Passion

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “I’m hardly a good customer,” I retorted. “All I ever have is coffee and pudding.”

  “I’m not talking about what you eat,” he said with a grin. “I’ve noticed you, how you are always polite, how you always tip the staff generously, and…” He faltered for a moment before continuing. “Olivia, you are one hot lady!” he exclaimed.

  “Thank you. It’s been a while since anyone called me hot.”

  “Baby, you’re sizzling.” Omar held my hand as he spoke. “Come back with me, Olivia.”

  “Where?”

  “I live above the café. It’s a real sweet pad.”

  I found it difficult to breathe; could he seriously be asking me what I thought he was? Suddenly the station announcer called out my train. If I took it, I could be home in twenty minutes; safe, secure but ultimately alone. I realized that Omar was still looking at me hopefully.

  “I’ve come on too strong, haven’t I?” he asked quietly.

  “No, you’re just right.” I was lying of course; Omar was more than just right, he was perfect. “Sure, I’ll come back,” I said, and I watched in wonder as Omar’s face lit up. He stood instantly, and, still holding my hand, he pulled me out of the station.

  It was getting dark by the time we arrived. Omar took me around the back of the building and ushered me up the twisting metal stairs to a private entrance. As he walked ahead of me, I had to do a reality check to ensure that I wasn’t hallucinating, but as he scooted ahead of me to pick up a discarded sweater from the floor, I knew that this was real.

  Omar showed me into a large, dark room, but as he flicked on the light switch, I gaped in wonder at what I saw. The room was decorated in medieval paraphernalia. A flag displaying a coat of arms had been turned into flowing curtains, several wooden shields were mounted on the walls, and in a corner stood a complete suit of armor, impressively shiny.

  I snapped my mouth shut as I took in the decorations, and I caught Omar watching me.

  “You must think I’m weird, but I’m really into the whole reenactment scene.”

  “I don’t think you’re weird, it’s just a bit unexpected,” I explained, but Omar looked at me warily. “I just never believed I’d meet a knight in shining armor.” It was true, I’d heard of reenactment fans, but I’d always pictured them as geeky white boys running around a field, hitting each other with wooden swords. “Hey, are you a black knight?” I asked jokingly.

  Omar rolled his eyes, although he still smiled. “Sure I am. Why do you think they called it the Dark Ages?” I hit his arm playfully as he continued. “The armor is European, but there were plenty of knights in Africa; the ancient kingdom of Bornu and Sokoto had armored soldiers on horseback who were feared throughout the land.” He closed the distance between us as his voice dropped. “But I like the whole age of chivalry, the romance and the adventure that English knights embodied,” he murmured against me. “My fair princess,” he whispered, and then no more words were said as we kissed. Everything I had ever dreamt about Omar was eclipsed as his adventurous mouth pressed against mine. His tongue touched me, swept over my teeth and sucked on my lips. I found myself making contented noises as he held me tight. This was better than any fantasy I could have.

  I felt the heat of the evening as Omar’s hands stroked my back. I felt sweaty, a little disheveled but completely wonderful. I pulled off my top and stepped out of my shoes. Omar looked lovingly at my breasts before he kissed first one and then the other through the lace of my bra. He then dragged his T-shirt off, messing up his short hair as he did. I wondered briefly what he must look like wearing the armor.

  “Bed,” he whispered urgently. I nodded my head.

  Omar held me about the waist, and then he shocked the life out of me as he lifted me up and put me over his shoulder. The whole room seemed to tip upside down as I was carried bodily to the bedroom.

  Omar carefully let me down, and I lay giggling and panting on top of the bed. I shuffled out of my skirt and watched as Omar pulled down his trousers. I’ve seen a naked man before, but as Omar disrobed, I suddenly felt incredibly shy. He was so visibly turned on that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his cock.

  “I’ve got some protection,” he said shyly. “I didn’t want to assume, but I thought it best.” Omar opened his hand and produced a little foil packet. He may have enjoyed being a knight of old, but he was a thoroughly modern man.

