel my toes! Sensation will return in time, but before I settle in with you I really must feed and water Ophelia. She did such a brilliant job of carrying us on this daring journey through the piercing flurry. She deserves our thanks, and perhaps a carrot and a cube of sugar.
When I return to the cabin, the sight I behold casts the chill from my skin and sends a tremor through my lower regions. From the bed in the loft, you’ve pulled the goose-down duvet and set it on the hearth. You lay on your side, teacup in hand, mesmerized by the flames. How badly I’d wanted to tear your waffled long underwear from your flesh, but alas, you’ve done it yourself!
But how can I be disappointed when the world’s most perfect body lies naked before me? I wish you could see yourself as I see you. You appear so content and so serene, a part of me wants to look at you like a picture. There’s a more persuasive part of me, however, that wants to do more than just look.
The firelight kisses every corner of your nakedness. If only I could embrace you that way, I would drizzle that warming orange glow across your cinnamon skin. I would be everywhere at once. Ah, to run my hot tongue around your nipples, along your pussy lips and across your toes all at once! Can you imagine? I would kiss you all the while, if my tongue could multitask.
Setting your tea out of the way, you beckon me with raised eyebrows. I tear off my pants, forgetting that my boots are still on my feet. Of course, I stumble and tumble and fall head first into the sofa. You laugh as I struggle out of my cursed clothes. Aren’t they perfectly useless? Finally, when my garments are off my body and strewn about the room, I find you rolling on the floor. It’s a little like a punch in the gut.
“When a man takes off his pants, you’re not supposed to laugh,” I scold, rather hurt.
“Sorry,” you reply between fits of laughter. “It’s not…it’s just…you fell straight into the couch…”
You’re laughing so hard, you’re practically wheezing for air. There is only one solution to this hilarity. I kneel down before you. The light of the fire flickers, kissing your skin. Your breasts form perfect spheres when you lie on your back. The fire burns hot against my flesh. It thaws my toes. At length I observe you, wishing I could do everything at once, and trying to decide where I might begin. When you gaze at me, you’re not laughing anymore.
I kiss your mouth gently. It’s always best to begin gently, don’t you think? You taste of the peppermint tea you’ve been drinking. Sweet, calming, mild. My cock jerks forward, finding the tender flesh of your thigh. As I kiss you again, more forcefully this time, I run my hands through your hair. It’s hot to the touch after warming by the fire. I make my way down your body, creating a trail to plant kisses along so I can find my way back to your mouth.
Resting at your supple breasts, I encircle your nipples with the tip of my tongue. Sparks fly through my body and I squeeze those precious spheres together, planting my face in them. While I suck on your breasts, you produce the most adorable little noises.
When I continue my journey downwards, my tongue falls into your slit. Drowning in the waters, it flails wildly against your lips. The scent of your cunt, the tang of it, has my cock crying out for attention. You tug on my hair. You raise my mouth to yours, planting sensuous kisses there. Yours are the most desirous kisses I’ve ever felt. They make my skin smoulder. Or maybe that’s the fire...
My erection grows firmer in the cleft of your closed thighs until they open for me like a cantilever bridge. When I slide on a rubber and bury my cock in your hot pussy, you moan. Inside, your searing warmth compares only to that of the fire burning beside us. Your body is a miracle. Wrapping my arms tight around you, I wish I could be everywhere at once. Your hair smells of wool. Its curls, black against the white duvet, encircling your lovely face.
I try to move slowly inside of you, but I am compelled by a force greater than myself to grasp your hips and thrust with a vengeance. In response, you roll me onto my back.
“So you’re going to take over, are you?” I ask. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
You know precisely what you want, but it isn’t to take over. Propping yourself up on all fours, your face gets so close to the fire your breasts must be burning up. You slap your ass. “Hop on,” you say with a sly grin. Your sense of humour grows on me by the second.
When I grab hold of your hips, hard, I don’t even need to guide my cock in your direction. It knows precisely where it’s going. Your cunt makes space for me to enter, and it’s a tight fit. I plunge so deeply inside of you, I doubt I’ll ever find my way out. Not that I want to.
Moaning with delight, you push your ass back against me with each of my forward thrusts. Your force drives me backwards. You must be too hot from the fire. How careless of me! Hopping off the duvet, I slide it back, away from the fire, knocking over your cup of tea in the process.
“I’ll get that later,” I say, but neither of us is too concerned about spilled tea. Right now, I have to get back inside your wet cunt. You’re telling me I have to. I wouldn’t disobey such an order.
As I stare down at your luscious ass, your rosebud anus twitches like it wants some attention. I rub its perimeter softly, gauging your reaction.
“Yes, do that!” you exclaim.
That response is pretty closed to interpretation, so I continue encircling your anus with my thumb, pressing harder, poking in. You’re going wild now.
“Do my clit too!” you instruct.
