That made her laugh. “I guess he was.”
Jake moved close, until his lips were against her ear. “Let me try,” he rumbled in the deepest register he’d used yet.
“I, uh.” She took a deep breath. “Please.”
He stepped back and held out his hand. “I live upstairs. Join me?”
She took his hand and nodded.
***
He had her sit in a chair in his living room, a sturdy chair in dark blue faux leather. Then he tied a bandana around her eyes and told her to hold onto the arms of the chair. She did as he asked, struggling to catch her breath. With the blindfold on she could only listen—and feel.
The fabric of the chair felt smooth beneath her hands. Her skirt had bunched up a bit, so her bare thighs pressed against the faux leather. She tried to close her legs, but a gentle touch on each of her knees had her spreading them.
Then he stepped away. She strained to hear where he’d gone, wondering what he meant to do to her. They expected her at work. Shit, what was the time? She should have looked before . . .
She heard the strike of a match, and then the air filled with the scent of vanilla. Elise breathed in deeply, letting the action calm her. Footsteps meant Jake was returning. She strained to hear more, but only heard the sound of . . . pages turning?
“Jaqueline gasped when Richard pinched her nipple. She was so responsive. Her entire body shuddered when he touched her. He’d laid her out in his bed, her peach skin flushed against the deep red of his silk sheets. Her arms he’d stretched out over her head to better display the lush fullness of her bosom. She’d closed her eyes and looked away from him. Shy. He liked that.”
Jake was . . . reading to her from that book. Oh God.
She made a sound. It might have come out like a squeak.
Jake, bless him, never paused in his reading. “Richard knew exactly what he was going to do to her. He’d make her come so hard she’d be ruined for other men.”
Elise leaned forward to hear better. Jake had deepened and lowered his voice, speaking just above a whisper in a grizzly tone that went right to her center. Her sex dampened, and she longed to squeeze her legs together, to get some kind of relief.
And then Jake was there, his lips on her ear, still reading from that damn book.
“He caressed her breast with one hand, lifting the soft weight of it, and rubbing his thumb over her nipple.” The words were mouthed against Elise’s skin, and then, Jake lifted the edge of her turtleneck, slipping his hand beneath.
She gasped as he made contact with her skin, his hand so warm. First he unhooked her bra, and then he lifted the edges of her top to expose her breasts. The air hit her nipples, hardening them.
“Her breasts were absolutely perfect. Full and round and eager for my, I mean, his touch.”
“Jake, are you still reading from the book?”
“Shhh,” he whispered before mouthing down along her neck, then taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking it slowly.
Elise did close her legs at that point—or tried to, she ended up squeezing Jake between her thighs, causing him to moan against her skin. With his mouth still on her nipple, he slid his hands beneath her skirt and stroked the soft flesh of her inner thighs.
She sighed and tilted her hips, waiting for him to find her center.
But Jake had other ideas. “Jacqueline was like putty beneath his fingers, moaning and writhing as Richard continued to finger her, sliding deep between her folds, feeling how wet she was, all from his touch.”
As he spoke, he shifted, moving so now his face was beneath her skirt, while he kept reading the words against her body. His lips were inches from where she needed them to be. Still he kept going.
“He plunged her depths, filling her with his fingers. Soon he’d do the same with his cock, her legs stretched around him. She moaned and pushed against him, eager for more,” Jake continued. “Do you want more, Elise?”
“Yes,” she whispered, already on edge. Her clit felt hot and swollen, and she knew, just knew, with so much as a touch, she’d go off like a rocket.
Jake did more than touch. He put his lips on her clit and sucked.
The sudden sensation had her crying out. Elise tried to close her legs, but Jake’s broad shoulders kept them spread wide. His fingers joined his mouth, moving aside her underwear and stroking between her folds. She squirmed in the chair, clawing against the upholstery as she fought to get away from the swirling pleasure as Jake bared her to the air.
