The Naughty Pleasures Bundle (Naughty Pleasures: Volume 1/Naughty Pleasures: Volume 2/Naughty Pleasures: Volume 3)

by Abbie Cole

  THE NAUGHTY PLEASURES BUNDLE

  Nine Short Erotic Tales

  NAUGHTY PLEASURES VOLUME 1

  NAUGHTY PLEASURES VOLUME 2

  NAUGHTY PLEASURES VOLUME 3

  Abbie Cole

  THE NAUGHTY PLEASURES BUNDLE

  Copyright © 2012 by Abbie Cole

  Cover design by Abbie Cole

  Kindle Edition, License notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Kindle and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real person, living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  To behave in an inappropriate way

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  THE SWING

  THE ALLEY

  THE RELEASE

  GHOSTLY ORGASMS

  SATISFIED

  MY WORK FUCK BUDDY

  SWALLOWING THE GRAVY

  THEIR NAUGHTY MÉNAGE

  DADDY’S NAUGHTY LITTLE GIRL

  THE SWING

  “A Swing!” I stopped before a padded bench, two people wide suspended from a cast-iron stand set under a large weeping willow tree in a secluded edge of the immense lawn. “What a neat idea. It must be new.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Jonathan stopped beside me. I notice a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “What if we’re interrupted? Again. By the others.” He is one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen.

  “We won’t be. I can assure you they won’t notice we’re gone—they’re otherwise occupied. We can do whatever we please, and right now, what pleases me is to do you.” He made the last phrase a challenge, a dare.

  I moisten my lips. “How, then?”

  Drawing me to him I encouragingly obey, with an aloof air, as if reserving judgment on his expertise. A subtle taunting, an encouragement to impress. Suppressing a smile of anticipation, he lowers his head and covers my lips.

  Kissing me until I’d forgotten all notion of aloofness, I cling, my lips to his, my arms about his shoulders, my hands sink into his hair.

  “Take off your dress.” He orders. Murmuring the words against my slightly parted lips, he takes my mouth again, dragging my willing senses down into the heat of the kiss. Into the fire and flames that so steadily burn between us.

  I know he is way more experienced than me. In my limited experience, it has never been like this—never been such a simple, easy, rapid descent into ravenous desire. Into a primitive place, a place where the need to be possessed rules absolutely. With him, it has never been any other way, which is how I’d known, from the first. I know that, ultimately, I would sell my very soul for him, if that’s what was asked.

  Being in his arms, I don’t care; with my body arching, flagrantly demanding against his, I know only the need to appease him, to feed and satisfy my hungry senses and, thus, his.

  As he tugs up my short, soft cotton dress, I whimper. Delightful shivers race to my pussy. I know exactly what he wants to see, needs to see, from me today. What he wants, needs—has to have. We are both breathing rapidly, both dark-eyed, tense with expectation.

  “Lift your arms.”

  Drawing the dress off over my head, it leaves my short spiky hair, standing even more on end. His eyes glued on my body, concealed only by my demi-cup, push-up bra showing my full breasts to advantage above the hot pink silk and a tiny scrap of silk barely concealing the treasure hidden between my thighs; blindly, he tosses my dress onto the ground nearby. I feel his hand at my back, unfastening my bra. And now he reaches for me.

  I come eagerly this time, no pretense of aloofness necessary; my desire for him is the most important thought swirling around in my head. I want everything he is going to give me. My intense need for him glitters in my eyes, my lips lift again to his.

  He closes his hands around my waist. I rejoice in the power of his hands as he slides them down to my hips and gathers me to him. He molds me against him so I can feel his desire, and moans, rocking my hips against the iron length of his erection. I all but melt in his arms, my body softens, enticingly.

  A small moan parts my lips as his tongue rakes over my lower lip, gently sucking it into his mouth, nipping at my swollen flesh. I kiss him back, and set aside all reservations. I can care less if we are interrupted. Let them watch. I want him; he wants me—for this precise moment, that is enough. I need to be with him again, close, skin on skin, so our hearts beat together and our pulses pound as sweat soaks our heated bodies.

  His hands, roving over me, sets my skin on fire, then glide lower; I hear a tear as he yanks the silk from my hips, the slight hint of pain as the ripping silk bites into my hip before breaking free, his palms on bare skin, fondling, kneading my firm, round ass, gripping with his strong hands. His long fingers slide down and inward to stroke the drenched cleft between my legs, caress my plump pink lips. Running his forefinger around my opening, he opens me, testing, pressing in to my glistening channel. My pussy clenches around his finger as he slides his finger in and out in masterful strokes, coaxing pleasure from every inch of my body.

  Drinking in my gasp through our kiss, he takes in my breath as he strokes and probes. Drawing back from the kiss, he withdraws his hands from me. One still remaining on my hip, he steadies me, the other slips between us; I feel him fiddling at his waist, looking down, I move my hands down his chest, brush his hands away and cup the huge bulge in his jeans. I deal with the zipper and rip open his jeans; my lips curve as I lay him bare. His cock engorged and erect buoyed in front of him, jutting from the nest of trimmed pubic hair at the base.

