by Gina Kincade
There was a loud click, presumably Brett locking the door.
She gulped. Christ, this was it. They were alone, together, and unless she’d inadvertently holed herself up with a potential murderer, the next thing on the agenda was sex. Providing they could find each other, that was.
A nervous giggle escaped. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Why, when she’d been the one to instigate this, did she now feel like the prey? The idiotic prey that had backed itself into a corner, with no way of getting away from the predator that loomed.
A shuffle. She snapped her head in the direction the sound had come from, despite knowing she wouldn’t see anything. The room was in the middle of the building somewhere, with no windows. The only thing she could see was the chink of light from under the door. All right, so she knew where the door was. Big deal. She didn’t want to fuck the damn door. She wanted to fuck Brett. Seemed she’d well and truly gotten over her earlier bashfulness.
Silence stretched out until she could bear it no longer. “Brett? Where are you?”
He didn’t answer her. Not verbally, anyway. She heard movement, sensed he was moving closer. Suddenly, there were hands—big, strong hands—on her hips, tugging her to him.
She dropped her clutch bag without a second thought and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. Immediately she was aware of his body heat, his raw strength. The delicious scent of him invaded her nostrils—a heady mixture of shampoo, soap and a light but masculine cologne. She breathed in deeply, allowing herself to enjoy the moment.
It seemed Brett had other ideas. Shifting one hand to the small of her back, pinning her in place against his bulk, he swept the other up from her hip, following the outline of her body until he reached her face. Then, cupping the back of her neck, he pulled her in for a kiss. A kiss that suddenly made her realize why she’d had the odd sensation of feeling like prey. Because right now, that’s precisely what she was. Yes, she’d started it, but it was now blatantly obvious that Brett had every intention of finishing it.
His lips against hers were demanding, almost brutish, and yet utterly sensual at the same time. He had no problem with taking what he wanted, but something, a half-buried suspicion in the back of her mind, told her he wouldn’t be a selfish lover. Dominant, yes—her pussy trickled juices at the very idea—but he’d make sure she enjoyed herself just as much as he did… if not more so.
As he insinuated his tongue between her lips, everything else melted away. How they knew each other, the fact they didn’t even like each other, the possibility that they might have been missed back at the party… it was all swallowed into the abyss of lust. They were just two people that were attracted to each other, and were acting on that attraction. The taste of the expensive champagne they’d both been drinking only increased the allure of what they were doing.
Responding to his open-mouthed kiss, she allowed her tongue to dance and duel with his, her arousal ramping up with every passing second. She shifted her hands down over his shoulders, then around his back to cup his backside. The backside she’d admired in those beat-up jeans when he was treating Venus, and had fantasized about, masturbated over, frequently ever since.
High and taut, Brett’s buttocks felt amazing beneath her palms and fingers—just as good as they looked. She squeezed them roughly, using the momentum to pull their lower bodies closer together. There was absolutely no mistaking the erection that pressed against her stomach as a result. Naturally she wanted it lower than that, much lower, but the height difference between them—even with her wearing high heels—made that impossible. For now, anyway.
Moaning into his mouth, she then captured his bottom lip between hers, sucking it. Gently at first, then harder.
Brett’s own moan was more akin to a growl, deep and sexy, telling her vocally what she already knew—he was just as eager to fuck as she. And, she quickly realized, planned to do something about it—imminently. He moved the hand that had been on her lower back around to her chest. Getting his revenge—sweet, sweet revenge—he roughly squeezed one breast, then the other.
She released his lip on a gasp as pain and arousal zipped through her body before melding together deliciously. Brett took the opportunity and broke away, but not before grasping her hand. Now it was her turn to be dragged behind him. She heard him fumbling around, then an exclamation that sounded something like triumph.
What had he found? And, more importantly, what was he going to do about it?
