Dangerous Pleasures

by Fiona Zedde

  “We’re not done yet.”

  Breathless laughter bubbled again from her guest. “I hope not. I haven’t gotten to touch you yet.”

  “You’ll definitely get your chance.”

  Mayson pushed open the bedroom door and guided Fa-timah with steady, devouring kisses—her hands on her breasts, the lush ass—into the room already glowing with light from the bedside lamp. On the bed, Fatimah twisted in her arms to turn off the light.

  “Leave it on,” Mayson growled.

  She liked seeing what she was getting. Lights-off sex was never her scene even when she had briefly slept with men in college. The movement of light over sweating flesh was an endless source of pleasure for her. Rippling, sweat-soaked skin. Bared teeth. She liked to see the animal her lovers became in that intimate act, stripped bare of everything civilized and wanting nothing more than to satisfy that down-low ache.

  “I like that you like to look,” Fatimah whispered.

  She flicked open the buttons on Mayson’s shirt one by one, revealing skin an inch at a time. Mayson’s nipples pebbled, eager for more contact, but she forced herself to be patient. Fatimah didn’t seem to be in a hurry.

  The woman dipped her head to enclose a newly bared nipple in her hot, wet mouth. Mayson groaned low in her throat, reveling in the tongue licking slowly at her nipples, circling the hard tips, then the mouth sucking again until she thought she would wash away on the river of lust between her legs.

  “Yes…,” she hissed, gripping Fatimah’s head tight against her.

  She squeezed her legs together to hold the sensation close.

  “No, baby. Let me in there.” Fingers slipped between her parted thighs, stroking her dripping pussy.

  “You’re so wet.” A low gasp of surprise and delight. Fingers swam inside her, playing over her clit. “You feel so damn good.”

  Fatimah’s mouth wandered low, licking its way down her tightened belly. That mouth on her clit stopped her breath. Then started it again.

  “Christ!” She arched up in the bed, into the heated mouth, into a hungrily lapping tongue that knew its way around a wet pussy. “Fuck, yes.” She urged her on with low growls.

  The tongue flicked her clit faster, alternating licks and sucks until Mayson’s body was a tight arch, ready for its release. Fatimah’s greedy mouth dove into her pussy. The wet slurps, the groans of her enjoyment.

  “God, yes. Yes!” Her body exploded. She crushed her pussy against Fatimah’s face.

  The woman crawled up her body, face wet. “I hope you can go again,” she murmured. “The way you taste made me so hot.” She licked Mayson’s mouth, flooding Mayson’s nostrils with the salty scent of her own sex.

  “Kiss me,” Fatimah murmured. “Turn around so I can kiss you, too.”

  She waved her sexy pink cunt in front of Mayson’s face.

  Light played over Fatimah’s body as she sat up in the bed and stretched. Under Mayson’s hands those curves had been inspiring, a pleasure to caress and taste and stroke against the sheets. Her mouth watered for another taste. A smile played on Fatimah’s face as if she knew Mayson was watching. She raked her hands through her short hair, fingers making the sound of a sigh through black curls, and got out of the bed.

  Her body was soft, symmetric seduction as she sauntered naked across the room. At the low oak bookshelf that also served as a padded window seat, she knelt. Spine arched, ass out. Heat flared between Mayson’s thighs. Fatimah trailed her fingers along the spines of Mayson’s leather-bound set of law books.

  “This is pretty heavy reading,” she said, picking one at random, flipping it open to a page.

  “I was a lawyer once upon a time. Some books I couldn’t throw away.”

  Her guest made a noncommittal noise, then rose gracefully, a book held open just below her breasts.

  Fatimah’s lips parted and she began to read a paragraph on tort law.

  “Does that turn you on?” She looked up at Mayson with a raised eyebrow, the book still framing heavy breasts and dark nipples that Mayson longed to pinch and lick, then pinch again.

  Some women are into the strangest things. Mayson allowed her smile to show. “What you read, no. How you read it, definitely.”

  To prove it, she touched herself very lightly with fingers that came away wet.

