A Fine Balance

by Susan Johnson

  “And I’m a novice, right? An amateur.”

  “No offense, but I like that.” He smiled ruefully. “I feel a fraud to even think that after the life I’ve led.”

  Her smile was like a ray of sunshine after a storm. “So I’m your epiphany? Your road-to-Damascus moment?”

  He laughed. “No. That would involve a brain transplant. I just like you the way you are.”

  “You’re real easy to like too, and,” she said with a grin, “a fucking smooth operator.” She put out her hand. “See? Steady as a rock. So what’s next?”

  “Tell me what you want.” A twitch of a smile. “As long as it takes more than five seconds.”

  “Okay, first a request, then your promised satisfaction.”

  He opened his arms wide, gave a little bow. “Your servant, ma’am.”

  Her eyes widened in pleasure. “Wow, possibilities.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Five, six hours worth.”

  “That’s bragging, right?”

  He shook his head.

  A thrill of excitement rippled through her body, a little heated spasm settled between her legs and on a soft intake of breath, she said, “How about ten seconds? You good with that?”

  “Uh-uh.” He tipped his chin at her. “You gotta slow down and smell the roses.”

  Just the tiniest frown. “What are we talking time-wise? That five, six hour thing has me buzzing. I’m not sure I want to wait.”

  “That’s cause you don’t know the payoff.”

  “And of course you do,” she said, just a touch irritably.

  He shrugged. No way he was answering.

  She couldn’t decide if she appreciated his tact or was offended by his sexual celebrity. On the other hand, the phrase five hours worth was lighting up her brain. “Forgive my crankiness,” she said, jettisoning pettiness for more gratifying amusements. “Your past is your past. I apologize.”

  “Not a problem. I wish I’d been your first.” He grinned. “You can file that under nutcase of the year.”

  She grinned back. “So good luck to us, right?”

  “Yup. Play it as it lays.”

  “Okay. If you’d take off your shirt”—she pointed—“we could get started on your smell-the-roses program.”

  A hand to the back of his neck, a quick jerk over his head, and his t-shirt landed on the counter. “Now you,” he said, softly.

  Strong shoulders, muscled arms, ripped abs, beautifully colored tattoo sleeves; his own brand of perfection. She smiled, wanting nothing more than to run her hands over his hard, powerful body. “Give me a minute to admire the view.”

  “Sure.” He began counting by fives. “Your shirt,” he said, reaching sixty, then held up a finger to curtail her comment. “That’s not a request.”

  She wrinkled her nose, equivocating.

  “The sooner you show me your tits, the sooner you can come.”

  She should have taken offense at that impudent drawl, she should have said, Who the fuck do you think you are? or at least replied with some snappy, liberated-female retort. Instead, without regard for feminist principles, her nipples stiffened at warp speed, a shameless longing spiked downward, pulsed through her sex and with profligate disregard for purity of principle, drenched her pussy in creamy horniness.

  He watched her nipples lift the soft white fabric of her t-shirt. “You like that? Don’t bother answering. I can see.” He drew in a breath through his nostrils. “Umm, wet too. Ready to rock?”

  “Perceptive man.” Her testy reply would have been more effective if she hadn’t been panting.

  “It’s hard not to notice.” His smile was polished. “Now lift your t-shirt up slowly, so you can feel it slide over your big tits, so I can feel it sliding over your big tits. Stop when your shirt reaches your chin. This time I want an answer. I want a yes and I want it now.”

  Ohmygod. Every low, husky syllable fluttered over her breasts as if he were touching her, as if his fingertips were warm on her flesh, as if the sound of his voice was a tactile promise of pleasure shimmering over her skin. She took a small breath, nodded.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  The throbbing between her legs surged at his brusque tone. Her voice shook just a little when she whispered, “Yes.”

  One eyebrow went up.

  “Yes,” she said, loudly.

  “Thank you.”

  Her nostrils flared. “This better be good.”

  “Tut, tut. Be nice or I won’t let you come. Your hot little pussy wouldn’t like that would it?” Jack’s eyes were warm as he watched her struggle with her fired up libido. “Tough decision?” Lifting one tattooed arm, he reached out and lightly touched her nipple through her tee. “You want to come, right?”