His mouth moved on her again, tongue swirling inside her as he pressed her open with his thumbs. She felt wanton, like the character from the story, spread open and used for Jake’s pleasure, only, it was her own pleasure. He slid inside her, two fingers that felt almost too big when pressed against her swollen folds. Elise wanted more, and she bucked up into Jake’s lips.
As if knowing exactly what she needed, he surrounded her clit again. This time he didn’t stop, and the pressure built slowly, then inexorably. Elise couldn’t escape it. She didn’t want to escape it. Pleasure swelled, starting deep inside, pulled along by Jake’s talented mouth. Elise reached the peak, and fell over it, her folds pulsing in time to the explosions of her clitoris.
She came so hard her hips lifted off the edge of the chair. Elise yelled, unable to hold back. Her orgasm rocked through her, and Jake didn’t leave her alone through it. He had one solid hand on her thigh, holding her in place as his mouth gentled on her, the sucking becoming gentle licks and nips. He kept at it, waiting until she came back to earth, gasping like she’d run a marathon. Only then did he pull away, tugging her skirt back down her lap.
Elise pulled off the bandana and stared down at him. He looked up at her with a smug little grin. “You.”
“Me.” As he kissed her, she moaned at the taste of herself on his lips.
She tried to stand up, ending up tumbling into Jake and tackling him onto the floor. Not that she minded, since she was now on top with his still hard cock pressing against her. He let out a little laugh as she straddled him, the ridge of his jeans rubbing against the remnants of her soaked underwear. “My turn.”
Elise shifted until she straddled one thigh, then undid his fly. His dick strained against the soft fabric of his boxers. She stroked it covered at first, marveling as it all but leapt into her hand. Then, she slid beneath the waistband, wrapping her fingers around hard flesh. Jake bucked up into her touch.
She trailed her finger at the tip, gathering in the bit of liquid gathered there and using it to lubricate as she stroked him. His breath started to hitch, and she noticed he wasn’t saying a thing. “What happens next? In the story?”
“What?” He looked up at her in confusion. “I suppose . . . old Richard fucks her into the mattress.”
Elise’s folds quivered in response. God, even after coming so hard, she felt she could absolutely go again. And the idea of Jake doing that to her . . . she wanted it. “Maybe Jacqueline turns the tables on him. Climbs up on top of him and rides him into tomorrow.”
He choked out a groan. “Keep . . . like that.” He put his hand over hers and guided the movement. She learned fast. Elise squeezed and stroked, watching Jake’s face, especially the way his eyes squeezed shut and how he bit those beautiful lips. He was so hard, and she was the one doing that to him, making him wanton and desperate. Jake bit his lip, and shuddered, his head bent backward as she started to speed up her strokes. She wanted to mouth along the long lines of his throat, to feel the pulse of him, and so she did, pressing her lips against his neck, sucking delicious skin salty with sweat. She felt his cock pulse against her fingers, and she squeezed in response. Then his hips rose and stilled, his entire body caught up in the moment. Oh yes, she liked that.
With a shout, he came, climaxing into her hand. “Good boy,” she teased.
Jake laughed. Then he got serious, as he sat up and cupped her cheek with one hand. “Was it good?”
She flushed and nodded. He’d proven to her that she wasn�
��t broken. She just needed a man who knew how to push her buttons. Quite literally. “I believe I’m going to have to purchase that book.”
Elise looked around for it, saddened to see the paperback had fallen to the floor, spine up. The librarian in her ached for that broken spine.
“How about you come over next Wednesday and I’ll read some more of it to you?”
Elise grinned. “It’s a date.”
I’M HER
Henry Corrigan
Catherine could hardly breathe.
Perched on the hard, plastic chair in Terminal C, she tried to focus on the red-eyed men and women power walking by, but the longer she looked, the more she found herself studying their faces, searching for that flash of recognition, looking for the one who was looking for her.
