Read Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket Online
Authors: Lily Flowers
Her back arching instinctively and her hips jutting forward to meet the advance of her lover’s hand, Helena hissed against her lover’s full, sumptuous lips as arousal overtook her.
“God you’re killing me,” she whimpered, wiggling in her seat as his fingers lowered farther still to tease the skin of her feminine folds.
“Relax baby,” Trey repeated his hypnotic words, using his free hand to touch and cradle her flushed, sweat-lined face. “Relief is coming. The pleasure that you have dreamt about for so, so long is finally going to come to you. In waves.”
Once again covering her lips with his, Trey massaged Helena’s feminine folds until they opened to receive his attentions; growling in the throes of his own keen arousal as, finally and fully, he touched her feminine jewel.
Soon his strong but gentle fingertips played her throbbing, sensitive nub like a finely tuned instrument; kneading and teasing the surface of her bare skin as she cried out with delight.
Beads of sweat lined her feathered brow as Helena’s nipples grew hard and erect; soon Trey’s free hand kneaded her breasts as his intimate touch rubbed her throbbing clit, eliciting feelings of sublime pleasure that threatened to overcome her.
Her entire body tensed as shards of ecstasy struck and penetrated her entire body; releasing a wave of sublime pleasure that enveloped her being in its reams of divine warmth.
“That feels…incredible,” she gasped out, biting her lip as her body squirmed in response to his intimate touch.
Raising his head to engage his lover in a stare of intense, unyielding passion, Trey pinned her with a devilish grin as he cupped her femininity in his tender hand.
“It’s about to feel even better, babe,” he growled.
With these words he laid a strong but tender squeeze on the whole of her enflamed feminine area; his fingers pressing the skin of her throbbing clit in a final, purposeful swipe.
This final, very intimate move sending her over the edge, Helena let loose with a low, sharp shriek as hers body was lost to the divine sensation of pleasure.
Her heart, pulse and clit all sang of her joy; pounding in a single incredible accord as her body danced wild in Trey’s sheltering arms.
For a few precious moments Helena lost herself in an ecstatic haze of pulsating pleasure; biting her lip as she savored the feeling of her first lush, full-bodied climax.
Finally her sweaty, exhausted body collapsed in the cradle of Trey’s tender embrace; though her arms still clutched the man that had pleased her, drawing him close in an adoring embrace.
“Dude,” she managed, and just barely as her breath was exploding from her chest in short, hard gusts, “you rock. I just gotta ask, though—did you take out some sort of a life insurance policy on me or something? Are you seriously trying to kill me?”
Trey guffawed outright.
“Just trying to make you feel good, baby—and, hopefully, to make you hungry for more,” he whispered, adding with a salacious wink, “And judging from the physical and verbal response that my actions elicited, I’d say I’d more than succeeded. So tell me my dear—was it even better than what your dreams, fantasies and Skinemax After Dark promised?”
Helena nodded.
“At least,” she gasped out, just barely managing an awkward thumbs up sign. “Those orgasm things rock, they really do—I used to think it was silly and a little ghoulish when my gal pals said that their eyes rolled back in their heads, but now believe you me I totally get it.”
The laughter that she expected was replaced by a surprised silence that drew her gaze to Trey’s face; which, much to her concern, was emblazoned with a look of keen, acute concern.
“Helena,” he said suddenly, adding with a curious shrug, “Did you notice that the car has stopped moving?”
Helena shrugged.
“Well I figured when the world was pivoting on its axis and spinning out of control, catapulting my body into a bizarre alternate realm, that kinda meant that the car was still moving,” she reasoned, adding with eyebrows arched, “I guess it just meant that I was getting lucky. And big time.”
She jumped as a loud, hard knock resounded on their window; a piece of frosted glass that Trey lowered with the push of an automatic button.
“The dude is certainly good at pushing buttons,” Helena mused, springing upright in her seat as a gust of fresh air invaded their car.
She blushed outright as an unexpected visitor invaded their private domain; one that took the form of their distinguished gray-haired limo driver.