  Her adrenalin spiked at the brush of his fingertip. She shivered, a riptide of wild longing rose inside her.

  “Say yes.”

  His voice was exquisitely controlled. Patient. “Yes,” she said because he was expecting it, lust hung in the air like a summer storm and she was faint with desire.

  “Good girl,” he murmured. Leaning forward, he took her hands and curled her fingers over the hem of her t-shirt. “You have beautiful tits. I’d like you to show them off.” He kissed her forehead. “Can you do that for me?”

  Following orders was easier than thinking, feeling the hard throbbing heat deep inside her was pure, gloating ecstasy and if showing off her boobs got her off sooner, she was more than willing. Gripping the fabric securely, she began raising the tee.

  “Slow down. Look at me. Here.” He pointed at his eyes, blue, cool, sealed off from the world. “That’s it. Continue.”

  She’d never realized how sexually arousing obedience could be, how susceptible she was to his casual authority. Although the half-undressed sex god with his eyes on her like a brand could have been telling her to mow his lawn and she would have been just as horny.

  Lifting the white knit fabric over her waist, she inched it up her rib cage, tugged a little as it caught on the underside of her breasts. Another small tug and it glided over the soft plumpness, fully exposing her large breasts and tense, roused nipples.

  “Stop.”

  The soft command struck her viscerally. A searing heat flowed through her sex, her body opening to him as if he’d slid his fingers deep inside. Shifting her hips in feverish response, she softly moaned as the delicious warmth melted into every pulsing crevice and fold.

  “Sit still.”

  She looked up in surprise, opened her mouth.

  He held her gaze until she closed her mouth, then walking closer, ran his fingers along her arms. “Don’t move.”

  With her arms at an uncomfortable angle, she was about to demur, when he slipped his palms under her breasts, flexed his fingers lightly and a hot rush of libidinous sensation suddenly owned her body and soul. She sucked in a shaky breath.

  “Like that?” Unblinking, he held her gaze as he firmly cupped her breasts, raised the two large handfuls, measured the mounded weight with a few light bounces, then leaned forward, bent his head and licked first one nipple, then the other, delicately circling the taut buds with his tongue.

  The shock to her nerve endings was out of all proportion to his gentleness.

  “Does that feel good?” he whispered, looking up.

  “Yes, yes…” Her breathy reply broke off as a succession of strong, bracing jolts punched downward, the stabbing pleasure, the ache of longing almost too much to bear. “Oh God, please…”

  “Soon,” he whispered, his long, slender fingers sinking deeper into her soft, pliant flesh, his blue gaze fixed on her face. And he resumed his gentle sucking, shifting from breast to breast, stopping each time she began to peak, moving upward to kiss her flushed cheeks soothingly until she calmed.

  He raised his head. “Ready for a little more?”

  Trembling slightly, she bit her lip and nodded.

  “Your nipples are huge, jewel hard. How does this feel?” Dipping his head, he fl
icked his tongue over a distended peak.

  Her nipples sensitized to his merest touch, she gasped at the high-pressure shock, then moaned as a raging horniness tore through her body.

  “Such a good girl,” Jack whispered, bending to kiss her rosy cheek. “You’re doing well.” Loosening his grip, he stepped back.

  As his hands slipped away, she suddenly felt the cool air on her swollen breasts, the contrast vivid, graphic, profoundly sensual. Like his gaze on the spill of her breasts as they slid back into place.

  Flushed and feverish, her heart racing, she’d never in her life wanted to climax so desperately. But Jack was examining her unblinking, not a speck of give in his face. She didn’t dare ask.

  “Raise your shirt a little higher.”

  Immediately complying, she shuddered at the silken friction of fabric to flesh, her jacked up nerves sparking violently at the faintest pressure.

  “Stop.”

  Each quiet command racheted up her lust and half-dazed, it took her a moment to feel his hand on her wrist.

  “Hold it there,” he said, his deep voice velvet soft. “That’ll do nicely.” Then bending his head, he drew her stiff, swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked with such force she almost lifted off the table.