Chapter Seven
Brett felt drunk. The pleasant, buzzing kind of drunk that makes you want to hug everyone. He wasn’t, though—he hadn’t had nearly enough booze for that. All he could surmise was it was the overload of hormones in his system making him feel that way.
He wasn’t complaining, though. It felt good, really good, and he figured anything or anyone that could have that kind of effect on him couldn’t possibly be a bad thing.
Things had already gone way too far for him to have an attack of conscience or change his mind, but it was nice to have that affirmation. And Samantha certainly seemed to be enjoying herself.
Allowing the dizzying buzz to take him over, he fell headlong into the all-encompassing sensation. He suspected Samantha was right there with him, too. Her heavy breathing and the sexy little moans and groans that escaped her lips certainly seemed to indicate as much.
Spinning her around carefully, he backed her up to the table he’d just found by groping in the darkness. He’d probably looked an utter moron, wafting his hand around in front of him, but given neither of them could see a damn thing, it didn’t matter. He sensed it when she was flush up to the edge of the table. Gripping her hips tightly, he hiked her up onto the smooth surface, his cock twitching as she let out another low moan.
Part of him wished he could see her—all sexy, swanky, tight dress, high heels and elegant hairstyle. Not to mention what was underneath said dress. Would she be wearing a bra? Knickers?
There was only one way to find out…
“Pull your dress up over your waist.”
It was the first thing he’d said to her in a little while, but fortunately it didn’t seem to break the spell.
Samantha didn’t respond, but he could tell from the shuffling in front of him that she was doing as he asked.
A hand came into contact with his lower stomach, tantalizingly close to his cock. He grabbed at its wrist.
Samantha moved her hand—and therefore his, as he still had hold of her—between her legs. The backs of his fingers brushed against soft, warm skin. Releasing her wrist, he started to explore. Bringing his other hand down, he smoothed his palms up the insides of Samantha’s thighs, pushing them further apart as he did so. She groaned.
Keeping his hands on the silky skin, he knelt down in front of her. Almost immediately, the scent of her arousal hit his nostrils, making his mouth water. Fuck, if she tasted even half as good as she smelled…
Trailing his fingers towards the apex of her thighs, he soon discovered the answer to one of his questions. She was wearing knickers—if you could call them that. Some further investigation told him that just the tiniest scrap of material lay between Samantha Hanson-Bishop’s most intimate parts and the air.
Not for much longer. Reaching up, he gently pushed Samantha’s shoulder. She got the hint and leaned back. Then he curled the fingers of his left hand around the gusset of her thong and tugged it to one side, exposing her cunt.
Eager, no, desperate to taste it, to taste her, Brett immediately leaned in. His right hand remaining on her inner thigh, he used it to splay her legs further still. Then he dove in—pressing his mouth to her wet heat. A growl rumbled up from his throat as her flavor exploded over his taste buds. Holy fuck, but this woman is hot. And she tastes amazing.
Mewling, Samantha bucked her hips, shoving herself harder onto Brett’s face. He didn’t care—already he couldn’t get enough of her pussy. He explored her with his tongue and lips, licking and sucking, tasting every millimeter of her plump
folds and distended clit, drinking her in. Then he turned his attentions from mere exploration to making her come. Having her juices fill his mouth before his cock filled her would be sublime.
Not having Samantha’s full range of body language to tell him when he was getting it right, he had to rely heavily on the noises she made, and the movements he could feel against his face and beneath his hands. It was a challenge, but one he relished. Screwing in the dark definitely wasn’t all bad—there was a thrill to it, for sure.
Zeroing in on her swollen clit, he began to circle it with his tongue. Lightly at first, then heavier. Concentrating hard on the cues he could discern, he quickly figured out what made her gasp, and what really, really got her going. Smiling against her slick, hot vulva, he flicked his tongue rapidly over and over the spot that she seemed to favor, gratified when her clit grew further beneath his tongue.