  “Hm.” The woman smiled and closed the book. To her credit, she put it back exactly where she found it, lining it up with the other spines before getting once again to her feet and giving Mayson a slow, considering look.

  Whatever game she was playing, Mayson liked. She’d never had a groupie before, and this one was certainly sexy enough to make the bother worth it. As interested as Fatimah was in fucking her, she also seemed intent on peeking into Mayson’s life. She moved from bookshelves to paintings to photographs to sculptures, taking in everything she saw as eagerly as she’d taken Mayson’s fingers inside her pussy.

  Fatimah pulled open the closet doors and stepped inside. The light clicked on. “My God, you are really organized.”

  From her position on the bed, Mayson could see the curve of her arm, the hint of her bare backside. Without seeing it happen, she knew Fatimah ran her fingers along the clothes suspended from their hangers, organized by garment type, color, and fabric weight. When the woman started opening drawers inside the closet, Mayson decided she’d had enough.

  When Mayson walked up silently behind her and touched her hips, Fatimah startled, abruptly slamming the sock drawer shut. “You moved so fast,” she said breathlessly.

  “You just weren’t paying attention.” Her heart thumped wildly under Mayson’s hand.

  Mayson soothed her with a light caress, stroking her hip with one hand, the satin curve of her breast with the other. A nipple hardened between her fingers. Heavy thighs parted. Fatimah leaned back into her as the wetness between her legs thickened.

  Satisfied, Mayson bent to lick the curve of her ear, her throat. Fatimah groaned and dropped her head back in surrender. Her clit plumped and Mayson’s fingers slid easily inside her warmth.

  “Can I fuck you again? Or do you want to keep snooping?”

  The woman chuckled hoarsely. Her hips moved hungrily toward Mayson’s fingers. Sweat broke out in lovely prickles against her skin and Mayson licked her shoulder, down her back, the gloriously thick curve of her ass. Salty sweet. Her fingers didn’t pause their motion as she went to her knees, pushed Fatimah back against the low bank of drawers, nudged her thighs wider.

  “Yes,” Fatimah moaned. “Fuck me.” Her fingers clamped onto Mayson’s shoulder and squeezed. “Fuck me, please.”

  And Mayson was never one to deny a woman her request.

  * * *

  “Thanks. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

  Standing in the doorway, once again in her street clothes, Fatimah looked well-satisfied, well-relaxed. An echo of the feelings that sat in Mayson’s body. The woman slid her fingers up the lapels of Mayson’s robe and pulled her down for a kiss.

  Damp lips. Wetter tongue. The lazy exploration of mouths that was both a hello and a good-bye.

  “Glad I could be of service,” Mayson murmured, licking at the corner of her mouth.

  “I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

  Enjoy was an understatement. Fatimah, she found out in the course of their abbreviated pillow talk and third round of spine-melting sex, was a massage therapist who knew her way around a woman’s body. Her fingers, short and agile, delved into places that made Mayson gasp in surprise, then in hedonistic satisfaction.

  Mayson chuckled. “Absolutely.”

  Fatimah’s round cheeks creased with laughter. “See you around, teacher.”

  She tucked her purse under her arm and turned to walk down the short flight of stairs leading to the circular drive and the street. The hem of the pretty red dress kissed her knees with each step. Mayson watched her for a while, enjoying the simple pleasure of woman and early morning before going back upstairs to her thankfully empty bed
.

  Chapter 3

  “Tell me again why I allowed you to talk me into coming with you to this party?” Mayson narrowed her eyes at Renee. She shifted her shoulders under the long-sleeved shirt and vest, wishing for the umpteenth time she’d worn something cooler. Already she could feel the sweat gathering at the small of her back.

  “Because I’ve done stuff like this for you more times than I can count.”

  Mayson grunted. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her slacks, looking around the room full of corporate types who worked with or for Renee’s firm, Banes Unlimited. Her best friend was easily the sexiest woman there, in her peach-colored dress draped Grecian style around her slender form.

  “Come on, honey.” Renee looped her arm through May-son’s. “Lighten up. I know you could be at the club getting ass from some hot girl, but explore the possibilities here.” She flashed her dimples at Mayson. “Besides, you’re here to support me, not have fun.”