“Is everything all right back here?” he asked, adding with a broad gesture in Helena’s direction, “It sounded like she was having an attack of some sort. Should I rush the car on to the nearest hospital?”
Helena and Trey stared blank faced in the wake of the driver’s assertion. Then they started laughing. Hard.
“No, no. She’s fine—far better than fine, as a matter of fact,” Trey assured him, adding as he glanced over the driver’s shoulder at the landscape beyond, “Could it be, my good man, that you have brought us to the very edge of Central Park?”
Following the direction of his employer’s gaze, the driver nodded his head and agreed, “Why yes. It appears that I have, sir.”
Trey nodded.
“Ever been to Central Park, Helena?” he asked his lady, aiming an affectionate smile in his direction.
Helena shook her head.
“No. I mean, I’ve walked past the park a couple of times on my way to lunch, but I’ve never actually explored its grounds,” she told him, adding with a saucy wink, “But as we both know all too well, there’s a first time for everything.”
Chapter Fifteen
Soon Trey and Helena walked hand in hand onto the grounds of a national landmark; a glorious mecca of emerald leaved trees, gem blue ponds, dewy green grasses and singing birds known as Central Park.
“This is so beautiful,” Helena gushed, skipping with girlish glee through the grasses beneath her as she added, “I have to admit, even the simple act of walking by this park never fails to raise my spirits.”
Trey chuckled.
“Do you mean to say that—after what just transpired in the back of the limo—your spirits needed even more of a lift?” he queried, arching his eyebrows to curious—and perhaps downright disbelieving—effect.
Helena blushed.
“Not exactly. If my spirits bolted up even higher, in fact, I’d be risking a major cardiac event—but this place is still amazing,” she beamed, casting her head back to bask in the tendrils of a passing breeze. “It’s like visiting a forest in the middle of a sea of concrete—one of the few places in the city where you can still see green—and it doesn’t come in the form of a fifty or a fiver. Though I must admit that, throughout the course of my life, I’ve seen far more fives than fifties…”
She took in her breath as a beaming Trey pulled her by the hand and drew her close to his side.
“I’m so glad you’re in my life Helena,” he whispered in her ear, adding as he pressed his lips soft against her cheek, “I just love looking at life through your eyes.”
Helena grinned.
“Why thank you babe,” she nodded, breaking away from him for just a moment to do an impulsive twirl at the center of their greenspace; the wings of the wind lifting and tousling the strands of her wild blonde hair. “You know I think I’ll always remember just how I felt right now—here with you.”
Rushing to her side, Trey swept Helena most literally off her feet and swung her free in his arms; smiling into her eyes as he carried her over a classically designed bridge culled from ivory latticework that formed a particularly scenic corner of Central Park.
A work of architectural art both sturdy and ebullient, the bridge was overseen by a canopy of trees lined with golden leaves—some of which fell with tender grace on the floor of this scenic bridge.
“I bloody love you,” he whispered in her ear, adding as they reached the crest of the bridge, “Would you care to go ice skating this afternoon, love? They have an amazing ice rink here. People from all over the country come to skate on this ice and—well—it also happens to be very romantic.”
Helena shook her head.
“I think I’ll take a pass on that today, thanks all the same,” she told him, adding with a sly wink, “Up until today, Love, there were only two things in life I was always just a little afraid to try—ice skating was the other one. Now that I’ve sampled and vigorously enjoyed the first thing, I may not have sufficient energy to tackle the second.”
Trey guffawed outright.
“All right, then,” he kissed her cheek, adding with arched eyebrows, “I daresay, though, that we probably worked up quite an appetite back there in the limo. Would you per chance like to sample a Central Park hot dog?”
Helena nodded.
“Absolutely,” she assented, adding with a shrug, “I mean, I have to make sure that the dogs they serve in Central Park live up to the ones I used to prepare with care at Murphy’s Wiener Mecca.”
Soon Trey and Helena reclined on the grasses of their scenic, fragrant green space; clinking their soda cans together as Helena finally sampled a signature Central Park hot dog topped with ketchup, relish, and mustard; though, in the interest of preserving the romantic mood of the day, she ex nayed on the onions.