Pulling her eyes away from the crowd, Catherine stared at the scuff marks littering the floor, at the candy wrappers and string, the dust that had worked its way into the crevices of her shoes.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and then let it out slowly, like the last guest at the end of the night. With a sigh, she took stock, sensing for the first time how truly tense she was.
Releasing her grappling hook fingers, she stretched them, the creak reaching all the way up to her wrists. When she kicked out her leg, her knee cracked gunshot loud and she blushed.
Certain that someone would be looking, she eyed the crowd, but no one glanced her way. Her nearest neighbor was an elderly man one row over, sleepily scanning a newspaper. Even as she noticed him, his eyes closed.
Catherine checked her watch. It was nine fifty-seven. She had sixty-three minutes left.
With an absent nod, she tried to reassure herself. She could do it. She could wait that long and if nothing came of it, well . . . A medley of emotions played in her head, with relief providing the high notes and disappointment supplying the bass. But between them resounded an instrument she could not name, one that might have been a mix of the two, or only an echo playing along her bones.
Like a conductor brandishing her baton, Catherine silenced the medley.
Her ad had been posted late last night, leaving little time to read and even less to respond. The odds of anyone reading it, let alone being local enough to make it down . . .
Catherine hadn’t wanted to hold out hope, but she’d lain awake anyway, imagining a hundred replies, or a thousand, or a line stretching down the promenade. Near dawn she’d finally drifted off to thoughts of leaving the airport and walking bowlegged out to her car.
Fifty-nine minutes left.
She shrugged. No one would show, and if this disappointed her, well, that had always been a risk. Regardless of what happened, she would drive back to her safe, normal life.
Thinking of home, she pictured it in all its regimented glory. Right now, Katy and Michael would be outside playing, their grandmother hard at work on lunch. Everyone would smile as she walked in, her little ones’ faces streaked with sunscreen and light.
But at the thought of her mother, something close to guilt crowded around Catherine’s feet. She hadn’t liked lying, but she’d grown so tired of the older woman’s well-meaning “advice.”
“A friend of mine is coming over for dinner next week and she’s bringing her son. He’s divorced too and a nice guy. You’ve been alone too long, Cathy. I know Jim was a jerk, but why don’t you come over and, y’know, see what happens?”
The trouble was she’d tried “see what happens” and it only ever amounted to her rising frustrations. She’d lain awake for countless nights, fingers questing, brain alight, searching for that little bit of heat which would see her through one more nice, normal, all too predictable—
“G-good morning?”
Catherine jerked and almost screamed, sending the man beside her staggering back.
“Sorry!” He half shouted, eyes as wide as panes of glass. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just . . .”
“It’s all right,” Catherine said, sucking in air. “I just didn’t see you coming.”
“Sorry,” he said again, hands clasped in repentance. “I um . . . I was just looking for someone.”
“Oh?” Catherine replied, the medley rising, an orchestra tuning up.
“Yeah, and I um . . . Look, I’m really sorry to bother you but . . . Are you her?”
Catherine took the man in slowly. He’d worn blue, just as she’d asked, his thin, narrow chest wrapped in a cobalt shirt and tie. He was clean-shaven and neither handsome nor ugly, his face like that of a Dave or Pete or Brian. Over his belly, his fingers twined continuously, working themselves into ever shifting knots. Catherine studied those fingers, liking how long and dexterous they seemed.
Swallowing thickly, Catherine pointed to the chair beside her.
“Yes,” she said, voice uneven but firm. “I’m her.”
The man sat and for a long minute, neither spoke, Catherine lost in the atonal tap of his heels against the floor.
“So, um,” he said, voice faltering. “Where do we . . . I mean, how do you want to . . .?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and stopped, fingers finally stilling in his lap. Blowing a short, sharp raspberry, he sat back.
“You tell me,” he said at last, his gaze direct for the first time.
Catherine smiled at him, because apart from this stranger, there wasn’t a detail she hadn’t planned.
The airport may have been small, but security was tight, and Terminal C was the busiest of them all. No one in her family knew where she really was, but one close friend certainly did.