  I swallow, easing the dryness in my throat, wetting my lips as I fill my hand with his rock-hard cock and start pumping his smooth length, rubbing my thumb over the crown of his cock spreading the drop of pre-come over the tip. I hear his raspy breathing as he sucks in, feel him tense. His hardened flesh grows even harder with each stroke of my hand. I feel his breath growing labored. I close my hand firmly. Marveling at the contrast of velvety softness enclosing such potent, patently masculine strength, I allow my nails to gently score upward.

  I repeat the torture three times before he carefully disengages; for just a moment, I question if he is breathing. Until he begins stepping back and sitting on the swing, urging me to follow. “Are you ready for my big, hard cock?”

  My mouth opening, all I can do is nod.

  “Kneel astride.”

  I don’t argue, not questioning because I am desperate to feel his hard cock. I submit sweetly to his commands. Putting one knee up, now the other, I feel the damask cushion under both knees, straddling his muscular thighs. I wrap my arms around his neck, tilt my head and set my lips to his, shifting ever so closer, until my stomach meets the hard wall of his abdomen, sliding sensuously down. The touch of his clothes, rough against my soft skin, is a reminder of my nakedness and his relatively clothed state.

  He ravages my mouth and urges m
e lower. His hand is beneath me, guiding me, guiding the head of his erection into the softness of my swollen labia drenched with my juices. I feel its touch, feel the strength as he presses in just a little, just past the constriction. My lungs seize and I stop, then, slowly, slowly—as slowly as I can—I ease fraction by fraction down, taking him in, glorying in the pressure, the fullness, the ease with which my body adjusts, then closes eagerly about him.

  I don’t stop until I impale myself fully. I can’t breathe. My skin alive, heated, nerves flickering.

  Now he captures my mouth, his tongue thrusting deep, fracturing my attention. Mouth and teeth scrape. I feel his thigh, beneath mine, flexing.

  The swing begins to rock.

  Sensations wash through me. Surprisingly, I cling, as I press closer, I feel his hands on my legs, urging me to wrap them around his hips. The heat of his body washes over me, engulfs me; something primitive prowls just behind his mask.

  I do, and he is now even deeper inside me; the sensations intensify, driven by the swing, by the increasing momentum. The swing is well oiled, well balanced; the occasional push from Jonathan’s foot is enough to keep us whooshing gently back and forth.

  Which one of us started the dance, I am not sure, layering one rhythm atop another, matching an effortless thrust and withdrawal to the swing’s motion. Amplifying the effect, I control it, using my arms to ease myself up, using my locked legs as leverage. Once I have the rhythm established, our bodies are merging freely, deeply, in absolute harmony, his hands leave my hips, moving over my skin, caressing, knowingly stroking, igniting a million small fires that slowly, gradually, coalesce into a blaze, an inferno.

  A vortex of heat and movements sweep us up and send them whizzing dizzily back down, it snatches our breath, pressing pleasure and yet more pleasure upon us, through us, one to the other, then back again.

  The ultimate give-and-take, the epitome of sharing.

  As I cling, my lips mold with his, my mouth all his, as is my body. I can feel Jonathan give himself up to this, to me, to what he now needs beyond all else.

  This is what I had wanted today, this complete, unreserved giving. My legs, naked, wrapped around his hips, his hands on my skin, are able to touch and savor as he wishes. My body, slick, hot, all but molten, encloses him, clamps down as the swing descends, easing as it swings up again. Open and generous and his.

  Again, and again, and again.

  The powerful repetition for once beyond his control holds me captive, holding my senses in unparalleled delight. Until we fracture.

  I shatter in his arms, my cry muted by our kiss; he follows, shooting his seed deep within. As the swing slows and I catch my breath, his arms hold me. My head falls forward against his chest. “Ohhh.”

  The power that had flowed, briefly but so powerfully, that had so effortlessly fused us not just in this world but beyond it, is undeniable.

  I drag in a breath; my lungs are still too tight. He nuzzles the curls around my ears and sets the swing in motion once again.

  A shiver of ecstasy spirals through me. Eyes widen, I stare as his hands rise to close once again around my breasts. Inside, I feel him stir, strengthen, grow fatter with each sway of the swing.

  Then he pushes harder. His fingers close tight around my nipples. My lids fall. “Good God!” My body responds eagerly to his expert touch.

  Cupping my breasts gently in his large hands, I writhe in torment as his tongue swirls around my taut nipple. I arch my back into him pushing my breasts even more deeply into his mouth. His abrasive tongue rasps, licking until it is a hard, aching pebble.

  “Please, Jonathan.” I rock, moving onto my knees for more leverage. Warm heat slithers down my spine, liquid heat pools in my pussy.

  He glances up, his eyes lock with mine, he grunts, thrusting his hips up, moving his cock deep in me at the same time pressing my breasts together while biting and tonguing my tightly furled nipples.

  I gasp as his strong hands suddenly leave my breasts to grip my waist, assisting with the lifting and lowering of my body over his straining shaft. I pant, my clit throbs, the sensations of the trail of hair from his navel to his groin rub against my swollen nub enhancing the tremors of pleasure shooting through my body as his cock throbs inside of me.