“So Helena,” Trey said with a smile, taking her hand in his, “Do the hot dogs of Central Park in any way live up to the gourmet fare served up with pride at Murphy’s Wiener Mecca?”
Helena nodded.
“I just may be struck down with a lightning bolt for saying this,” she mused between chomps, “but they’re better.”
Trey chuckled.
“You know I’d quite like to visit Murphy someday,” he told her, adding with a wink, “I just have to visit the town—and meet the family—that produced a Helena Vance.”
Helena laughed.
“I’d love to take you home someday Trey,” she revealed, adding as she leaned forward to kiss his carved cheek, “And for now, my love, I can’t wait for us to take the city of London by storm.”
Chapter Sixteen
At 4 a.m. the following Friday, all that Helena felt like ‘taking by storm’ was a hearty serving of iced cappuccino; a breakfast drink that she guzzled with haste before slipping on a sweater and jeans and wrapping herself in a parka that would brave the winter winds of both New York City and London town.
Then, grabbing hold of the dual suitcases that held her entire European wardrobe in their confines, she trudged downstairs to the front of her apartment building; where a rented airport van awaited her at the curb.
Jumping clear from the driver’s seat, a beaming Trey—dressed to the nines in a sleek black suit and a thick suede coat—opened the back door of the van and held it open to facilitate her entrance.
“Good morning my darling,” he greeted her, pressing his lips warmly to hers for a short, sweet kiss of good morning.
“Morning,” Helena grumbled, taking another refreshing swig of cappuccino as she took her seat in the back of the van.
Directing her gaze to the front of the vehicle, she smiled slightly at the sight of the gent in the front side passenger seat; a gorgeous blond dressed this day in a long, sleek ivory coat—his long, thick golden locks gathered in a neat queue at his neck.
“Good morning Helena,” he greeted her, turning to dazzle her with a white-toothed smile and the glimmer of his sea blue eyes.
Helena said nothing, only met his greeting with a low, pronounced groan and a louder declaration of “Criminy, life is so unfair. You and Trey look so much better than I do in the morning. And you are DUDES.”
Blaine guffawed outright.
“Well one thing I can’t do at 4 in the morning is make people laugh,” he praised her, adding as he inclined his golden head in her direction, “I have to tell you, Helena—I’ve been thinking a lot about you since the day we met.”
Gaping openly at this assertion, Helena stared wordless at her apparent admirer as the two shared a long, intense look.
The mood was broken seconds later, as the driver’s door swung open to reveal a thankfully oblivious Trey.
“So it’s off to the airport we go!” he declared, closing and locking his door as he turned the key in his ignition; pulling the van away from the curb as he whistled a happy tune.
“Trey, I have two things to tell you,” Helena deadpanned, adding as she ticked off the afore-mentioned facts carefully on her gloved fingers, “1. You are far too damned perky for this early in the morning. And 2. We can’t go to the airport yet. We haven’t collected Irving.”
Trey shook his head.
“We have collected him dear,” he informed her, adding with a brief look over her shoulder, “As a matter of fact, I do believe that you’re currently sitting right on top of the lucky devil.”
Helena’s eyes flew wide as she considered the big, substantial lump that she’d parked her rear on the moment she stepped into the van; one covered and wrapped in a crisp white sheet that padded her seat.
“I thought this big lump was just some luggage or something,” she muttered, shaking her head from side to side. “Do you mean to say I’m sitting on top of an honest to goodness human being…?”
Her question was answered all too quickly seconds later, as the ‘luggage’ beneath her started to shift and buck in an almost violent manner.
“Felena!” A muffled but very pronounced voice thundered from beneath the sheet. “Fet offa me—fow!”
Springing upward with an audible gasp, Helena ripped the sheet from the reclining form of a furious Irving Birnbaum.
He wasn’t reclining for long.
“Why don’t you watch where you’re sitting?” Irving growled, flying to his feet in the back of the van.
“Why don’t you stop acting like such a strangeoid, laying in the back of a moving van covered head to toe in a friggin’ sheet?” Helena countered, fists balled at her sides.
