She twisted and cast a look over her shoulder, looking out through the same window he had. Beyond the pane lay the garden, the pale line of the path disappearing into the darkness beyond the patio lights. Dimly she could make out the outline of a roof at the bottom of the garden, well away from the house.
A summerhouse.
Stepping back, he held out his hand to her. A silent request and offer all rolled into one. She bit her lip, looking up from his hand into the blue eyes behind the mask. Neither of them needed to speak. They both knew what would happen if she put her hand in his and let him lead her out into the darkness of the garden.
Awareness hummed through her, the moment stretching out between them. Did she dare take his hand? Did she dare not? They’d joked with each other, teased and flirted like there was no tomorrow. She’d never dreamt he was serious or that he actually looked like the hunk in his pictures. But he did, and he was serious. About her.
There was no decision to be made, no other choice. Suddenly feeling shy, she slid her fingers into his and tried a smile, hoping she didn’t look like a retarded version of the Cheshire cat.
“Good girl,” he murmured with approval in his voice. He tugged her toward the door.
Anticipation and excitement rolled through her. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears when they slipped out of the back door and into the garden. The night-chilled air wrapped around her, raising gooseflesh on her arms. She ignored it and Rick tugged her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into his side while they walked down the path. The sounds of the party faded away, leaving only the sound of their breathing as the summerhouse took shape out of the darkness.
Hannah bit her lip. He reached out to unlatch the door, holding it open for her.
Flicking him what she hoped was a hot look from under her lashes, she slipped under his arm with a chuckle and into the darkness beyond the door. “I feel like a naughty kid breaking into school afterhours or something.”
The door shut behind them, the lock clicking and leaving her alone in the darkness with him. Her eyes began to adjust, enough to make out some conservatory furniture, and there at the back, the long, low expanse of a sun-lounger covered in cushions.
“You don’t look like a kid, but I’ll bet you look sexy as hell in a schoolgirl’s uniform,” he murmured from right behind her, making her jump. She hadn’t heard him move from the door, but now the heat of his body beat at her back, against the skin bared by the halter-neck of her dress.
He dropped his hands gently on her shoulders. They were large and warm when he spread them out. A moan escaped her when he started to massage, her head dropping back at the delicious sensation. A simple back massage. It shouldn’t have been sexual, but it was. Right now, it was the most erotic thing she could think of, affecting every part of her body as awareness became heat and then a shiver that traveled the entire surface area of her skin.
Her nipples peaked in response, rubbing against the satin of her dress. She hadn’t been able to wear a bra without the straps showing so she’d gone without. Now though, the soft fabric was suddenly scratchy and confining. Her pussy clenched in anticipation and need, liquid heat slipping from her to dampen her panties.
“You like that, huh?” His voice was deep, amused and he pulled her back against the hard strength of his body. “I knew you would, knew you’d like to be touched. Stroked…caressed…teased. Where else do you like to be touched I wonder?”
His hands moved down her arms as she leaned back against him, letting her head roll back against his shoulder. He dropped a kiss against her temple, the simple touch sending tingles down her spine. Her breath caught. He smoothed his hands down her arms to lace his fingers through hers again, the little touch making her heart flip over in her chest. Lifting her arms, he pulled them up to hook them around the back of his neck. Her back arched in response. She drove her fingers through the silky strands she found there.
His hands weren’t idle. He feathered his lips against her temple and down her cheek and stroked down the back of her arms, soft light touches designed to tease as he neared her lips.
A soft sound of impatience and frustration slipped free. She turned her head, seeking his lips. He chuckled, the sound low and deep, rumbling through his broad chest where it was pressed against her back. But he gave her what she wanted, bending his head and claiming her lips again.
His tongue swept across the closed seam of her mouth. A demand for access, that she surrender to him. She squirmed in his arms and pressed back against him. The hard bar of his cock pressed against her ass and she smiled under his lips, wriggling more to grind her ass back against him. He slid his hands down to cup her breasts, molding them, tracing the mounds, rubbing at the hardened nubs of her nipples, proud under the thin satin of her dress.
“God, you’re not wearing anything under this.” He broke away at the realization to swear against her lips. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
She didn’t get a chance to answer. His lips crashed down on hers again. Greedy for his kiss, she surrendered immediately, moaning in the back of her throat. He slid his tongue against hers, stroking and sliding. He turned her in his arms and cupped her jaw with his hands when he took control and deepened the kiss. The kiss turned into a torrid clash of lips and tongue that drove the heat and tension between them up to fever pitch.
She moaned, rubbing against him like a cat, her movements sensuous and feline. She ran her fingers through the short strands of his hair before moving down. Her hands flirted with the broad expanse of his shoulders then pulled the shirt open to slide inside. She needed to touch him, touch skin. Explore every inch of him that she could.
He gasped, the sound lost against her lips. She found his nipple and tweaked. A feral growl ripped from his throat. He backed her up to the lounger, and wrapping his arms around her, tumbled her backward.
She gasped, then giggled as she sprawled over the soft surface, her amusement lasting less than a few seconds. He followed her down and took her lips again.
