by Vonna Harper
There he was, his forefinger sliding along her panties, teasing, not asking permission to enter that private zone but demanding. Why hadn’t she worn slacks?
But if she had, that would have only delayed the end result. The culmination she wanted.
On a sigh, she slid even closer so now much of her weight rested on her tailbone. Off balance, she accepted that getting away from him would be even harder now. His covered hand retreated, but only momentarily. And when he came at her again, he wasted no time working his fingers under the elastic. Her panties, bare inches of fragile fabric, nevertheless hindered his movement. Her opening remained sacred, virginal, cheated.
If he too felt cheated, he gave no indication as he leaned toward her again. At the same time, a fingertip pressed down on her labia, reaching, stretching, finding moisture. Breathing rapidly, she pushed even farther forward. Her head now rested on the back of the chair, causing her to stare at the stars.
There was just the two of them, them and the night—and hunger.
“Reeve, please.”
“Please what?”
Only vaguely aware that she’d spoken, she rolled her head to the side but still couldn’t make out his features. She was limp and useless, a toy for him to play with, sex offered.
“Stand up.”
“What?”
Not waiting for her to pull herself together, he withdrew his hand but only so he could grip her upper arms and haul her to her feet. She had to spread her legs to keep from losing her balance. “Take off your shorts,” he ordered.
Just like that? Forget foreplay?
She was gathering her thoughts so she could tell him he was jumping the gun and she wasn’t that easy when he hooked his fingers around her shorts’ waistband and flipped the button loose. Afraid he might tear something, she slapped his hands away and handled the unzipping herself. Only then did she acknowledge a certain truth; she wasn’t any more interested in foreplay than he was.
Glaring at him for taking her so far so fast, she nevertheless worked both the shorts and panties to her hips. Then, seeing herself from a distance, she stopped. “Why are we doing this?”
“Because we need to.”
Ah, of course. That made all the sense in the world. She might have told him she was grateful for his wisdom if he hadn’t distracted her by again taking hold of her shorts and tugging down, taking the panties at the same time. He stopped when the garments were around her knees, his head up, eyes digging into her. “What?” she demanded.
“This.”
With that, he planted a hand over her belly and pushed, forcing her back onto the chair. She landed with a slap of skin against waterproof material. Instead of telling him he was taking a hell of a lot for granted, she let the chair surround and support her. Watching him, she splayed her legs as much as her clothes allowed. Now what? She challenged with her eyes.
This, he answered. Hands out, he planted one foot on the riser. Instead of reaching for her heat, he pulled up on her top so it was now bunched just below her breasts and ran his knuckles over her belly. Trying not to squirm, she again dug her nails into the chair arms. If one or more nails broke, so be it. Despite her efforts to the contrary, her lids slid over her eyes and locked her in the darkness of her mind. She couldn’t say she trusted him; how could she when things had happened so fast between them? But need powerful enough to make her think of chain and rope spun around her. For these moments she wanted only one thing—him, his body speaking to hers.
You’re making me crazy, she thought to tell him as his finger pads traced the outline of her ribs. This was private, man and woman testing each other’s boundaries.
Only, she acknowledged when he dipped a thumb into her navel, he was doing the testing while she sat there like some dumb beast. A dumb, turned-on beast.
Breathing through her open mouth, she wallowed in the feel of his flesh on her skin. He seemed to be everywhere at once and yet not. Yes, he touched her from the base of her bra to just above her mons, but although she sighed and offered it to him, he didn’t touch her sex. Cruel, damn him, cruel!
But maybe not. Maybe this was the foreplay they’d proclaimed they wanted nothing to do with.
Unexpected laughter nearly broke free at the thought. In her professional experience, foreplay consisted of being brought to the brink of a climax via a vibrator or expert hands. The riggers and doms almost never bothered touching anything except the maximum in erogenous zones unless it was to whip her there.
Remembered stings to her entire body opened her eyes. She stared at him.
“What?” he asked as he dropped his hands to his sides.
She couldn’t keep her eyes off his fingers, couldn’t kill the longing to feel them everywhere. “Nothing.”
“Regrets? Maybe you don’t want this.”
“You know the answer to that.” She reached for him only to have him pull away. “What’s wrong? What the hell is this about?”
Instead of reminding her of the heated moisture between her legs and her puckered nipples pressing against her bra, he shook his head. “Anyone ever call you a witch?”
“A bitch, yes, but if they used the w word, I don’t remember.”
“You are, you know.”
Before she could begin to prepare, he’d covered her wrists with his capable hands, sealing them to the armrests. The familiar sensation of being restrained worked its enduring mood over her. In her world, restraint went hand in hand with sex. As long as he kept her like this, he could do whatever he wanted to her. Experience led her to believe he’d insist on sex, but his desires might be more complex than that.
Complex, yes, she decided as he held her not just with his hands but his dark gaze. She wasn’t going to ask him what he was thinking; she wasn’t! But if she didn’t, maybe she’d never know what lived beneath the surface.
