I fought him, trying to get out of his arms. I landed on my feet...but my toga tore on Finn's cufflinks. Yes, it really happened. Now, both breasts were free range. People stopped in the street and stared. One woman screamed. A man laughed and pointed.
Finn’s large hands darted out and covered my breasts. My nipples, stuck behind Finn's hands, had minds of their own. They perked right up. He rubbed his palms against them, and despite myself, I moaned. Then, naturally, I slapped at his hands.
“I can let you go, but I'm feeling reluctant...” Finn murmured, his palms still massaging my rebellious nipples.
Arousal shivered through my mutinous body. It was working with Finn against me! “I so hate you right now.”
Finn laughed, and then did something wonderful. He covered me up with his suit jacket. My nipples felt bereft. He put an arm around me and started us walking. He held the hourglass in front of my eyes. I watched the last grain of sand drop into the glass and...
We were in a little mud house. I took his hand, not thinking about the gesture, and led him outside of the house. We were surrounded by a field of golden wheat. The dark sky above promised a storm. I was still holding his hand. I couldn't seem to let it go. I felt like I’d fall if I didn't hold on.
“We should go back in,” Finn said quietly. Above us, thick clouds gathered. The air was chilly. Suddenly, thunder cracked, and I jumped. Finn pulled me back into the mud hut. I was cold so I let him put his arms around me. I clenched his dress shirt in my fists and huddled closer.
He cleared his throat. “If you let me go, I can start a fire.”
“Oh,” I said stiffly and let go of his shirt. “I wasn't aware I was clinging.”
Finn laughed, still holding me. “Only in the best way possible. Did you know you smell like raspberries, too?”
“I smell like strawberries,” I argued. “It's my shampoo.”
“Maybe it's just me thinking of your nipples,” Finn whispered.
I'll be damned if my treasonous nipples didn't stiffen just at the thought of Finn's tongue raking across them. I had a sudden vision of me flashing him, and then Finn falling on top of me, his mouth on mine, his chest pressed against my breasts, his cock stiff and thick and...
He arched a brow.
“Why are you staring at me?”
Finn waited a beat. “What were you just thinking?”
I lifted my chin, knowing my cheeks were flushed. “I was thinking, why aren't you starting a fire?”
Finn smiled. “I don't believe that's what you were just thinking.”
“You don't know anything.”
“I know you just licked your lips and opened up my jacket a little. I know you were looking at me like you wanted to devour my sexy man stuff.” Finn did a sexy little twist with his hips, lifted his shirt, then stroked his hard abdomen. “Maybe you're starting a fire, baby.”
“Stop that,” I said hoarsely. I did like his sexy man stuff. I wanted to devour him.
Finn gently pushed me to my knees then started gyrating playfully, nearly in my face. “Stop what?”
“Oh, God,” I said, reaching out to hold his hips still, but I noted an awakening in his pants.
Finn drew his fingers under my chin then bent and kissed me.
I slipped my hand into his pants. I was falling. “I'm serious, Finn.”
“Me, too,” he said, dropping to his knees then pushing me gently back.
He opened the suit jacket and kissed a nipple, his tongue circling it until it rose to a tight peak. He kissed his way around my breast to the other where he feasted on that nipple. I felt the heat from my breast to my cunt and up again to the flush suffusing my face. I gently held his head, and when he lifted it, I kissed his mouth hard, hungrily. Our tongues tangled, playing.
I was already wet. I opened his pants and held his cock. It danced in my hands: a delicious, thick long cock. I led it to my wetness. To my center. He pushed against me, teasing. I moaned. Finn laughed a little in my mouth, and then, pushed into me. His tongue and cock filled me.
My hips lifted and danced with his, never missing his beat. This time, he gyrated a circle that had me gasping and scratching his back. My warm cunt suckled him. He moved in and out, in and out, and I lost it, tearing into him: teeth and tongue and fingernails. I couldn't get enough of him. I had to have all of him inside me. It built up within me until I couldn't take it much longer. I screamed with release. Finn jerked, coming just after me as I shuddered with the aftermath of my pleasure.