Again, I obey. Your response is wildly positive. The pleasured sounds you produce make me feel like a million dollars. Look what I can do! I can drive women wild! There’s a visceral response, a growling and grunting response, like all of my animal power is congregating in my abdomen. The constriction is intense. My jungle noises combine with yours as you push back against my thrusting, until you’re out of juice.
You collapse in a heap, I on top of you, on your back. My thighs begin to shake. As I plough your cunt, my balls tingle and churn until the energy of my entire body, and at least a portion of my soul, comes screaming out through my cock. My whole body just stops, goes stiff. That’s it. I’m just a big slab of pleasure.
I don’t move. Little buds of bliss burst open in my veins. I lay on top of you as my body turning to liquid, pooling into the dimples of your back. My heart races. I’m sure you can feel it. You’re still panting after your moment of animal release. My head is on top of your black hair. Warm wool. You say nothing, just gasp for air. I say nothing, think nothing, am nothing. My whole being has been released and I’m empty. All I can do is relax and absorb the world, as my duvet absorbs your spilled tea, until I’m human again.
When I awake from my slumber on the floor, you are standing before the largest of the windows, watching the snowflakes dance outside. I see you’ve stoked the fire, added some wood, and it’s blazing away. You join me, embrace me. There is nothing to do but hibernate. The fire crackles and pops. Outside the grey sky is spotted with white snow. The indoors is embraced by the warm tones of the orange and yellow fire. How could anybody hate the wintertime?
I hope this little fantasy will keep you warm tonight.
Keith.
* * * *
Amira was stunned. All she could do was stare at the words on the screen. His email set her ablaze. It was like her physical body, and not only her imaginary self, had just made love before the fire.
Who would have though
t a boy who was so shy in person would turn out to be an absolute Lothario on paper? But the evidence was before her. She couldn’t get over how sensuous his fantasy was! Did all guys crave romance the way she did? It was Amira’s impression that most guys were more interested in a cheap fuck than a nice story. Maybe she was wrong about that. Keith seemed to know her so well, and know what she desired. Was this cabin in the middle of the woods a real place? Probably not. Keith was too young to own a cabin. It was all very fanciful, but not based in reality.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t bear to let go of a man whose mind could produce such beautiful images. Judging by his e-mail, Keith was as sensual as he was eloquent. Precisely the sort of man she could see herself building a life with. In fact, he was a lot like her. He’d probably never have guessed she was full of fantasy too.
I want to see you, she wrote back. She decided to make another bold move and ask him out for dinner the next day. As soon as she’d typed the words, though, the calendar on her wall caught her eye. The next day was New Year’s Eve. Of course, it was a non-event for her. She hadn’t gone out in years. But she couldn’t very well assume Keith was as anti-social as she was. A guy who could write the sort of things he’d written to her undoubtedly had plans.
Maybe it would be okay to set her sights a little lower. Even if he was going out at night, he might still be available for lunch. She set a meeting place at her favourite restaurant and crossed her fingers that he would show. If his mind could seduce her, imagine what his body might do!
Chapter Five
Oh, the Humiliation!
There were only ten tables at Orlando Furioso, but the intimate setting—not to mention the delectable fresh pasta—made it Amira’s favourite place to eat. Apart from her parents’ house, of course. Her mother’s saag paneer was the best she’d ever tasted. Boy, how would they react to Keith? He wasn’t exactly the nice Indian boy mom and dad hoped she’d end up with. Oh well, she thought. It was her life, not theirs.
After picking out the perfect underwear for a possible hook-up, she ended up changing her top six times. Amira had to run to Furioso’s, which was no easy task in her high leather boots. Her heels crushed chunks of road salt on the sidewalks. Was twenty-five minutes still considered fashionably late? Crap! He would be waiting for her. He’d be wondering if she’d changed her mind. Why did she never account for the time it took to pile on a sweater, a jacket, a scarf, mitts and a hat? Keith had probably given up and left already.
When she swung open the door to Furioso’s, Amira was surprised to find the restaurant packed. Did the New Year’s Eve rush start at noon nowadays?
Keith was nowhere to be seen.
“Miki,” Amira called to the host she’d known for years. “Did I lose my reservation? I’m so sorry I’m late. Did a guy—my date—did he leave already?”
Miki’s lips tightened as she glared over at a middle-aged couple. “I knew those people were lying. I was thinking, Why would Amira have lunch with a couple old farts when she said she had a date? But they said they were meeting you, so I gave them your table.”
Amira could care less about some idiots stealing her reservation. She wanted to know where her date had gone. “But Keith...did he even show up?”
“Oh,” Miki reflected. Making her lips melodramatically pouty, she reached out to pet Amira’s arm. “I don’t think so, sweety. Nobody else asked about you. Maybe he had the wrong place or day or time or something.”