  Omar clutched at my backside. “I’ve been longing to feel this,” he said, giving my bum a squeeze. “I’ve wanted to stroke it, lick it and spank it,” he said with a hoarse voice. I was completely surprised at his admission; I’d never thought my backside was anything special. I’d certainly never had anyone want to spank it before.

  “You can, if you like,” I whispered, nervously looking up at him. “You can spank me.” Omar smiled, but he looked a little wary.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. I nodded, and his smile grew wider. “I’ll just do it a little. I promise you’ll love it.” I went to turn over, but he stopped me and directed me over his knees. I’d never been spanked before. I wondered how silly I must look, but Omar’s murmurs reassured me. The first slap made me squeak; I held on to his legs for support. The next few slaps did feel intense, but they also made me feel warm and tingly. When he stopped after ten strokes, I actually wanted him to continue; it felt really good. But I could feel Omar’s erection poking me in the belly; he was getting harder the more he spanked me.

  I twisted around, kissing him as I maneuvered myself up to face him. His lips and tongue were hungry; he devoured me, making me even hotter than I’d been previously. He moved his whole body against me, pressing deliciously, with burning flesh sliding against flesh. His fingers disappeared between my legs, and soon I felt pulsing sensations emanating from my pussy. The hot, slippery touches made me undulate beneath him. I arched up and writhed as he touched me diligently. I clutched at him as I quickly reached my climax, surprised at the speed and intensity of the sensations that Omar awoke in me. I lay breathless and happy, but then I felt something else pressing against me, and this time it wasn’t his fingers. I opened myself to accommodate his generous length and sighed as he plunged inside. Omar kept repeating my name as he moved, his hips impacting mine every time I heard, “Olivia.” I held him as he tensed above me, and I smiled when I saw the look on his face.

  “You know I do this for all our regular customers,” he said with a chuckle.

  We slept in the warm room; the windows were open, but the evening’s heat made me feel so tired that I dozed off quickly. I dreamt of Omar decked out in his suit of armor, riding a big horse, with me holding him from behind as we raced across the English countryside.

  When I awoke, I found myself alone in the big bed. I cannot describe how my heart sank at the realization that Omar was gone. I looked in the bathroom, the kitchen and the living room, but they were all empty. I received the message, loud and clear; I should leave before he got back. Omar was no different from all the other men I had known, and that was the most depressing thing of all.

  The suit of armor seemed to mock me as I dressed in the living room. I had to hunt to find my shoes, and as I searched for them, I tried not to look at the suit. I tidied my hair as best as I could; I refused to go to the bathroom to look in the mirror. I didn’t want to see my reflection; I wanted to ignore the silly woman who should have known better than to get mixed up with someone like Omar. I fought to hold in tears as I realized that I was just a conquest for him; just a one-night stand.

  I strode up to the armor and felt all my disappointment suddenly boil up inside me, transforming into hot rage. I took off one of my shoes, and I hit it against the chest plate, sobbing as I struck it again and again. The whole suit of armor trembled, and then one piece detached and fell off. As I stepped away from the molded metal, another piece joined it, noisily clanging to the wooden floor. It didn’t take me long to realize what was about to happen, but by then it was too late, as the entire suit toppled down with a de
afening crash. I stared at the heap of metal in shock; there was no way I could put it back together.

  Omar dashed into the room. I yelped in surprise at his entrance. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, looking from the armor to me and back again.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled and stepped away to stand at a distance. “It was an accident.”

  Omar peered closer at the heap on the floor, and then he picked up my shoe. “What’s going on?”

  “I thought you didn’t want me here. When I woke up alone, I thought you wanted me gone.”

  “Now why would you think something like that?” he asked, shaking his head. “Do you know how long I’ve imagined just being with you?

  I looked at his honest face, and something woke up inside me. Why had I jumped to such a conclusion? I suddenly felt terrible for wrecking his suit of armor. I stepped into Omar’s embrace.

  “You are beautiful, Olivia,” he stated. “I want to be with you, believe me, on my honor as a knight.”

  I hugged him hard as he said that, but he continued with a chuckle, “I just went downstairs to get breakfast.”