  Her daze burned off in a flash, her head went back, and as she began to scream, he clamped one hand over her mouth, slid his other hand under the waistband of her pajamas, down her stomach and slipped two fingers into her soaking wet pussy.

  She was instantly at critical mass, the relentless pressure on her nipple fueling a fierce delirium, her sex gorged full as Jack slid in a third finger, his thumb targeting her clit, the pads of his fingers delicately massaging her G-spot. Each compelling pull of his mouth on her nipple, every flickering caress of her clit and G-spot expertly stoking the rapture higher and higher. Until she was squirming, breathless, trembling. “Now, now, now!” she cried, pushing his hand away from her mouth, sliding her fingers through his hair, making fists, and pulling his face up. “You hear me?”

  He winced as her fingers tightened in his hair, then smiled. “I do. Keep your voice down and let go of my hair.” Although her eyes were wild with lust, she was slick and fiery hot around his fingers; he wasn’t sure his message was getting through until her hands dropped to the table.

  Quickly readjusting his fingers on her sensitive clit and G-spot, he drew her nipple back into his mouth. Then he flexed his wrist infinitesimally, applied a delicate, riveting pressure to her sweet spots, and simultaneously sucked on her nipple so fiercely she felt the violent tremor where he wanted her to feel it, in the hot, quivering center of her body.

  Stunned, panting, she shuddered as a tiny orgasmic flutter began to stir deep inside her.

  Jack felt it too.

  Crunch time.

  Quickly skimming her little bundles of nerves with facile, never-fail strokes of his fingers and thumb, he bit down lightly on her nipple, then not so lightly, then not lightly at all. He heard her moan, felt her tense, recognized the strengthening orgasmic ripple glide over his fingers and shifted his hand from her breast to her mouth…with perfect timing.

  Her muffled scream warmed his palm.

  And as Jillian’s climax exploded, every over-stimulated nerve in her body blasted into orbit, a killing pleasure hammered her senses, undiluted bliss swamped her brain, and the world disappeared.

  Sensitive to the nuances of her body, Jack skillfully maintained her seething hysteria, prolonged the soul-stirring rapture, insuring an expansive, long-lasting, mind-blowing orgasm.

  Unaware of the expertise necessary to deliver the promised satisfaction, Jillian simply reveled in the raw, irrepressible delirium scorching through her body, up her spine, down her legs, dazzling her senses, creaming her sex in wave after wave of fierce, tempestuous ecstasy.

  Always a charitable lover, Jack was even more solicitous tonight, meticulously attentive to Jillian’s passions, responding to her smallest quivering need, gratifying her desires in full, lavish measure until her cries finally faded away.

  When her eyes fluttered opened a few moments later, Jack raised his hand a scant half inch from her mouth and smiled. “Remember where you are?”

  “Top floor of nirvana,” she said, faintly.

  “Good enough.” He lifted his hand away, eased his fingers from her pussy. “Sorry about that, but”—he shot a glance upward—“Zeke.”

  “Thanks.” A dreamy smile. “And thanks for letting me smell the roses. But most of all thanks and for that heavenly, end-less orgasm.” She arched her back, slowly stretched and gave him a lazy wink. “My compliments. You’re a natural autocrat.”

  He laughed. “I have my moments. And you’re candy sweet, Jilly-bean. Word of God. Good enough to eat.” He grinned. “Later.”

  She leaned back on her hands, arched one brow. “What about you?”

  “Plenty of time.” She had a lot of making up to do after three years of celibacy. That wasn’t his problem; never had been. He could afford to be polite.

  “Let me be the judge of that.” She smiled. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  “Are you asking me to undress?” His voice was softly teasing.

  “You betcha.”

  He grinned. “Hot to go again?”

  “Yeah. It’s you. Beautiful face, killer body, super good hands”—she smiled—“and at the risk of sounding like all your other girlfriends, your dick is world-class.” Her voice turned sultry. “I need it in me yesterday.”

  He laughed. “At least we took the edge off. That should help a little.”

  “I’m not making any promises. It’s one of those nights.”

  “You have them often?” he asked, his gaze coolly assessing.

  “Only with you. You can stop scowling.”