Said friend had called her crazy in every synonym under the sun, but her demand for details, every detail, had brought Catherine laughing ’til she ran out of breath.
Even the outfit she wore had been chosen with the same attentive care. Shoes she could run in if she had to, underwear she could afford to lose, and a skirt that billowed just enough to allow for . . . maneuvering.
Laughing quietly, Catherine tucked her head in close, lowering her voice so it drew in this stranger who could be anything she wanted, or nothing at all.
They spoke for ten minutes and though it was the most awkward conversation of her life, it was also the most honest she’d been with anyone in longer than she cared to admit.
For his part, Dave or Pete or Brian said little, agreeing to everything she asked. What few demands he made were simple, even exciting, and by the time she stood, Catherine felt a new energy suffusing her limbs.
“Give me two minutes, then follow me in,” she said, his smile following her as she left.
The bathroom she’d chosen was small but serviceably spare, wrapped up in the smell of industrial lemon. When the knock finally came, Catherine’s heart thudded as she threw open the door.
Wordlessly Dave or Pete or Brian slipped past, taking his place atop the toilet. Locking the door behind them, Catherine smiled at this stranger with his blue shirt and hungry grin.
They stared at each other for a long moment and then, with slow, conscious movements, began.
Catherine lifted her skirt as he unbuckled his belt.
She slipped her fingers into her underwear as he stroked himself, his cock held tightly in his fist.
She teased herself slowly, stirring the soft hairs with her palm, gliding a finger between her lips, drawing out the warmth like a friend called out to play.
Dave or Pete or Brian bit his lip and stroked more quickly now, growing harder by the second. With deft fingers, Catherine slipped her underwear off and spread her thighs wide. Slipping a finger insider herself, she gasped and rolled the hood of her clit gently, sending light straight up her spine.
Soon enough the smell of lemon faded, replaced by the musk of their exertions. Her thighs were quivering, and his cock was hard and red.
He’d brought condoms, but she made him use her own, squirting a dollop of lube into the palm of her hand. Straddling his thighs, she grasped him, the first time they’d ever really touched.
He sighed
as Catherine lowered herself down but for her it was uncomfortable at first. Her inner muscles, too long unused, rebelled at his thickness, leaving her hissing as she rocked against him, back and forth.
Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, listening to the sounds beyond the door. The whisk of luggage wheels and conversations, the thousands of people walking by. None of them would ever see her like this, her bare ass clenching as she rode this stranger, her breath coming in frantic gasps as he went deeper every time.
With a shudder Catherine rocked forward, now flush against his hips. She sighed and let her head fall back, the sensation not quite orgasm, but the pleasure of being filled.
Bucking against him, she grinned as he grabbed fistfuls of her ass. In the darkness behind her eyes she remade him into what she needed most. Simply a man who would let her ride him the way she wanted, whose hands were strong and could be taught. Taking one of those hands she guided it to the hard bud of her clit, showed him how to roll it ’til she was gasping for breath.
From close by, she heard someone laughing. A jolt of arousal swept through her at the thought of throwing the door wide open. Of hoisting her skirt and letting whoever it was gawk at her stranger’s slick, hard cock thrusting inside.
Shaking, Catherine bucked hard one last time, a shout locked away in her chest. Dave or Pete or Brian’s hands held her tight as the tremors passed. Her chest still heaving, Catherine then opened her eyes to find him grinning at her, eyes as hungry as the sky.
Inside her he twitched, still hard, the sensation burning through her. Smiling, she stood up just enough to let him slip out, then sat back on his thighs. She opened her blouse and tugged her bra aside, moaning as he grasped her breasts greedily and sucked them into his mouth.
Reaching down, she took hold of him, fingers becoming a blur on his cock. With her free hand she spread herself again, showing him what he’d just fucked, glistening and wet. When he saw her sex he whimpered, bucking roughly beneath her thighs. His mouth left her breast and he threw his head back, cock twitching like a fish caught on the line.
Coming Soon Page 2