  He held my hand and kissed it, and then he kissed me on the lips. He tasted of coffee, dark chocolate and summertime in London.

  “Stay with me?” he asked when we finally came up for breath. “Be my princess.”

  I kept my eyes closed as I nodded in agreement, but I could sense his smile even if I couldn’t see it. I felt myself being moved backward; soon the backs of my knees bumped into a sofa. Omar pressed me down, sweeping my legs open in a smooth movement. Before I even had time to realize what was happening, he’d pressed his face into my crotch, tugging my knickers down with his teeth. I helped him out by raising my bottom and slid the offending article down to my ankles.

  “Stay,” he whispered into my thigh. He splayed my lips open with his thumbs, and then he bent his head and licked across my clitoris. After last night’s festivities, I was a little sensitive; I almost jumped off the sofa as I felt myself respond. Omar held me down, nudging my legs apart wider. His head was lost between my legs, bobbing hungrily and making loud slurping noises. He pushed a finger inside my pussy, twisting it slowly before adding another. I wanted to howl from the sensations he raised in me, but I bit my lip, silently grinding myself against him instead. Omar pressed me farther back onto the sofa, lifting my legs so that they wrapped around his shoulders. He removed his sticky fingers from my pussy and circled them over my asshole. I froze for a moment; Omar looked up at me, his face glistening from my juices. “Is this okay?” he asked, panting. I relaxed, sighed out loud and nodded my head. Omar grinned at me, and then he gently pushed a finger into my ass. I shivered at the strange invasion; it was something I’d never experienced before, but it felt so amazing, I urged him on.

  “Please,” I begged. “Please, please, don’t stop!”

  He added another finger, and my whole world turned to blinding white. If Omar was a knight, then he had well and truly conquered this lady.

  I still had work to go to, but I returned to the café after that. I spent the night with Omar and the next night and the next. He soon got me interested in reenactment, and it wasn’t long before I had a few medieval gowns made for myself. We spent many happy weekends visiting various sites throughout England, and we always presented ourselves as the princess with her dark knight. We stood out as the only black participants wherever we went, but Omar and I were always made to feel welcome at the events. We always had a great time with the geeky white boys and girls. And in case you’re wondering, we lived happily ever after, too.

  DEAR IN THE HEADLIGHTS

  Angela Caperton

  Low beams bathed me, and I felt every lumen glitter on the lacy black bra and garter belt I wore under an open trench coat. The cool autumn air brushed my cheeks and tickled my bare belly, but it couldn’t cool me. Daniel stood beside his car, illuminated by the dome light inside it, and his expression turned from stunned surprise to primal lust when he saw what I was wearing.

  My hips swayed as I walked toward him. The coattails floated around my long legs, the coat’s wide lapels slapped against the swell of my breasts, and in that moment, I was Aphrodite and Anita Berber, Mae West and Ishtar.

  My pussy, shaved and bare between the garter bands, shamelessly drawing his gaze, creamed with desire as I made the little journey, stopping just beyond his reach, spotlighted. I smiled, inviting him to do whatever he wanted with me, and I felt the night quicken with blood calling to blood, deferred ecstasy anticipating fulfillment.

  In the moment before he touched me, I knew the night would be everything we wanted it to be, yet only an hour earlier, Fate had seemed determined to keep us apart.

  Earlier that evening, as I leaned close to the mirror to paint wine-colored lipstick on my lips, all I could think about was the plan. The lip color was yummy—and a perfect complement to the black-plum satin of the obscenely short cocktail dress I wore. I’d never dreamed I’d spend so much on a piece of clothing that barely qualified as covering, but tonight demanded it—and wearing the tight, sexy dress, the silk stockings and the burgundy-accented black garter and bra hit all the right buttons in me. Tonight was about seduction and romance, a deliberate exploitation of all the things Daniel enjoyed. I wanted to have him panting before he ever opened a car door for me.

  Yes, tonight was about seduction to the point of mutual madness, followed by crazed, hungry—no, starving—fucking.