Trey had heard enough.
“As Helena so duly noted, the van is indeed moving at the present time,” he shot over his shoulder, adding with a sigh, “I suggest that the two of you cease with your childish prattling, sit down and belt up.”
With a pronounced groan Helena sat down hard in her seat; buckling her seatbelt as she asked Irving, “I’m almost afraid to ask. Did you, per chance, take your meds this morning?”
Irving nodded.
“Indeed I did,” he informed her, raising her chin to proud effect. “The fact remains, however, that I must have 8.5 hours of sleep each and every night. Otherwise—and I forewarn you, Helena, you’re going to find this mighty tough to believe—I start to act just a tad bit loopy. Kooky, one might venture to say. And since the timing of our flight today was unreasonably early, I felt that I had to nap my way to the airport. And the only way that I can nap is to completely cover myself from head to toe, to deprive all of my senses so that I can achieve a full and total dream state.” He paused here, adding with a wise smile that let Helena know that his next words surely would clarify and justify everything he’d said before, “I always make sure, though, to poke two mid-sized holes in the fabric of the sheet, to allow for breathing and all that good stuff.”
Helena nodded.
“Now you’re sure you took two pills this morning,” she pressed him, adding with eyebrows arched, “The red one and the blue one.”
Irving scowled.
“It’s not blue, it’s azure. You as a romance writer should know the difference on sight, Helena,” he released between gritted teeth, adding in a far more relaxed, casual manner, “And yepper, I surely did take both pills this morning. With, I might add, a full glass of fresh water—just as my physician recommends.”
Helena nodded again, more slowly this time.
“You’re absolutely certain,” she pressed. “Both pills.”
“Helena,” Trey called out from the driver’s seat, shooting a brief but pleading look over his shoulder as he added, “Please. It’s just not worth it.”
Agreeing with a sigh, Helena relaxed in the depths of her seat and stared in silence out the window; watching the darkened streets of New York City pass in a haze as Trey drove them onward in the direction of the airport.
Suddenly feeling drowsy and totally at peace (a strange feeling indeed for Helena Vance), Helena’s sleepy gaze soon shifted to the opposite end of the back seat; where a finally and mercifully silent Irving Birnbaum himself sunk lower into his newly claimed seat beside the back right window; tossing his precious white sheet over his head and—or so she assumed, hard to see through all that cotton fabric—shut his eyes tight.
Following his lead, Helena sat back into her own cushioned seat and stared once again out the window; her body relaxing as her senses eased and her own eyes drifted shut.
Her last conscious thought before sleep overtook her was, “This is the one and only time I ever plan or intend to sleep with Irving Birnbaum.”
Wiping that disturbing thought quickly from her mind, she drifted off to dream instead of Trey, and London….and, just a wee little bit, of Blaine. Just a wee little bit.
As was all too common in the life of Helena Vance, her peace was short-lived. The moment that their van lurched to a halt in front of John F. Kennedy International Airport, Helena and her crew were on the move; pulling their bags from the back of their vehicle in preparation for curbside check in.
Aside from having to pause while one member of their party was detained for having too many unbagged cosmetic items in their carryon baggage (“Don’t look at me,” Helena assured Irving, who shot her a condemning look as the two made their way through the line. “That bag belongs to Blaine Bennington.”), the group made a smooth transition into the airport; gliding through security and passport checks before stopping for a light breakfast at an airport café.
After devouring two doughnuts and a full serving of French toast and downing a creamy iced cappuccino (Helena’s version of a light breakfast), she and Trey stepped into a nearby bookstore to check out the latest available reads—also checking just how many of those books came straight from Elmhurst Publishing.
“Someday soon babe, your book will be on those shelves,” Trey whispered, pressing two warm lips against Helena’s cheek.
Helena nodded.
“From your mouth to God’s—and, of course, the merchandising manager of this fine establishment’s—ear,” she declared, sending a genial smile in the direction of the clerks who seemed to be listening intently to their exchange.
Soon she and Trey headed off to the gate where their trusty flight companions awaited them; Trey having taken Blaine aside earlier in the day and asked him to keep an eye on Irving—i.e., to watch his every move and apply a light chokehold if things got out of hand.