  Mayson chuckled wryly. “As long as I know the real deal.”

  They strolled together through the crowd, Renee pressed to Mayson’s side as they took in the eye candy, such as it was. In a ballroom full of suits, self-identified corporate studs, and the very occasional attractive woman under fifty-five, Renee was getting the better end of the deal.

  Walking so closely together, Mayson knew they ran the usual risk. People often thought they were a couple. Some asked; most just assumed and treated them as such. But Mayson would tell anyone who asked that they were best friends and had been ever since Renee beat the crap out of a schoolyard bully who’d tried to rally the rest of their four-year-old classmates into making fun of Mayson and her accent, both newly arrived from Jamaica.

  Renee’s parents were from Jamaica and, although she never had the accent, she passionately loved all things Jamaican. Even the new girl in class whom she hadn’t spoken to until the bully hit the dirt, holding his nose and calling for teacher.

  “There’s my boss,” Renee hissed as they moved through the arched entryway leading to another crowded ballroom. “Let’s not walk that way.”

  At Renee’s direction, they made a sharp right toward a smaller room decorated like a seventeenth-century French palace complete with over-the-top Louis XIV–style furniture and a large portrait of the Sun King on the wall. A jazz quartet played a lazy number in the middle of the room.

  “Alonzo is such a waste of space,” Mayson muttered. “I don’t know why you don’t just knife him one night and have done with it.”

  “Because I would go to jail.” Renee emphasized the last word with a light pinch to Mayson’s side.

  Laughing, Mayson jumped back from her.

  “Alonzo has been a dick since the day you started working for him, Renee. It’ll be a relief for us both when you quit and leave all that stress behind.”

  “Yeah…”

  Mayson spied the chocolate fountain at the back of the room and homed in on it, pulling Renee in her wake.

  “Keep talking,” she said. “I’m listening.”

  An infusion of chocolate would be the perfect thing to make the evening more bearable, Mayson thought. As they moved toward the chocolate, the band started playing a livelier song. Some brave souls got up to dance. A short Elvis look-alike balancing three glasses of champagne in his hands stumbled toward them. She pulled Renee closer to her side and maneuvered around him.

  “Anyway, quitting is easier said than done,” Renee said. “When I leave, I want to do something on my own, not keep slaving to earn someone else a paycheck.”

  Mayson nodded but kept her mouth shut. For the past two years, at least, Renee had been miserable working for Alonzo Banes. She knew what she wanted to do. She knew how to do it. She was just scared.

  When she grunted, Renee looked at her sharply. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  At the chocolate fountain, she stopped to take a deep and respectful breath. The dark, rich scent of melted chocolate made her taste buds all want to hop in for a swim. By mutual agreement, they put the discussion on hold. Renee held a skewer lined with strawberries under the chocolate stream.

  Mayson plucked one of the berries off the bamboo skewer and bit into it. “Thanks.” She grinned down at Renee.

  “Renee, you’re looking delectable as usual.”

  Mayson heard her friend groan with irritation, but the smile she turned to face her boss was absolutely brilliant. Wearing his signature gray—sport coat, jeans, a darker gray handkerchief stuck in the breast pocket—Alonzo Banes stood much too close. Mayson never understood why such a relatively young guy would wear such an aging color. The perpetual gray of his outfits only emphasized the few streaks of silver in his thick hair.

  “Interesting word choice, Alonzo. I didn’t think you knew any with that many syllables.” Renee flashed her boss her pearly whites while her brown eyes remained cold.

  Mayson would never want to be on the receiving end of that look.

  “For you, I’d happily extend myself.” He stared at Renee like he wanted to devour her.

  Jesus.

  “Mayson, you remember my boss, Alonzo.”

  Mayson nodded at the man. “Evening,” she said.

  He didn’t offer his hand and Mayson didn’t put hers out either.

  “A pleasure, ladies.”

  Mayson felt his eyes on her trying to see past the starched front of her button-down shirt and black vest. He licked his lips, looking from her to Renee, a fantasy obviously playing through his head.

  Yeah, definitely a knife for this asshole.