  A sob escapes my throat as I slam my pussy onto his cock taking him all the way inside. I can’t breathe deep enough, my breath burns in my lungs. “Fuck, Jonathan,” I can barely make out my own voice.

  The friction of our heated bodies sizzles, as he fucks me, or as I fuck him is just like a match dropped on dry kindling. We have become a roaring inferno of lust.

  My movements grow even more frantic as I ride him harder. His huge cock slides in and out of my hot body. Faster. Harder. Deeper. My breathing is sharp and fast.

  With our sweat-slicked bodies pressing together, he bites down hard on my nipple and I cry out, shuddering with the thrust of his cock and the gentle rock of the swing as my orgasm slams into me.

  I feel the small throaty vibration in his chest, he jerks, pulsing deeply into my pussy as he comes, my tight muscles milking him dry.

  Every last drop!

  THE ALLEY

  “You get compliments all the time,” he said as we turned the corner onto another narrow, quiet street.

  “Yes. But most don’t truly mean anything.” I stop to lean against a rough stone wall, my head tips back to look up at him with my bright green eyes. He towers over me, which I find exceedingly attractive. Big and bulky, extremely masculine and very easy on the eyes. “No one ever means what they say, not really.” I try to practice one of my pouts on him, but he seems to be immune to my so called charms.

  Phillip leans his hands against the wall on either side of me. His large, strong body shields me from the cold wind, and encloses me with his heat. He smells of smoke and whiskey and soap. He smells delicious and I would like to eat him alive.

  “Are you fishing for compliments?” His deep voice flows down my spine, my nerves jump in my belly, sending tingles down to settle in my pussy.

  “You wouldn’t give me one anyway.” I grumble, rolling my eyes up at him, now closely watching him through my lashes. Reaching up, I curl my fingers into the front of his coat and pull him closer. The coarse wool tickles my bare skin, and I can feel the shift of his magnificent body underneath, my pussy is growing warm and sending a deep flush over my entire body. The cool night air a welcome respite.

  “So you don’t believe me?” he whispers close to my ear. “You are so beautiful. But very insecure.”

  “Insecure?” I laugh, trying for my usual carelessness, but even to myself I sound uncertain and shaky. “I am the luckiest girl in the world. What do I have to be insecure about?”

  “You tell me.” He smiles, before gently brushing the back of his hand over my cheek, his knuckles softly skimming over my skin. “What are you hiding, Emma?”

  Pursing my lips for a moment before answering, “You are the one who knows about secrets. The stories I’ve heard about you,” I cock my head and then playfully push him before laying my hands flat against his chest, kneading the firm muscles with my fingers as I look up through my lashes. “They make my ears burn.”

  “Me?” He meets my eyes, hunger evident in their dark depths. His fingers slide slowly down my throat, resting just where my pulse pounds in the vulnerable hollow. “I’m just a simple man, an open book to anyone who is willing to read me.”

  The look in his eyes is setting my pussy on fire. I squirm against the bricks attempting to ease the damp ache between my legs. “I’m not stupid, Phillip. There is nothing simple about you.” Wrapping my arms around his shoulders I tug him closer to me, feeling his thick erection, hard against my belly. Rising up on my tip-toes, I lean into him.

  Staring down at me in the darkness, his hand pressed to my throat. “I’d like to make other parts of you burn…”

  “I’m sure you would like to try.”

  “Believe what you will.”

&n
bsp; “If I cared what people said, I wouldn’t be here with you now.”

  I love the sound of his laugh. “Me neither. We’re not good for each other, Emma.”

  I smile up at him. “What makes you say that?”

  “You make me want to do dangerous things.” He presses closer to me.

  “Is that a bad thing?” Suddenly, I feel very naughty. “I think sometimes we are very good for each other.” I press a soft kiss to the hard line of his jaw. The new growth of his beard prickles at my lips making me laugh. I spread a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses along his cheek and catch his earlobe in my teeth, biting down lightly.

  I can feel his groan, “Emma…”

  “Don’t you like that, Phillip?” I whisper in his ear. Leaning my body against his I can feel the heaviness of his erection through our clothes. “I think you do.”

  “Of course I do, baby. I like it too much.”

  “There’s no such thing.” I slide my hands up over his shoulders. They are tense and hard, as if he is struggling to hold himself back. I bury my fingers into his hair, the silken strands wrap around my skin. “I like this, too. I’ve never felt the way I do when I’m with you, Phillip. I know it won’t last. I know soon you’ll disappear again. But for now—will you kiss me?”

  He shakes his head, but he doesn’t turn away from me. It is as if he can’t help himself. His lips capture mine, open and hungry and rough.

  I meet him eagerly, welcoming the thrust of his tongue into my mouth. He pushes me back against the wall as my head leans against the stone we kiss and kiss. I don’t feel the cold or the hard brick at my back. Whenever we come together like this, I know only him.

  The blood runs hot in my veins, burning me from the inside out. I taste him in my mouth, mint and whiskey and darkness, and it makes me want more. I want to fall into him, and I want him to want me just as much, a feeling so primal and basic it will not be forced away.