I stroked his back until I realized what I was doing. “What just happened?”
“You came a billion times, and now I'm a god?” Finn laughed. He held my hand lightly, his fingers skimming mine like he was tracing a sculpture.
“No, what I mean is, what just happened can't happen again.”
Finn bit my ear. “But it must. The parts match up.”
“I can't think with you doing that,” I said, pushing his face away. My fingers got stuck in his mouth and started playing with his tongue. “I'll never get my thesis done.”
“That depends on what your thesis is on,” Finn said, rising up, his hand underneath the small of my back. He started licking his way downwards. “For example, my thesis will expound on the ripeness of raspberries and how to drink a full cup of mead.”
“What is mead?” I asked confused, but then Finn dipped his tongue into my warm cunt. “Oh.”
He licked me from top to bottom. He nibbled all of my moist tender lips. Then, he found my clit, and he didn't stop nibbling until I was crying. My hands in his hair, I came again and again. At last, I closed my eyes, and there was a blinding flash…
We were lying on a wooden table on top of papers and a sharp pen with a feather on the end that I pulled from my side. I sat up and tried to locate us. Based on the architecture, we could have been in the Middle Ages or perhaps the Renaissance era. There was an entire wall of shelving for various papers and scrolls. I think we were in an ancient library, and there didn't seem to be anyone else around.
Rising, and ignoring him, I tried to make a dress of sorts out of my torn toga and Finn's suit jacket. My breasts resisted, and Finn shuffled up behind me and took my breasts into his hands.
I pushed his hands away and buttoned the jacket. Then I turned. “Why do we keep flashing through time?” I asked.
Finn shook his hourglass. “I think it's broken. Did you sit on it?”
“No,” I said, flustered, “How could it be broken?”
Finn held the hourglass up so I could see it. When I bent toward it, he kissed me, quick and sweet.
“You're an ass,” I said, kissing him back. I sucked on his bottom lip. “We have to fix it, or else we'll be lost in time.”
“Would that be so bad?” he asked, tracing my lips with his finger. I opened my mouth, and his finger traced the inside of it and circled my tongue lazily.
I held his finger in place with my teeth, my tongue now tickling it. “No,” I said, my word garbled around his finger. “I could get lost with you.” I sucked his finger clean. He removed it and replaced it with his tongue, kissing me breathlessly.
“Do you mean it?” he asked, letting me come up for air.
“I do,” I said, pulling him back in for more. And we flashed…
The shots were coming all around us, but Finn pulled me down to the relative safety behind a large wooden box outside a saloon. The box read LIQUOR. A bullet punctured it, and brown liquid poured out the side. A woman screamed from inside the saloon. Men shouted in the streets.
“We're in the middle of a gunfight,” I said unnecessarily.
“Would appear so.” Finn glanced around the edge of the box. “Okay, I think we can make it to the alley behind us. I'll count to three.”
“Okay.”
Finn counted to two and pulled me up and around the corner into the alley.
“What about three confuses you?” I groused.
“I didn't want the bullets to alarm you.”
“I was already alarmed.”
Finn laughed. “Are we really going to talk about three? I want to talk about two.”
“Oh, Finn, we can't keep flashing like this. We're going to have to figure it out.”
“Shhh...” Finn stopped my words with his fingers against my lips. I thought about biting his fingers, maybe not so playfully, but he took me by surprise, gently nudging me against the wall.
Finn got onto his knees, and looking up at me, pulled up my toga skirt. He kissed my belly, his gaze still on mine. I gasped and leaned against the plank wall of the saloon. Finn slid his hand up and down my thigh before he put it over his shoulder. He buried his head in my crotch, his tongue savoring my cunt. I held onto his head with both hands, moving him to where it pleased me most, not caring one bit for the continued sounds of shots being fired in the distance.