“I didn’t want this,” he muttered. His voice was so low that the breeze might have stolen it, leaving her with something that hadn’t come from his lips.
When he continued to stare at her, any thoughts that she wasn’t going to react melted. Surrounded by desire, she straightened and leaned toward him. He rocked away. Then, settling himself back in place and lifting her top over her breasts, he studied her as she strained to rub her body against his. It wasn’t going to happen, damn it. His arms were so long, and she couldn’t maintain this position.
“You win!” Glaring, she sank back into the chair. “Does that make you happy, knowing I’ve declared you the winner?”
“This isn’t about being happy.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know. That’s the hell of it, I don’t know.”
He was speaking in riddles—to a woman he’d imprisoned in a fishing chair, a woman with her shorts and panties around her knees and her top above her breasts. “Maybe,” she whispered, “I can help. If you’d just tell me what you’re thinking—”
“You’re complex. I didn’t want you complex.”
How many times had she sensed that zing of alarm tonight? No matter, it was back again. “You want simple,” she teased. “I can do that. Bottom line, I want to fuck you. Sorry but I can’t get any more basic than that.”
He had the good sense to laugh, and if the sound was forced, she couldn’t do anything about it. Being bound to the chair was bringing out the hidden submissive in her. No matter what she told those she trusted, no matter what she firmly believed about herself as the modern and independent woman, a small and—to her mind—weak element craved being controlled.
So feed off what he’s uncovered.
No!
Do you have a choice?
Disgusted with and a little unnerved by the internal argument, she refocused on Reeve. “Where is this going?”
6
Funny how quickly things can take a right turn, Saree thought as she watched Reeve shuck out of his shorts. Now, like her, he was naked from the waist down.
The size of his cock didn’t surprise her. True
, seeing it in all its engorged glory filled in whatever blanks there might have been in her imagination, but she’d known he’d be larger and longer than average. Not only had she touched him there when he was still clothed, but she’d seen enough of the suckers to consider herself an expert.
Strange thing about a man’s cock. No matter what individual differences there were, not a one failed to elicit a response from her. Those responses had all boiled down to one thing: she wanted it in her. Whether it took up residence in her pussy or mouth or even her ass didn’t matter that much. She’d take her pleasure however it came. But if she had her choice—
“Condom.” She spoke the word without hesitation. “You better have one.”
“Yeah, I think.”
He thought? Did that mean he hadn’t anticipated their having sex tonight or had he thought she’d supply the one covering she always insisted a man wore? Maybe—and this possibility made her grit her teeth—he hadn’t thought enough of her to concern himself with protection.
It’s protection for you, too, you idiot. Just because you think I’m some kind of whore—
No, she wasn’t going to go there! Facing how some people thought of her solved and resolved nothing.
Mentally shaking off the argument she knew she’d never resolve to her satisfaction, she noted that he had picked up his shorts and was going through his wallet. When he pulled out a condom packet, she nodded approval. She even entertained the notion of helping him into it.
His expression unreadable, he opened the package, removed the condom, and rolled it onto himself. Seeing him sheathed like that distanced her from the fantasy element that came with being on a boat on an ocean bay at night with a mysterious and wealthy man. Protection was reality, plain and simple. “Thank you,” she muttered.
“You shouldn’t have had to ask. I’m sorry you did.”
How polite and considerate he was, how normal. Why then couldn’t she completely shake the sense that something was going on beneath the surface?
Because you don’t do things like this. And because you don’t tell strangers about your parents.
She’d been leaning forward watching him, but now she sank back into the chair. Suddenly unsure, she moistened her fingers by putting them in her mouth and sucking. Then, acutely aware of his dark scrutiny, she spread her labial lips and dipped into herself. As strong as it was, the sea smell didn’t completely cover her own scent. She was soaked, nearly dripping.
“Is that for your benefit or mine?” he asked, cupping both hands around his cock.
“A little of both. What about you?”
“Just trying to keep myself under wraps until you’re ready for the next step.”
Once again she was struck by how gentlemanly he was; maybe it came with extreme wealth. Watching him sustain and control his erection via a series of pumping movements kicked her own arousal up a notch. And since there was no reason not to let him know, she splayed her legs even more before pushing deeper into her hole. Her role as a bondage model meant she seldom had access to her body, and although she usually had no problem with that given the ultimate reward, tending to her own needs had become a treat.
Still, she wanted his hands on her, not hers.
Maybe he knew what she was thinking when he erased the distance between them and closed his fingers around her wrist. Pulling gently but steadily, he forced her to vacate her hole. Then, his expression intent, he lifted her hand to his mouth and drank from the juices on her fingers.
Suddenly shy, she concentrated on returning his gaze. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.
When he pressed his free hand on her mons, her harsh gasp said it all. Unhinged, she struggled to pant through the heady pressure. He wasn’t touching her sex; she had no idea when or how or if he’d do that. But it didn’t matter because the core of her sexuality rested just beneath his hand, and it was waiting for him. Hungry for him.