  Five months. I’m almost embarrassed to say it. It’d been five months since Daniel and I had done the dirty. Sure, we’ve been married for ten years, but that hasn’t diminished our desire for sex. If anything, we’ve gotten a lot better at finding that magical common ground where pleasure reaches a whole new plateau, with mind-blowing orgasms that are the endpoint of delightful little odysseys. Given how good we were at reducing each other to mutually spent, happy goo, it was a tragedy how rarely we had the opportunity.

  Daniel was a software engineer with major clients on both coasts, and I worked as a consulting nutritionist for a medical firm serving hospitals and businesses across the country. We both traveled constantly on our own, like comets in wide orbit, and on those lucky occasions when our paths intersected, we tried not to kill each other from the sheer frenzy of our need. This was nothing either of us had wanted, but it had happened all the same.

  This separation had been uncommonly long and, until tonight, when I was putting myself together, I hadn’t realized how much I missed him and wanted him.

  As I finished my makeup, I glanced at the wall clock in the bedroom: 7:20. I drew a deep breath and shoved back at my rising anxiety. Daniel had landed an hour ago. He wasn’t late to pick me up, not yet. He was probably pulling up the drive even as I grabbed my beaded clutch from the closet. Yes, by the time I stuffed my lipstick and driver’s license into the delicate bag, he’d be walking through the door, trudging up the steps and stripping off his conservative tie and day-wrinkled blue shirt before entering the shower.

  No worries at all.

  Action: that’s what I needed. I willed the muscles in my shoulders and neck to relax. Daniel’s arrival would work wonders no masseuse could ever achieve, but until then, I was on my own. I sat down in front of my laptop and punched up the Hilton’s website. After confirming our suite for the night, I gave in to curiosity and opened my email. There was plenty of spam to ignore—worthless seminars and promises to boost my presence on the Web—but among the weeds, two flowers, a confirmation from Sojourn Equity and a bid request from Aclar Laser. Lasers. Engineers. I couldn’t help but envision a small dismal room full of vending machines as the sole nutritional source for such a company. Health and welfare for Aclar wasn’t going to be an easy sell, but if I got the contract it would be gold.

  Aclar was in Minnesota.

  Minnesota. Great. Maybe Daniel and I could fuck at the airport as I headed north and he headed south—we might never qualify as Mile High, but Horny Workaholics, we had that nomination
nailed.

  I forced myself away from the laptop and went downstairs. I would greet Daniel with a twirl, glorying in the sexy cut of the dress and the heat of his gaze on me and then gladly indulge in a long, promising kiss. I had to keep my cool though. This wasn’t a night for sprinting—this night was meant to be a marathon, a slow building, the rising notes and power of a crescendo, so when we finally, finally, reached the door of our suite, a single miss-swipe of the card key might turn into a voracious public orgy in the hall, with hands, lips; wet, slapping flesh and teeth. I could almost feel Daniel’s cock hard in his trousers then inside me, the lacy garter torn away, bruising me with the ferocity of his assault on my clothing. The small trickle between my legs spoke volumes. If so simple a fantasy could draw out my juices, I was well past desperate.

  I jumped when the phone rang, the burning visions in my brain suddenly gone like steam in the Arctic, although the slick between my legs was fair evidence of where my thoughts had been.

  I reached for the phone, the ball of anxiety puffing in my stomach like a soufflé. Not Daniel. Not Daniel. Not Daniel.

  “Hello?” I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Cass…” Daniel. Fuck. The reality ripped through me and my fantasies shredded in the awkward silence.

  “Oh, Daniel, no.” I tried to keep the accusation and the whine from my voice, and even if I did manage that, there was no concealing the sting of disappointment.

  “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry—” Daniel began, his voice heavy and sheepish.

  “Daniel, I don’t care if Markman’s servers explode, not tonight! We’ve planned this date for weeks.” The whine leaked out in the spewed resentment. No appetizers drenched in enough butter to stop a horse’s heart, no ridiculously priced French champagne, no dancing or romantic walk in the park before checking in at the Hilton on the lake. No hot spontaneous sex against a tree or in an elevator. The weight of his tone slammed the reality home. Date night was dead.