We rocked, slowly at first, and then faster as need overtook me. He nibbled and sucked and tongued until I was breathless. I came again and again, his tongue a flickering flame. Gently, Finn took my leg from around his neck and lowered it the ground. If it weren't for the wall holding me one way and Finn the other, I would have slid down to the dirt.
Finn kissed and licked his way up me, opening the suit jacket and sucking on my nipples, his tongue teasing them, the bristles on his chin and cheeks scratching me in the most delicious way. His hand cupped my cunt, his fingers playing within the lips. He stroked my clit, and I folded around him like a flower, unable to take much more of this.
Finn laughed and worked his way up, kissing and nipping my throat and chin, all the way up to my mouth. His tongue searched my mouth, his lips nearly bruising mine.
I opened up his pants and released his swollen member. I put it inside me, and abruptly, Finn lifted both my legs and put them around his waist. He fucked me deep, against the alley wall. I curled into him, taking him fully within. We danced as one: my back scratching the wall behind me, my cunt suckling his cock hungrily, his thrusts rocking me completely. I screamed, my nails digging into the wall, and in my release, I bit Finn's shoulder.
“Baby,” Finn said. He gave me a sexy look, and then spoiled it by grinning. Masterfully, he took my chin in his hand and kissed me. “I like you like this.”
He kissed my nose and then my forehead, and then, again, my mouth. My legs slid down his, and I struggled to stand. We straightened up our clothes. I put my hand in his, and we started walking down the alley, away from the gunfight.
“Do you really have a problem flashing through time with me?”
“No,” I said, blushing, squeezing his hand. “I kinda like how things are going.”
“Good. So....do you promise to not get angry?”
I gave him a sideways glance. “I won't get angry.”
We reached the end of the alley and stepped out onto the street behind the saloon. It was peaceful on this side of the building. No one around. No one shooting at each other. Downright civilized.
“Say it like you mean it, sweetness.”
I gritted my teeth and said, “I won't get angry, I promise.”
“Okay,” Finn said, looking into my eyes. I noticed his were a dark green like Spanish moss or a deep, dark tropical forest. “My hourglass isn't broken. I've been in complete control this entire time.”
“You ass!” I screamed, and he kissed me. I immediately forgot what we were arguing about.
We flashed again…
Quincy Down Under
By Delilah Devlin
“Looks like a damn hickey,” the elderly beauty operator said in her raspy voice as she set the straightening wand in its metal stand.
Tamara Adams rose from the seat at Miss Gracie’s station and leaned closer toward the marquee lights. Yup, the tender mark on her neck did indeed look like a love bite. She touched her finger to the burn and hissed.
“A little aloe vera will fix you right up,” Miss Gracie said and rummaged through a drawer to pick up a tube that looked to be twenty years old and squeezed of all its precious cream.
Tamara bit back a grimace and waved the woman away. “Thank you so much for straightening the back of my hair, but I’ll take care of the burn. You have a dinner at the senior center. Don’t want to be late,” she sang.
Miss Gracie’s eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead. “Thanks for reminding me.” She quickly retrieved her purse from her bottom drawer and headed toward the door leading out of the beauty shop.
The older woman glanced down at the cinder block holding the door open then gave Tamara a pointed stare. Tamara waved her hand in acknowledgement of the issue she still hadn’t addressed, and then held her breath as the woman slowly climbed the steep steps. Miss Gracie disappeared into the sunlight that filtered down the metal staircase—the only natural lighting in Tamara’s tiny shop.
When she was alone, Tamara moved toward her own station, her Sketchers sticking to the misting of hairspray that always surrounded Miss Gracie’s chair, making a sound reminiscent of Squidward’s tentacles.
She opened her own drawer, pulled out a tube of concealer, then did her best to mask the nasty red burn. So, maybe she should have treated it with antibiotic cream first, but she planned to hit Slim ’n’ Shorty’s for a drink as soon as she finished cleaning up and counting her earnings for the day.
Tamara snorted. Wouldn’t take a minute to empty her cash drawer. Miss Gracie’s elderly clients, the ones who could make it down the steep steps, had been the only customers that day.
