The Dimple of Doom (Samantha Lytton)

by Lucy Woodhull

  Lord, muffin me strength. I bit into the blueberry squishiness. If anyone needed a good thrashing, it was him. It would be a courageous act of service to the world to spank him thoroughly. And repeatedly. On his knees. With my bare hand. In the French Riviera. During nude swimming hour. With my personal chef Idris Elba watching…

  Nate’s form appeared in my now lust-hazed vision. He reached down towards my chest. My breath caught. My gaze followed his nimble, capable fingers…

  He snatched up a blueberry and popped it into his smirking mouth.

  I’d squeezed the poor muffin until naught had remained but a pile of crumbs scattered across my cleavage. Taco Puss leapt into my lap and began snarfing between my boobs. Like father, like fur baby. I shoved his little face away.

  I must be in a bad way if I was capable of muffincide.

  Chapter Seven

  I Blame the Hot Pockets

  Over a dinner of Hot Pockets, Dr Pepper and muffins, I realised that single men were not that different from single ladies. For one, both were capable of enjoying seriously crappy dinners with great gusto. For another, both were incapable of eating microwaved food without burning the shit out of their mouths. While our mouths were on fire, we watched the local news, rife with my atrocious headshot.

  And Nate laughing at it. Every. Freaking. Time.

  I tapped the arm of the sofa, huffed and twiddled my foot, yet these actions brought forth no late-breaking news concerning the arrest of the art thief known fondly as The Escapading Scorpion.

  Nate glared at me. “Stop shaking the couch. It takes time for arrests like that to happen.” He’d spent the evening seducing me with silence and a snippy attitude. To his credit, it might have worked were we both in high school.

  Naturally, the cat was curled up in his lap, purring away and staring fixedly at me, as if to say, ‘Nice try, Lady Photogenic’.

  To pass the time, I would wait for Nate to arrange all of his remote controls in a beautiful, perfect, straight line in the middle of the coffee table…then I’d move one. He’d only last a minute or so before he would lean forward and fix it again. Every. Freaking. Time. Finally, after three passes of this awesome game, he collected them up, muttering the whole time, and arranged them in a beautiful, perfect, straight line on the end table on his side of the sofa.

  “Urgh! I’m going to bed.” I stomped to the bedroom and slammed the door, locking it. I’m not sleeping on the couch, he’d said. Ha! Kiss my ass, ass.

  Leaning my back against the solidity of the wood, I repeated my new mantra—Go with the flow! Be a queen on the chessboard of life! Welcome risks and adventure!

  I had just locked adventure out of the bedroom.

  “Unlock the door, Sam.” Adventure sounded irritated.

  I clutched the handle.

  “Unlock. The. Door.”

  “Ack!” My heart stopped as the entire door jamb shook.

  “Unlock the door, Samantha!” From snippy to pissed off in two-point-three seconds. A new record. He banged against the door again.

  I opened it.

  Nate sailed past me and splatted onto the bedroom floor.

  I guffawed.

  Green eyes smouldered from the general area of my feet, overflowing with gall. I just couldn’t help myself—I laughed some more.

  With a colourful metaphor, he pulled on my ankle. In an instant, my body sailed downward, and my tail bone thudded into the carpet. “Oooow! Damn it!” I flailed, trying to smack his face, or any other tender part of his anatomy.

  “God, you’re a violent woman!” He captured my hands and sat on me.

  “You deserve it.”

  “I gave you dinner.”

  “And my mouth still hurts.”

  “Be. Quiet.” He kissed me.

  Wrenching my face away, I spat, “Stop that!”

  “No. You wanna push my buttons? Consider me pushed.” Dragging me by the waist, he deposited me on the bed. Lips, softer this time, came down on mine.

  Despite myself, I stopped fighting and kissed him back. Hot, lusting fervour spread through me, pooling below my waist in a steady throb. I groaned into his mouth.

  “Are you going to be nice to me now?” he panted above me.

  I pulled a face. “Be quiet.”

  The dimple smirked momentarily, then disappeared from view as he bent to kiss my neck. He brutally stretched at my Xanadu tee until he had access to my bra, a sensible beige number that received a frown.