Dipping down briefly, he discovered she was even wetter than before, and he licked up her tart, delicious juices before returning to the place she needed him the most. Picking up where he left off, he teased and tormented her clit, feeling her thigh tense, then tremble beneath his hand as she inched closer and closer to climax. He was half-tempted to slip his fingers into her soaking snatch, but refrained. He didn’t want to penetrate her unless it was with his cock. Which he fully intended to do as soon as she came, hopefully reaping the benefits of her clenching muscles around his shaft.
It seemed he wouldn’t have too much longer to wait. Samantha’s writhing grew wilder, the noises she made more abandoned. She was getting close. Picking up his pace, Brett reveled in Samantha’s reactions as he pleasured her. His cock almost hurt—so hard was it pressed against the inside of his suit trousers.
That gave him an idea. Keeping up his oral action, he shifted his right hand down to his own nether regions, undoing his belt and trousers and releasing his dick from its confines. He shunted his fist slowly up and down his shaft, readying himself for the imminent paradise of Samantha’s pussy. He’d be able to get inside it all the quicker now.
Just then, he clawed back a shred of common sense. Cock. Pussy. When those two things went together, something else was vital. Protection. Goddamn it! He’d just have to wait a bit longer, that was all. What mattered now was Samantha’s climax, and he had it firmly within his grasp. He wasn’t going to let it slip away.
Letting go of his cock, he then grabbed Samantha’s ankle and lifted it up onto his shoulder as he continued to devour her pussy. Then, with a guttural moan and what sounded more like a yelp of surprise, she came apart beneath him. He wished desperately he could see it, see her expression, her beautiful body as it was wracked with climax, but he had to make do with what he’d got. Which was still pretty damn good.
She bucked, grinding against his face as he released her clit and drank down her juices. Huh, who would have thought such a stuck-up bitch could actually be such a wildcat? And I haven’t finished with her yet…
Gently disentangling from her, he stood up and started to root around in his jacket pocket for his wallet and the condom he always kept there.
“Hey,” came Samantha’s voice. She sounded dozy, almost like her tongue was too big for her mouth. “What are you doing? You’re not leaving?”
Brett chuckled. “Of course I’m not leaving. I’m looking for a condom—not the easiest task in the pitch dark.”
Now it was her turn to let out a chuckle, though somehow it sounded more sarcastic than amused. “Yeah… I wouldn’t bother. You won’t need one.”
Huh? So she didn’t want him to leave, but she didn’t want him to fuck her anymore, either? Christ, but the woman was confusing.
“What I mean is, there’s absolutely zero chance of me getting pregnant. So, providing you’re, um, clean, I believe is the phrase you youngsters use, then a prophylactic won’t be necessary.”
“Yes,” he replied, shaking his head, now glad she couldn’t see him, “I’m clean.” He deliberately ignored the part about him being a youngster. She knew how old he was, and she was about to fuck him anyway. Age seemed utterly irrelevant in this moment.
“Good. Then get yourself back over here.”
He sensed there was more to her comment about there being zero chance of her getting pregnant, but pushed the thought from his mind. It wasn’t his problem—he wasn’t her boyfriend or partner. Hell, he was barely her lover. They were just two adults fucking in an empty room at a posh party.
Doing as she commanded, he shuffled back towards the table, and, after some feeling around, got himself into position. Gripping the base of his cock, he shoved aside her underwear once more and settled it against her still-saturated entrance. He briefly lamented missing out on the flutters of her internal muscles around him, but as he sunk into her, he forgot all about it. Christ, but she was tight. And hot. And wet. He had to keep himself in check to stop himself ramming home in one thrust. He may not particularly like the woman, but he didn’t want to hurt her, either. That just wasn’t his style. Sex was about give and take—both of those things combined were what made the act so pleasurable.
Slowly, slowly, he inched deeper, groaning as he felt her pussy stretching around him, and as Samantha crossed her ankles behind his lower back, pulling him into her until he could go no more.