She moaned. He shoved her short skirt up, stroking his fingers along her thigh, and working the fabric higher. Impatient, she pushed at his open shirt, yanking it off his shoulders to bunch over his upper arms. She sighed and explored the exposed skin, like satin over the steel of his muscles.
“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered against her skin, kissing along her jaw and moving onto the soft flesh of her throat. Her skirt gave up the fight and rolled up around her waist. His fingers found the narrow edge of her panties, the string design covered the bare minimum.
He shuddered. “I’ve thought about tonight so much…what I’d do to you when I finally got you underneath me. Tell me you want this, sweetness. Tell me if I’m going too fast for you and we can slow down, take things slow…slower. As slow as you need.” He chuckled, the sound shaky. “Obviously slow is the word of the night.”
Her heart melted at his words and the tremble of his big body, still held over her. Smiling, she stroked her fingers down the centre of his chest and beyond, boldly cupping the rigid length at his groin. He groaned, the masculine sound of need making her pussy clench again.
“I don’t want slow. We can go slow next time,” she whispered, feeling like a wanton temptress. She leaned up on one elbow to nip at his earlobe, swiping her tongue over the small hurt to ease it. “I want hard and fast. I want you to fuck me hard and fast. Make me scream.”
He grinned, his expression hot enough to blister paint. She’d always said she wasn’t a screamer. “Challenge accepted.”
His mouth crashed down on hers again, demanding access. He cupped her mound, his strong fingers pressing against her lips over the damp satin. A pleased sound rumbled through him. He stroked his tongue against hers, their mouths mating in a torrid kiss that threatened to steal her breath. It was beaten to that goal by his fingers. He pushed the satin aside and stroked his fingers through her lower lips.
“Hot,” he broke their kiss for a moment to whisp
er. “And wet. Very wet. For me.”
She nodded. He cut off her response by kissing her again, pushing his tongue into her mouth at the same moment he thrust two fingers deep into her pussy. She cried out, the sound swallowed up by his lips. He pulled back and thrust again, finger fucking her on a slow, delicious ride of sensation.
Unable to do anything else, she clung to his broad shoulders, holding on while he used clever fingers to play her body. Then he added his thumb to the mix, stroking over her clit. He found the spot deep inside her that made her squirm and pant. She bucked her hips, working against him, riding his hand, as the tension in her body wound tighter and tighter.
“That’s it babe. Fuck, you feel so hot,” he whispered against her hair. He pressed hard inside her, stroking over her clit back and forth in a maddening rhythm.
Arching her back, she rocked her hips against him, needing more. “Rick…” She whimpered, on the edge of begging but she didn’t care. Heat swept her skin, pushing away all other thoughts. She needed this, needed him inside her. Frustrated, she reached down, rubbed him through his pants. “Now. Please.”
“Whatever you want, sweetness.” His words were a deep, rich murmur. He pulled away, her cunt aching at the loss of his fingers. He rolled to his side. She heard the movement of clothing, the rough sound of a zipper loud in the darkness, and the rustle of foil. Heat and weakness flooded her again. She realized he’d thought of protection when she hadn’t, and she loved him that little bit more.
Then he was back, parting her legs wider with a hard knee and bracing himself over her. The thick, wide head of his cock pressed against the entrance to her body but didn’t press in. Instead he looked down at her, his expression serious and lines of concentration etched around his sinful lips.
“Hannah…sweetness. Are you sure about this?” he asked, watching and waiting for her answer. Waiting for her to make the decision and give him permission. Just like that, something deep inside her clicked and she knew this was it. She was in love. Totally head over heels in love with him.
She slid a hand into the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss. “Totally sure, now are you going to fuck me or just talk about it?”
She claimed his lips and they both groaned. He sank into her, her pussy parting around the thick, long length of his cock. Inch by wide inch he pushed into her tight channel, pulling back a little to work himself deeper until he was buried up to the hilt and they were both panting.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He rested his forehead against hers, holding still while she got used to him. He wasn’t huge, but still bigger than any of her previous lovers, the combination of girth and length enough to send her eyes rolling back in pleasure.
“You’re…just move. Please,” she begged, rolling her hips against him. The friction drew a moan from her, and a curse from him.
Bracing himself over her on his forearms, he pulled back and started to move. Slowly at first, as though he was scared of hurting her but quickly picking up speed until he was driving into her with a power that thrilled her.
Her body came alive under him, need and heat taking control until she was meeting him thrust for thrust, their bodies in perfect harmony. The small summerhouse filled with soft feminine gasps and low masculine groans over the slap of skin on skin. An erotic symphony wrapped around the less-than-erotic scent of recent paint and earth. Hannah didn’t care. All she cared about was Rick moving over her, filling her, fucking her…loving her.
Her release took her by surprise, boiling up from a simmer to an inferno in the space between one solid thrust and the next. Her hands closed around his upper arms. She threw her head back, his name on her lips when pleasure crashed over her like a wave, drowning her, rolling her under and consuming her all at the same time while her pussy clenched tight around him.