  “That thing is horrible.” He lifted me up to sitting and removed my tee.

  “You brought it.” I unhooked the bra.

  He pushed me down again. My head fell onto the pillow. He tugged my bra off then, suddenly unhurried, reverently cupped my breasts. His moan burrowed into my skin as he took a nipple in his mouth.

  Pleasure washed through me. “Oh, sure, now you’re happy with me,” I sighed. He wreaked havoc on the other nipple. My stomach tightened in pure joy.

  “Naked is always best.” Nate came back up to kiss me languidly as he fiddled with the button of my jeans. And fiddled. “Even your jeans are difficult,” he muttered, sitting on my thighs to properly unbutton and zip.

  “You do better when you don’t talk.”

  He jerked at the top of my jeans, which became stuck on my posterior. “This is a common problem,” I said. “My butt is its own county. We hold council meetings.”

  “I would very much like to propose a course of action to the gorgeous bubble butt committee.” He bounced me, working the waistband lower, lower until it gave way and slid down my thighs to reveal a red thong. Nate grinned. “Beautiful.” He trailed along the inside band of the panties with the tip of his finger. I nearly lost my mind. He flipped me over, ostensibly to consult with the exalted members of the butt constituency. Damn, was he persuasive to his cause!

  Nate brought his mouth to my backside to deposit soft kisses thereon. Lightheaded, I bucked and squirmed in simultaneous pleasure and frustration. He teased the backs of my thighs, but would not stray his wandering hands between them, the wretch.

  His knuckles skimmed the curve of my waist. I twisted, trying to stifle a giggle. “Ticklish?” He manhandled me onto my back and drew his fingers along the sensitive spot again.

  I writhed under him, laughing, panting, the ache between my legs growing steadily more urgent. “No! Stop!”

  “Stop?” His tickling knuckles continued south, brushing lightly against the red panties. A strangled sound escaped me, sounding far away.

  “Nate.” Gripping his shirt by the shoulders, I pulled him up and began unbuttoning it. He held himself on his arms, cock pressing into me, letting me undress him. Shirt, gone. Tee, gone. Finally, my hands found what they desperately wanted—I kneaded his chest with blissful abandon.

  I flipped us over and took in the heady scent of his neck. Soft hair brushed my mouth as I kissed the planes of him—collarbone, pecs, stomach. Really, his body was divine, gorgeous. His hands came to my back, working like magic in the tense muscles there. Straddling his legs and smiling as wickedly as I felt, I helped him out of his jeans and threw them on the floor. Black boxers greeted me, along with a satisfyingly urgent hard-on.

  He flipped us over, nuzzling my breasts and cupping my bottom. I loved how he moved me this way and that to his satisfaction. He began to pull my little red panties down with deft fingers.

  “Condom,” I panted, staying his exploration.

  He stopped, his breath coming faster. Delivering a lingering kiss to my lips, he moved away to fiddle in his nightstand drawer. And fiddle. And fiddle. Papers and bits and things flew everywhere.

  “Shit.” This sentiment accompanied more fiddling.

  I fell back and turned my face into the pillow for a moment.

  “Hang on.” He fiddled in a different drawer. A satisfied grunt preceded a triumphal display of one condom.

  “It’s mean to scare me.”

  “Well”—he came back to the bed and hovered over my parted lips—“if
you’ll forgive me, I promise I’ll be very”—a soft kiss—“very”—his tongue teased mine—“nice to you.”

  I closed my eyes as he lazily pulled at my lips with gentle teeth. Heart pounding, body aching, I ran my hands down his back and pushed his boxers away. Palms against his flanks, I clutched at him, nails digging in.

  He got the message. The boxers gone, he slid my panties off and slipped a finger inside me. “Naughty girl. You’re wet.”

  I moaned and clung to him, basking in his touch. I could feel myself tighten around him, wanting, needing more.

  “Sam.” A lust-tinged groan, warm in my ear.

  “Now.” I clung to his shoulders.

  He ripped the condom wrapper with his teeth. My shaking hands between us rolled it over him.

  “Jesus, baby.” Nate grabbed my hips, hard, and drove into me.