“That bastard!” Amira cried. Keith hadn’t shown up at all! Her body temperature rose until her head felt like a kettle ready to boil over. “What is wrong with guys?” she asked Miki. “They jerk you around, they do as they please without a care about your feelings or your time.” She could almost feel the steam shooting out of her ears. She was ready to blow. “Where are the assholes who stole my table?”
Miki pointed her in the direction of the couple dipping her complimentary bread in her balsamic vinegar and her extra virgin olive oil.
“Who do you think you are?” Amira raged. Other people were looking at her. Who cares! Let them look. “You think you can just come in and steal someone’s reservation? Well this is my bread and my olive oil and my table, so get lost!”
The couple didn’t get up. They must have been used to getting yelled, subverting the whole reservation process. The man spoke first, in a voice calm and purposeful. “My name is Luc Deschenes and this is my wife Amanda,” he explained. “We’re Keith’s parents....”
Parents? Holy crap. What were they doing at Furioso’s? Wait, what if Keith had been in an accident and he was in hospital and he had to send his parents to let her know he wasn’t going to show up? After all, he didn’t even have her phone number. Oh God, she’d just yelled at a couple of very nice people who were only there to give her bad news on their son’s behalf. They must have thought she was a total nut bar.
“Where is Keith?” Amira asked. She was beginning to feel a little shaky. “Is he all right?”
“Keith is fine,” his father said. “He’s out of the city at the moment. Some friends went up to Gatineau for a little ski vacation.”
None of this was making any sense. “He’s in Gatineau? But why would he agree to meet me here if he’s not even in the city?”
“He didn’t agree,” Keith’s father continued. “We did. Well, actually my seething wife here did. I kind of got dragged along. See, you’ve been writing to us, not to Keith.”
What? No. Oh, no, no, no.... There wasn’t a single thing Amira could think to do or say. She could make a run for it, but then she’d never get this confusion put straight. What was going on?
“You mentioned in your....” Keith’s dad began. He paused to clear his throat, looking sheepishly up at Amira. The wife sat straight-backed with her arms folded across her chest. “In your email, you said that you got the address from Keith’s first aid registration form. Well, actually, Amanda filled that out and put down our email address. It’s the one we use for bills and newsletters and...I don’t know...just general family stuff.”
Amira sank into the empty chair at the table, not because she wanted to stay but because her legs gave out beneath her. Talk about common floozies! What on earth would Keith’s parents think of her now?
“Please tell me you didn’t read that email...” she begged. Her voice sounded small and childish in her ears. She wished she could at least come across like she knew what she was doing. Only amateurs got embarrassed about their sexual exploits...
“Oh, we read it all right,” the wife seethed. “We read it together. Now, I don’t know about my so-called husband here, but I just have one question. How stupid are you?” Keith’s mom exploded, her orange curls bobbing furiously. “Didn’t you clue in that ‘Deschenes@’ was probably a family’s email address? You could have been writing to anybody! We could have had young kids in the house! Anybody might have seen what you sent. Have you no shame?”
“I’m so embarrassed!” Amira moaned. What else could she say? Her stomach tossed and turned. She felt so queasy, she had to tear a slice of bread from the basket. With bits of Italian loaf tumbling from her mouth, she asked, “Wait a second. Does Keith ever check your family email address and, say, write replies?”
“Your little bird brain’s finally kicking into gear, is it?” Keith’s mom asked with a cruel grin. “Nope. Even if he did have the password, he wouldn’t check this account. It’s just me and Luc and I’ll tell you one thing: I didn’t write that reply.”
Amira’s mouth filled with bile and her stomach heaved like the time she ate bad eggs. Keith’s mother had read the X-rated email she’d written...and Keith’s father had replied to it? However badly she wanted to flee the area, any sudden motion wouldn’t have agreed with her. Struggling to contain her breakfast and retain her composure, she wished she could find somewhere to hide. Under the table, maybe? Oh, if she moved a muscle she was going to hurl! All Amira could bring herself to do was cover her face with her hands. At least that way she did
n’t have to look at Keith’s parents, only listen to their argument.
“You thought I would never find out, right?” Keith’s mom accused.
“Okay, hon, I’m sorry but I’m a bit lost here,” Keith’s dad replied, seemingly sincere. “What did I do?”
“Oh, don’t play mister innocent with me. I read that smutty reply you wrote to this little tart. When she invited our son for lunch, she replied to your little fantasy, leaving the whole thing intact. I thought it might be fun to get us all together so you could meet your little pen pal face to face. Isn’t this fun, Luc?”
Amanda’s words silenced the small restaurant.
It was decided, then: Amira was never coming to Orlando Furioso again.
“Mandy, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. What fantasy?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! I’m not buying what you’re selling, Luc. This fantasy was sensitive and sensual and intelligent. It was you!”
“I didn’t write any fantasy,” Keith’s father assured her, almost laughing. Either he didn’t write that email, or he was a truly excellent liar.
Multicultural Holiday Romance Box Set Page 12