He swore, wrapping her in a tight embrace. His movements changed, became harder, less coordinated. Her release hastened his, his thrusts solid and his balls slapping against her ass. Once, twice…he managed a third and stiffened, his hips pressing his cock so deep inside her that she could feel it pulsing deep within her when he came hard and fast.
Pleasure and lassitude ebbing through her, she wrapped her arms around him. He collapsed over her, and she smiled. Tink hadn’t done Dallas after all, but she had done her very own, sexy pirate.
Unmasked
Brooklyn Wilde
With a series of light taps, I hammered in the last nail and looked out over the rooftops of the Ninth Ward. A few had been replaced, but most were in a state of total disrepair. Makeshift patches made of blue tarps or garbage bags weighted down by tires dotted the view.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Louie, the project leader, called from the ground below.
“Yes,” I said, “I thought more would have been done by now.”
“I know. Every group that comes through here says the same thing. Been almost a year since Katrina, but in the Ward it looks like the storm hit last week.”
Louie looked around sadly and shook his head. Silently, I wondered if it was even worth it, trying to rebuild. This place was so much worse than I imagined. Maybe all that effort and money would be better spent trying to relocate those left here.
“Come on down, Lady,” he said. “You did good for your first day. Go get cleaned up, I’m taking everyone out for dinner at this great little spot down in the Bywater.”
* * *
The heat of the day had given out by the time we arrived at Bacchanal for dinner. The place sat huddled on the corner of a quiet residential street under the shadow of the levee, with only a sandwich board out front for a sign. A cool breeze fluttered the hem of my skirt as we made our way into the wine shop in front. The day’s work had been long and emotionally draining, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I picked out a bottle of Malbec for myself, which I had no intention of sharing. Hard days gave way to easy nights. I was starting to like New Orleans after all.
Out back, the courtyard was already filled with people laughing and drinking around mismatched patio furniture. In the far corner, a trio was playing some fine jazz on a stage that was really just a wooden platform inches above the ground. We took two tables under a live oak strung with lights. After placing our order at what can only be described as a takeout window, I was shocked to be served a meal worthy of a Michelin star. It was like a really great backyard party, but with better music and food.
What struck me most was how unhurried everything seemed. There was no one impatiently waiting for our table or incessantly clacking away at their cell phones. I’d quickly showered and pulled on a cotton tank and skirt instead of spending hours perfecting my blowout and squeezing into an overpriced cocktail dress. It had never occurred to me just how much work having fun was in the city. Basically, this place was the opposite of Manhattan, which made me wonder how I could love it so much.
Dusk turned to darkness as the hours slipped by without anyone’s notice. The conversation never missed a beat, but I found my attention turning back to the stage. The music was good, great actually, but there was something even better on the stage. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the beautiful man playing trumpet. His skin actually was the color of café au lait. All this time I thought that was just something people said in books. Each time he licked his lips before raising his horn to play, I found myself instinctively licking my own. Delicious.
After a muted version of “West End Blues” that would have made Satchmo proud, the beautiful trumpeter left the stage and began making his way around the courtyard with his tip bucket. By the time he arrived at our table, the bucket was stuffed with bills. I smirked as I tossed in a $20. I bet there wasn’t a woman in the place with a penny left. Those in our group certainly gushed and fawned. The cool New Yorker in me would not permit such effusions, so I sat back and enjoyed the view. He was even prettier up close. I hadn’t noticed his bright green eyes before.
With a nod, he signaled one of his band mates to take up the tip jug and took a chair n
ext to me.
“I’m Milo.” He extended a hand.
“Avery.”
He held onto my hand a beat too long, gently grazing my fingertips when he released it.
“So tell me, cher,” he said in a faint Creole accent, “what you runnin’ away from back in New York?”
“How did…” I was so stunned I couldn’t even finish the thought. I’m not used to being knocked back on my heels by any man, but he was the second man to effectively ask me the same question in as many days. I hadn’t had an answer for my fiancé either.
With a chuckle, he tapped the now-mangled heel of my Christian Louboutin stiletto. Of course. My shoes. They practically screamed New York. They had not fared well on the gravel of the courtyard. I guess I wasn’t as low-maintenance in the low country as I thought.
“What makes you think I’m running away from anything?” I asked, trying hard to regain control.
“Everybody who comes to New Orleans is runnin’ away from something, cher.”
His voice was smooth and mellow, like a long, slow pull on an expensive cigar. I liked the easy way he had of dropping consonants and hanging onto vowels, drawing them out as if savoring the taste.
“What are you running from?” I countered.
“Nah, not me. I’m Creole. I was born here. My dead are here. I’ll be here ’til I join them.”
I wondered what that must be like, to simply know with certainty where you will always be. The fact that he could be so certain even after the storm, when the place was so wrecked I couldn’t imagine it ever being fully restored, was incomprehensible to me.
“Really cher,” he said. “What brings you here?”
“I just finished law school. I came down to volunteer before starting work in the fall at Hollings, Jacob, and Meyer.” I expected him to be impressed. He gave no indication one way or another.
Halloween Heat VI: Contemporary Erotic Romance Page 2