  My breath escaped my parted mouth all at once. Holy hell, he was so…large…inside me. It had been a long time. He leant down to draw his tongue across one tender nipple. I answered with an arch of my back. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  “Uh-huh,” I moaned.

  He grinned but held still, letting me stretch to accommodate him. Soft kisses rained on my temple and down my neck. I grew warmer still. My hips squirmed. Better. Oh, God, he felt better and better. I caressed his beautiful backside, pulling him in closer. Nate groaned and rocked out and in, slowly, patiently, his eyes closed, lips open.

  My thighs held him tight as he delved deeper with every lingering thrust. He was so deliberate, so tender, I was undone with surprise at the passion of him. This was the first breath of complete and total honesty between us.

  Then he changed. Holding my hips again, he ground into me, building a steady rhythm. My voice broke in ragged whimpers, punctuating each stroke. Stretching upwards, I rubbed and pressed every inch of my skin to his. I pulled him in with my legs wrapped tight around. Through my haze of bliss, I pushed out every thought except the rocking of the bed and the pounding of our bodies.

  Nate called my name as he came. One, two, three more frenzied thrusts, and I followed, head back, bursting with mindless pleasure. My body took its time in orgasm, revelling and shuddering for long, long moments. I was left with a miraculous, floating feeling of peace, and contentment, and satiety. I held onto him with every part of me.

  Oh, my God.

  It bore repeating.

  Oh, my God.

  I licked my lips, mouth dry, eyes closed, privates singing the Hallelujah chorus. It had never, ever been like that.

  Nate’s face was beautiful, bathed in sweat, awash in satisfaction. My insides triumphed, knowing I’d brought about that look. I had a sneaking suspicion I was the sexiest woman in the world. Or at least the block.

  I should go after the criminal element more. Nate turned and kissed me, sweetly. Maybe I should just do it with him more. I stifled a giggle.

  “What are you laughing at?” he teased, his voice relaxed. Rolling us over, he lay on his back and cradled my head to his shoulder.

  I nestled in. “Nothing.”

  Nate stroked my hair. “You are amazing.”

  “You only just figured it out?”

  “Oh, no. Now she’ll get a big ego.”

  “Nope, just a big butt.”

  I could hear his laugh through his chest.

  “Go to sleep,” he whispered.

  “Okay.”

  “Finally, she does what I say.”

  I formulated a witty reply, but forgot it in my heavy lids and his hand in my hair. I’d be cleverer tomorrow.

  * * * *

  I drifted out of the black, feeling soft touches on my neck and poking in my back.

  Nate was up.

  Nate was definitely up, spooning me and drifting a hand along my backside.

  “Mmmmmmmmmm.” I kept my eyes closed. Lovely caresses on my breasts. Lovely rhythm against my hips. I grew damp as flashes of the night before played in my mind. I was perpetually damp around Nate, it seemed. Although, to be fair, being naked with him in bed was a pretty good excuse.

  Putty in his hands, I was ready at a moment’s notice. He drugged me with warm skin and slow caresses. He groaned into my neck and parted my legs with his own, thighs hot against mine.

  “Condom?” I could barely form the word.

  “Mhff,” he said to the back of my head. The bed shook as he got up. I lay in a sleepy puddle of shivering anticipation.

  Something tickled my nose. I cracked one eye open to find the cat a whisker’s breadth away from me. “Meow,” he said, which is cat-speak for ‘Harlot, what are you doing in my bed?’

  “Good morning, Captain Taco.” I gave him a pat on the head, for I was in a loving mood towards all creatures, cat and sexy human, that particular moment. He scampered away from my hands, put his paws on my head and proceeded to eat my hair with noisy, purry slobbers. I shooed him, but he was a cat. They shouldn’t call it ‘dogged’ determination.

  At least some part of me was being nibbled on.

  A slam awoke me. I peeked from around Taco, now using my head for a pillow. Nate’s adorable backside wiggled at me from in front of the armoire. I hadn’t got a proper ogle last night. Oh, wow. He turned around. Oh, wow.

  “Um,” he sat on the bed and scratched at the top of his head. “I can’t find one.”

  I removed my kitty hat and pulled myself up with a sigh. “Some seducer you are.”

  Nate’s dimple said good morning. “I go through so many. You understand.”