  “Sorry. I have no idea why I said that.” Bending over, he began untying his boots. He had no intention of getting anywhere near the word, jealousy.

  “Lordy, lordly, if you aren’t the poster boy for studly,” she purred, her attention veering, her gaze on his broad shoulders and sleek back, the corded muscles taut in his arms as he stretched downward. “I’m getting all shivery just looking at you.”

  He glanced up through a fall of dark hair. “I don’t know about shivery, but looking at your big boobs makes me hard. I should get a picture for those times when I need cheering up.” Straightening, he kicked off his boots.

  “That happen often?”

  He shrugged. “I see a lotta crap in this job. Actually not so much,” he quickly corrected. A half-truth, a deliberate conversational shift. Tonight wasn’t about reality. Tonight was about sex, sex and more sex. Stripping off his socks, he tossed them on his boots, took a breath to get himself back where he wanted to be and reached for the metal button at the waistband of his jeans.

  And instantly reestablished Jillian’s focus. “Yessss!” She clapped her hands. “Now for the best part!”

  He stopped, looked up. “You some giddy teenager?”

  “Would you be stripping for a giddy teenager?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She waved her hand. “Go on.”

  He laughed. “You’re different.”

  “Good different or bad different?” she cheerfully asked, undeterred in her happiness after her stupendous orgasm.

  “I-hit-the-lottery different,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans. “Seriously if I believed in a higher power”—down went his zipper—“I’d thank him or her for bringing you into my life.”

  “So we’re both pretty freaking happy tonight.”

  “Yeah. Happy. Nice word.” He stood with his hands on the waistband of his jeans, the word, happiness, messing with his jaundiced view of the world.

  “Are you shy?”

  “What?” He looked at her from a distant planet.

  “Shy. You stopped undressing.”

  Returning to the world, he shook his head. “Nah, not me.” With a sweep of his hands, and a smooth flex of ba
ck muscles, he shoved his jeans and boxers down his hips, legs, over his feet, kicked them aside and stood upright. “Let’s try the sofa.”

  He stood oblivious to his rampant dick and his nakedness, his voice without inflection, a kind of quelling bluntness to his suggestion. It rankled. She should let it go. “My name is Jillian Penrose,” she said, not letting it go. “You know the one with the two year old kid.”

  “I know who you are.” He spoke in a monotone, looking past her. Then softly exhaling, he remembered his manners and apologized because it was easier than trying to explain his current mind fuck. “Sorry, long day. If I get spacey, just smack me hard. Or if I’m rude, ditto.”

  “And when I get pissy just tell me to shut the fuck up.” She sighed. “I’m having trouble with whatever this”—she did a back and forth flick of her finger—“is or isn’t.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” He shrugged. “But screw it. We don’t have to understand every fucking thing right away. Come on.” He held out his hand. “We’ll sit on the sofa and see what happens.” He grinned. “Although we’d have more fun if you were naked too.”

  Jumping off the table, she untied her pajama bottoms and let them drop to the floor.

  “Quick.” His smile dazzled. “I like that.”

  “Sometimes I like quick with my sex too.”

  “Not a problem. I just figured the first time tonight you should feel the glow for more than a second.”

  “Thanks.” She slid her hand in his. “It was nice. Like a trip to the moon, magic carpet ride, and Fourth of July fireworks all rolled into one.”

  “Good,” he said.

  She shot him a look.

  “I’m really glad you liked it,” he quickly amended, understanding a modicum more feeling was expected of him. “I hoped you would.”

  “I’m unique,” she said with a twitch of a grin. “Just so you know.”

  “Yes, you are. Especially to me. I’d like to say only to me, but that would be fucking irrational considering I just met you three days ago.” His smile was somewhere between rueful and amused. “It’s fucking voodoo damned if it ain’t.”

  “So voodoo sex next?”

  “Yup.” Sitting on the couch, he pulled her down, lifted her so she was straddling his thighs, eased her ass up with one hand, guided the head of his dick into her slick cleft with the other and said, “I’ll let you take it from here.” He knew how to control himself, but it would be better if she set the pace. She’d had a little trouble earlier accommodating his size.