  “It’s been fun.” Renee looped her arm through Mayson’s again and steered her away from her boss. And away from the chocolate. Mayson sighed.

  Once out of earshot, Renee made a sound of disgust. Mayson allowed herself to be pulled into a smaller room with comfortable chairs, a few people scattered around, and a breeze blowing in through the open French doors. They sank into a green velvet love seat, sighing in unison.

  “You know that chocolate fountain was the highlight of my evening,” Mayson muttered. She leaned back in the chair, trying to decide how annoyed she wanted to be.

  “I know.” With a flourish, Renee produced a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and cream puffs. “For your trouble,” she said with a teasing laugh.

  “If I ever doubted your love…” Mayson pounced on the plate.

  Renee laughed. “You are so easy.”

  “Yes, and don’t you forget it.” Mayson split a cream puff with her tongue, enjoying the thick, semisweet cream sliding over her taste buds. Heaven.

  Renee laughed again as they settled into the sofa to people-watch in silence. The pretty boys were in plentiful supply tonight. The pretty girls were not.

  Ah well. Mayson shrugged.

  “As much as I love my gay brothers, I have to wonder if there are any straight men aside from Alonzo”—Renee made a face—“at this party?”

  “If that’s what you’re looking for, I can’t help you with that.” Mayson grinned around a strawberry. Its juice was even sweeter with the chocolate.

  “I don’t know why. I’ve helped you find girls before.”

  “Nothing I could keep.”

  “As if you’re really looking for anything permanent. I love you, Mayson. But you’re just too damn picky.”

  “I think you just hurt my feelings.”

  “Doubtful.” Renee snagged a glass of champagne from a passing tray. The light filtering through the liquid and bubbles and glass shimmered against her cheek as she lifted the wine to her lips. Renee’s laughing eyes drifted up to catch Mayson’s.

  “Once upon a time I would’ve—” Something bumped into Mayson’s shoulder from behind, stopping her words.

  Wetness flooded down her neck and shoulder. Mayson jumped up from her seat.

  “Shit! I’m so sorry.” A woman materialized from behind the love seat, frantically wiping at the spreading stain on Mayson’s shirt and the front of her vest.

  How long
had she owned this vest without anything spilling on it? Mayson turned to the woman with irritation. Big brown eyes framed by a thicket of black lashes stared up at her. A full mouth, brightened with lipstick, smiled in apology.

  “Sorry,” the woman said again. She shoved her empty wineglass onto a nearby shelf and bent to wipe again at the stain on Mayson’s chest and shoulder.

  Beside her, Renee smirked. She stepped back and allowed the woman to clean. Mayson frowned at her friend. This shit is not funny.

  The woman stopped wiping and straightened. “I’m so clumsy. Please let me pay for this.” She paused at the look on Mayson’s face. “Please. I insist.”

  “It’s only white wine,” Mayson finally, grudgingly, said. “I’m sure it won’t stain.”

  “Still, it needs to be cleaned.” The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a card. “Let’s exchange cards and I’ll get this taken care of as soon as possible.”

  Her long, manicured fingers curled around a piece of cream-colored stationery. When Mayson didn’t immediately reach for the card, she tucked it into the damp vest pocket.

  Mayson didn’t bother reaching for a card of her own. “Really, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” She tugged at the damp collar of her shirt and loosened the first two buttons.

  The woman stepped close enough for Mayson to smell her perfume, a mixture of citrus and roses. “Please. It would make me feel so much better if you accepted my offer to clean your beautiful suit.”

  The woman’s voice vibrated with seduction.

  She wasn’t bad looking, Mayson decided, watching the burgundy mouth and the way the black dress clung to her breasts and hips. The woman was slender, but beautifully proportioned with a thick ass and hefty breasts. She smiled, as if Mayson, the slow kid, had finally moved to the head of the class.

  “I’m Kendra,” she said. She offered her hand, palm down, intimacy in her gaze.

  Beside her, Renee muttered something about getting a room. Jolted from the other woman’s slumberous gaze, Mayson turned to her friend.

  “Ah, this is my friend, Renee.”