  “Of course. James Bond has the same problem.” I abandoned verticality and fell onto my back.

  “Plan B,” said he.

  I squinted at him. His crafty look told me Plan B might be worthwhile. “Plan B?”

  He shuffled across the covers, rubbing his eyes. It was much too adorable a gesture for a hardened criminal. He paused to make mushy “I wuv yous” all over the cat before depositing him on the floor.

  Head propped on his elbow beside me, he reached down and teased between my legs. “Plan B.”

  “Oh!” I stretched and parted, giving him better access. “I like this one.”

  “I hoped you might.”

  His finger pushed in me. I was only too happy to rise to meet him. He closed his eyes and moaned happily, softly. Sliding lower, he kissed the hollow of my breasts, inside my thigh. His morning whiskers brushing my sensitive parts seemed too filthy for words.

  I smiled. I was having fun—a wicked woman in bed with a more wicked man. I began moving against him. He slipped another finger in deeper, tight. He delivered a kiss to the other thigh. Ever so briefly he hovered. I clenched his finger. He licked my clit. I bucked and clutched blindly at the headboard.

  Nate pulled his head back. “Want me to do it again?”

  I rocked my hips against his hand, the friction of his fingers sending an ache through my entire body.

  “I’ll take that for a yes.” He did it again. I gasped. “I love the way you respond, Sam. Sexy as hell.”

  I grinned, feeling sexy as hell, rubbing, grinding against him. I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to.

  He used his magic tongue again. The pressure built and built inside me, primitive need sending me to grab his hair, roll my body. I held his head in place. He groaned in approval. One of his hands snaked up to caress my breast—I felt everything as a single pleasure-thrummed sensation running from my nipple to his tongue. My orgasm rolled over me, luxurious, mind-blowing—his devil green eyes watching the whole time.

  The ‘B’ in ’Plan B’ obviously stood for Best Plan Ever.

  I opened my eyes. Before long I could actually see. He grinned down at me like a naughty schoolboy. “That was fun,” he declared. I smiled back.

  Nate seemed proud. Brushing hair from my forehead he whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

  His look made me feel very. Very. A girl could paint castles with that kind of gaze. Dangerous to paint castles—he would only enter one to steal the tapestries. I turned my head
and buried it in the soft pillowcase to break the spell. No such luck—he continued to stroke my hair with magic fingers.

  Something vibrated.

  We stared at each other, brows furrowed.

  “Oh,” he started, “my phone.” He dived over the side of the bed and found his jeans. My eyes bugged at the rather spectacular sight. “Yeah,” he answered. The dimple ran away as he darted his gaze to my face. “Wait a minute.” With an ‘I’m sorry’ eyebrow lift, he lumbered to his feet, walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  I could hear nothing. Should I play super-spy and sneak to the door to listen? Yes! Angelina would definitely super-spy. And so do it naked.

  Creeping, even though the bedroom was empty, I made my way to the door. Not one sound filtered through as I placed my ear against it. Very well constructed, solid door. I needed a glass. Wasn’t that what you did? But no glasses were to be found anywhere. I put my ear to the door again and promptly fell backwards when he opened it.

  He lifted me by my upper arms with a wry look. “I had no idea this door caused so many accidents.”

  “It’s a…” I ran a hand through my hair. It got caught in the mess of my sex/bed head. “Dangerous door.” Elbow akimbo, I nonchalantly exuded an I-totally-meant-to-do-that nonchalance.

  “I have to go run an errand,” he finally said.

  “Where?”

  “To the drug store for one.”

  I started to ask why, but remembered condoms, condoms, condoms. Blushing and smiling, I replied, “Oh, okay.”

  “Will you stay put?”

  “You are not cuffing me again!” I was stern even as I took a step back.

  “No, because you know as well as I do people are trying to kill you.”

  Thanks, Captain Bringdown. “Yes.”

  “You’ll be okay here.” Going to his nightstand, holder of everything but prophylactics, he produced a gun. “However, you need to take care.” He took my hand and put the gun in it. “Take it.”

  “I already have one. Your other one.” How many guns did he have? “You didn’t want me to have it before.”

  “Just don’t point it at me. Have you ever shot one before?”