He let out a hiss between his teeth, then said, “Holy shit, you feel so damn good.”
“Likewise, dear boy. Likewise.”
Chapter Eight
“Although,” Samantha said, pushing herself up with her hands. “I know we can’t actually see each other, but it’d be nice to feel some skin, don’t you think?”
Brett chuckled. “I’ve almost lost the ability to think, but yeah.”
She smirked into the darkness, then helped him as he guided her dress off, rapidly followed by her bra. It seemed too much effort to bother with her underwear, scarce as it was. Then their hands scrabbled together to rid him of his jacket, bow tie and shirt.
Looping her arms around his neck, she let gravity pull her back down to the surface of the table, bringing him with her. “Mmm, that’s better.” She bit her lip, relishing the sensation of his red hot, hard body pressed against hers and his cock still lodged in her pussy.
“Yeah,” he replied, his breath fanning through her hair, “it is.”
He rocked his hips slowly, grinding against her and setting off a series of sparks in her clit as it was stimulated by his pubic bone. Then he pressed a kiss to her hair, her forehead, her lips… working his way down her body until he reached her breasts.
He let out a growl, the exhalation of hot air on her already stiff left nipple making it peak further. “I’d been wondering if you were wearing a bra with that dress. Should have known better, really. Tits as big as yours can’t be allowed to swing free.”
“Tits as saggy, you mean,” she shot back, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. Stupid. No need to let him in on your insecurities.
“You’ve got to be joking!” He cupped her left breast in his large hand and brought it so close to his lips that she felt—as well as heard—every word he said. “These babies are perfect. Big, natural, warm, and so fucking responsive… I mean, your nipples are like little stones. Gorgeous.”
Any verbal response she might have wanted to make was choked off as he finally closed his lips around the breast he’d been so admiring. Her nipple, and a good amount of the surrounding flesh, was enveloped in the wet heat of his mouth. She let her head loll back over the edge of the table, blood rushing to her head as Brett sucked and nibbled at her aching flesh. He was just as talented with tits as he was with pussies, it seemed. She smirked, happy at her good fortune for bagging herself—albeit temporarily—a man who knew what he was doing, and was just as intent on giving pleasure as he was on receiving it.
Tangling a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, she tugged it lightly, gasping as he gave her a sharp nip in response. She did it again; harder this time. So did he. Her pussy clenched around his cock.
Now it was his turn to gasp.
“Shit, Samantha. Your cunt is like a vice. I feel like it’s going to rip my cock off. In a good way.”
“I would never do that, Brett. Not until I’m finished with you, anyway.”
He snorted. “Fair enough.”
As he returned his attention to her breasts, now squeezing and sucking at her right one, she shifted the hand not in his hair, tucking it beneath his arm so she could reach him better. Down between his shoulder blades, over his finely-muscled back, enjoying the sensation of hot skin beneath her fingers. Finally—with a bit of a stretch—she reached her prize.
Cupping one luscious bare buttock, she dug her fingernails deeply into the taut flesh as he continued to slowly thrust in and out of her.
Brett gave a vicious jerk of his hips and suckled her tit so hard she thought it would pop, before releasing it. “Bitch.”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. But you’ll be wearing mine out before long.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed her wrists and roughly pinned them to the table. Her heart pounded as a feeling of helplessness flooded her. “And that’s a promise, not a threat.”
“Are we deliberately trying to use all the clichés in the dictionary here?” Her defiant words belied her sudden vulnerability.
“Shut up, Samantha. For once in your fucking life, just shut up.” Apparently not confident she would, he leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers.
She felt her pussy slicken further as she succumbed to him and the feelings overtaking her. Everything was just so damn hard—his lips mashed to hers, his grip on her wrists, his cock inside her, the pounding of his pelvis against hers. Hard, and rough, and fast. Furious, in fact. It seemed Brett was taking his irritation out on her, and she loved every bloody minute of it.