Staring into her well-lit mirror, Tamara didn’t get it. She was a walking advertisement for her skills. Her messy-wavy, chin-length bob was all the rage in Hollywood. The platinum color with the lone rose-pink streak was flawless.
But she knew the problem was the location of her shop, and the fact she needed more noticeable signage for customers to even find it. Again, she snorted.
Hell, a billboard wouldn’t be enough to convince women to make the trek down into her doomsday-bunker-turned-hair-salon.
Footsteps sounded on the metal staircase, and she whirled, excited that she’d have at least one paying customer this day. However, the huge man descending the steps wiped her smile away. There was something about him that told her he was trouble. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She’d have to remember to take a razor to them later.
She pasted on a polite expression. “Hello, sir. Can I help you?”
The man’s dark beady eyes glanced around her small shop. Sure, it was economy-sized, with just two stations and a very small sitting area.
His aroma hit her before she could clearly see his face. He smelled musty, like he’d worn the same clothes for at least a week, and she wondered if he understood the concept of deodorant.
She gave him a tight smile as he drew closer, reminding herself she had a lighter and a can of hairspray close by. “Would you like a shave or a haircut?” He was sorely in need of both. His long beard looked matted like a dog’s after a week in the woods, and his stringy hair nearly met his shoulders.
He walked toward her chair and eyed it.
“It’s old, but it won’t collapse,” she murmured then held up her hands. “Not that I’m saying you’re fat or anything.” Her face suffused with heat. “It’s sturdier than it looks.”
He sat, which brought him down to eyelevel with her. The pockmarks on his cheeks and the dark, deep-set eyes made him look even more sinister.
“Shave the beard, and I need a cut,” he said, “and I need to change the color.”
She blinked. Maybe he’d realized he’d never get a date unless he made an effort with his appearance. Bathing regularly would also greatly increase his odds. “I can help with that. Do you have anything in particular in mind?”
His mouth curved, but the smile didn’t lessen her nervousness, so she began to set out the implements of her trade and bent to pull a fresh cape from the stack on the shelf beside her station.
She started with his beard, telling herself not to rush, because the last thing she wanted to do wa
s nick him. She trimmed away the excess hair then slathered on shaving cream. When she picked up her straight razor, he reached out and gripped her wrist. Alarmed, she shot him wide-eyed glance. “It gives the closest shave,” she said, and gave him another inane smile. “I’m going to lean your chair back so I can reach you.” When he let go of her wrist, she lowered his chair and leaned it backward.
His gaze drilled into her, and she read the silent warning in his narrowed eyes.
After taking a deep breath to still the tremor in her hands, she shaved him then patted his pink cheeks with an aftershave. The scent helped to mask his odor, and she felt a little more confident as she returned him to an upright position and turned the chair to face her mirror. She met his gaze in the glass. “Now for the cut. Do you want it short?”
He nodded.
“And you mentioned color,” she said, eyeing his dirty brown hair. “Would you like the tips highlighted?”
“Bleach it all.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows rose, because she couldn’t imagine blond hair against his swarthy complexion. “Are you sure?”
“Just do it.”
She swallowed. “I’ll give you a cut first. Then I’ll bleach your hair.”
When he didn’t object, she picked up her scissors and began snipping away his lanky locks. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly five. She wasn’t going to have time to change before she headed to the bar. She’d hoped to be there early to get a seat close to Mason Jernigan’s usual table. She hadn’t had a date in forever and hoped to catch his eye. While she wasn’t looking for love, she did hope for a hookup. A girl needed a little attention to keep her confidence up. She’d recently turned thirty and had been a little depressed over the fact her life plan wasn’t shaping up the way she’d thought it would when she’d been younger.
After she trimmed away the bulk of his hair, she used her electric razor to fade the sides. She left the top spiky, because she figured the height would make his face look less round. At last, she pulled out the products she needed and quickly mixed the bleach in a bowl.
Stranded (Boys Behaving Badly Book 4) Page 9