Their friends did not disappoint.
“OK then Blaine.”
Trey cocked a casual, if curious eyebrow as he and Helena came upon quite a spectacle at gate 45; one that portrayed the afore mentioned muscular cover model sitting square on top of the afore mentioned looney tunes co-worker.
“So what did he do?” Trey asked Blaine, folding his arms before him.
Blaine shrugged.
“Well a lot of curious and downright bizarre things, actually,” he revealed, adding with a shrug, “And then, as a strange of twist of fast, that one prerecorded message came over the intercom—you know, that one where they tell you to watch your fellow passengers to check for any signs of suspicious activity. Well pretty soon after that announcement, a security agent arrived at the gate and said that she had received no fewer than five complaints about Irving.”
“That’s a record!” Seemingly oblivious to the fact that a 250-pound cover model sat squarely at the center of his back, Irving pumped his fist in the air to triumphant effect. “If not, I daresay, a personal best.”
Trey was not amused.
“OK then, so what happens next? Do we all get booted from the flight, or just Irving?” he queried, releasing these last words in a hopeful tone.
Helena chuckled.
“Well darling, let’s keep in mind that the security guard that arrived on the scene was a she,” she pointed out, adding as she motioned in Blaine’s direction with a broad, sweeping gesture, “He probably sent her away with an autograph and a kiss on the cheek.”
Blaine gasped.
“I did no such thing, Helena. How can you imply that I would do such a thing?” he sniffed, folding his massive arms before him as he added, “All I did, I’ll have you know, was offer to have sex with her in the nearest restroom available. Vigorously, and as many times as she so desired.”
“Blarrrgh!”
Suddenly possessed with what appeared to be something akin to a panic attack, a wide eyed Trey grabbed his throat and stumbled away from the scene; leaving a bewildered Helena to mumble that that sort of thing seemed to be happening a lot lately.
Blaine, for his part, jumped to his feet and ran in the direction of the afflicted editor.
“Dude, chill! I was only joking! They questioned us for a few minutes and ran a background check on Irving, then they gave us full clearance to fly,” Blaine called after Trey, adding as a whispered aside to Helena, “Of course, if a certain author/editor wanted to steal away with me to the nearest private room available, I’d be more than pleased to oblige her—and, for that matter, to satisfy her thoroughly.”
Helena froze, watching with wide eyes as Blaine continued blithely on his way; strolling off in the direction of a still stricken Trey.
“He didn’t just say that, did he?” she mused silently, her heart pounding in her ears as she turned to face a watching Irving Birnbaum.
Irving just shot her an empathetic stare and said, “I tell ya, Helena, sometimes I really stop and wonder about these people we work with every day at Elmhurst Publishing. A pretty strange lot, they are.”
“At least,” Helena agreed, crossing the room to plop down in a chair beside the only co-worker she clearly understood right now—and considering that said co-worker was one Irving Birnbaum, that was a pretty damned scary fact.
“What do ya say, Irv,” she crossed her arms before her, bowing her head to her chest, “I say we both take another, way fortifying nap. If nothing else, as a means of self-defense?”
Helena’s awkward, self-induced dream state continued moments later, as their reunited group boarded the plane that would take them to London, England; and throughout the duration of the long flight that followed. For while she held hands and exchanged soft, sweet kisses with an ever affectionate Trey, she kept sneaking stray glances at Blaine; the man who sat across the aisle from them, his own hand covering Irving’s—not in a romantic gesture, Helena figured, but just to make sure that the dude didn’t move, speak, or do anything else that might disrupt the peace and sanctity of their flight.
The looks he shot Helena, in sharp contrast, seemed very romantic indeed; and criminy, they turned her on and freaked her out in equal measure.
“He’s giving me those saucy, steamy, narrow eyed looks he usually directs at the camera, when he shoots his romance novel covers,” she mused, “And instead of appropriately heaving my bosom and leering in return, I’m giving him the very unsexy ‘zombie deer in high wattage headlights’ look.”