There. A finger stroking her wet opening while others spread her sex lips. Something between a cry and a groan escaped despite her efforts to keep at least some small element of her reaction from him.
When the intrusion dove deeper, her head thrashed of its own will. Another crying groan broke free. Desperate to keep from drowning, she reached for his cock, but although her fingertips found it, she couldn’t hold onto him. And with his finger in her, she couldn’t think, couldn’t command her muscles, couldn’t see. “Not fair, not fair.”
“Tell me to stop then.”
Like hell I will. “Later.”
Although her attempt at humor earned her a deep chuckle, the sound was forced. Why? Because he’d sensed uncertainty on her part? Damn it, she knew how to turn men on!
But most of the time she turned them on because she was a hell of an actress, if not award-winning caliber, at least sure of her role. This was exploration and hesitation, being in his world with his hands on and in and around her and about to drown in the waves he’d created.
Past knowing how to fight those waves, she dropped her arms to her sides, all but slid out of the chair, and turned herself over to him.
He came at her with fingers and mouth, with his knuckles and breath. All thought of fighting the waves gone, she drifted in a heated sea. If others were out tonight and spotted his boat, they might think they were looking at two clad strangers having a private conversation, but if they came close enough, they’d discover that clothing ended at the waist and the positions were intimate. She hoped the hypothetical others would respect their need for privacy, but even if they turned out to be voyeurs, she wouldn’t stop what was happening. She couldn’t.
Reeve understood the female body and its needs but lacked the finesse of the pros she worked with. Still, although at times his finger worked too fast or slow and the amount of pressure was off, she wouldn’t change anything. His slick finger invaded and withdrew, randomly touching her inner walls as if searching for something. The lack of rhythm forced her to stay with him, in the moment, instead of slipping off into the world created by her body and mind. And yet much as she needed to float, to simply be, this way made it possible for her to remain in control. A climax was there, humming in the background and awaiting its chance to break free. She taught it patience by listening to his quick breathing and pondering how his fingers had become calloused.
When he knelt and tongued her labia, she grabbed his hair, half rose, nearly came. But his gift was short—and tentative. He stood, covered her pelvic bones with his palms, and held her in place while nibbling at the side of her freely offered neck. Then that changed.
He was on his knees again, spreading hers and leaning so close that his hair brushed her inner thighs. Moaning, she rolled her pelvis at him. Her arousal seeped from her, prompting her to try to clamp her hands around his head and hold him in place.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered with his head between her legs. “Relax. Just relax.”
Instead of pointing out that she was hardly a novice when it came to cunnilingus, she ordered her muscles to heed his command. But how could she when a second later, the tip of his tongue slipped between her cunt lips? Her arms had grown so heavy; her legs were like lead. What choice did she have but to sink into the fighting seat and continue to offer herself to him?
This time, instead of the brief and unsettling contact he’d given her before, he stayed with her. His tongue all but milked her, and his lips, his damp satiny lips, pulled her loose flesh into him until she wondered if he might swallow her. Closing his mouth around her, he held her captive, drew back only to release the pressure moments later. She hissed, mewled, gasped, and offered herself to him, handed herself over to him, gave up ownership.
“What do you want? What do you want of me?” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she’d have given anything to have them back because she didn’t want him to speak. Not now.
But maybe his answer was in the pressure of his tongue pushing past her outer tissues and finding her waiting heat.
“Y
es. Yes. Oh yes.”
Floating again, drifting, becoming mist, hovering on the brink, losing herself, mostly losing herself and not giving a damn.
Someday, maybe, she’d teach him the nuances of what he was doing, but this was good. Wonderful. Alive.
An image of her shattering like ice formed in her mind. She’d changed from a woman to a dry dandelion caught in a breeze. Bit by bit she was losing form, parts of her drifting off into the air.
Why was he doing this for and to her? She understood men’s needs and egos and had never doubted that they put themselves first. No matter what they might profess, their pleasure came before their partner’s. Once a man had climaxed, if he could remain awake, he might return the favor, but the opposite simply didn’t occur to any man she’d ever known—unless he was being paid for the performance. Other women might rail about their partner’s selfishness, but she didn’t blame them for being what nature had intended. After all, wasn’t it a man’s job to spread his seed?
Reeve was as virile as any man. He knew what she was, at least how she earned her living, so surely he’d concluded that she knew what male selfishness was all about. He wouldn’t have to pretend to be the sensitive male with her; he could be all stud, all selfish.
Questions about the truth behind Reeve pulled her back to the real world. Not completely of course, but she ceased to exist solely as a drifting cunt and became a woman again. He was still kneeling before her. His tongue continued to draw wetness from her, but she was no longer blind and stupid. Instead, she was determined to get answers. Somehow.
“Your turn,” she blurted. “Let me do you. I want—you deserve—”