Seduction (20 page)

I never thought I'd get to touch those tattoos. What's more alarming, however, is that it seems he never thought he'd get to touch my gigantic ass. He's been longing for my gigantic ass, and that is not a worry to my libido in any way whatsoever. My libido is apparently twenty feet tall and devouring his face.

Not that his face minds.
Oh my God
, he keeps saying, while his eyes roll up in their sockets and his hands do a dance all over my back and butt. More than a dance, in fact. They're like Indiana Jones discovering the lost city of Atlantis. They're excited and extremely thorough. I don't think an inch of my back and butt goes unexplored and good Lord his fingers are dexterous.

Of course I've seen them be dexterous before. He's always clicker-clacking away on some keyboard with his wriggling extra-long fingers. But it's a whole different story when they're roaming your back, finding those dimples that rest just above your ass and unhooking your bra both through your shirt and without your knowledge. I'm only aware of my bra being open when skin meets air.

‘Oh man, I've waited years to see these not through a shower door,' he says, and then shoves his head underneath my shirt. I thought he'd seduced me with all that spying and butt talk, but his head under there really does the trick. I giggle, and he giggles, and it suddenly seems OK to be about to fuck someone as glorious as he is.

Because we're definitely about to fuck. Even if I weren't half-sprawled across the table with him between my legs and my boobs almost out, I'd know that much.

Still, I'm not sure how to get from A to Z. Until he steps back, flushed as anything and grinning broadly, and words come out of my mouth I had no idea were in me.

‘My turn, perverted spying boy,' I say, and then I seat myself properly on the table and lean back on my hands, and tell him what I've secretly always wanted to. Like the queen of the harem, ordering her best slave: ‘Strip.'

The amount of eagerness on his face is alarming in such a good, good way.

‘All right,' he says, breathless and boyish. And then he yanks his jersey over his head in one motion, and there are just acres of man flesh for me to feast my eyes on. One thing I always liked about Julian is his entirely non-weedy man body. It's not muscular, like Ryan's, and it's not skinny, like Kate's, and it's not thick, like mine. It's just solid.

I'm Goldilocks, and he's just right.

He shucks off his jeans, and there's nothing wrong there, either. Solid thighs like twines of heavy rope, and jockeys that
show off the other heavy things he might have. Of course he has heavy things. He probably wouldn't be so eager to rip off his underwear right here in the kitchen if he weren't ready for his
Playgirl
close-up.

And then he stands there with his hands on his hips, looking better than ice cream.

‘You want me to lather up now?' he asks, and I immediately imagine what I must have looked like to him. Like a soap-covered cake, I'd imagine, judging by the way he's looking at me now.

‘Maybe with some ice cream,' I reply, and to my greatest joy he seems to have no problems with that whatsoever. He takes the Hot Lickable Fudge from me and with one finger paints a stripe over a perky little nipple.

Which I lick off with great enthusiasm. And then he paints another stripe down the centre of his mouth, and I lick that up too. And I can totally see where this is going only I can't, because he then says, ‘Your turn now.'

And then I suppose I have to take all my clothes off and have him lick ice cream from my copious curves. Which sounds frightening, in one way, but in another is electrically exciting. He makes me feel exciting. I've never had someone write a story about me before, and God only knows what stories he's going to write about me from now on.

How about: The Time I Peeled Off Her Clothes on the Kitchen Table?

Which he does, one item at a time. So slow, so very slow that it's agony-riddled bliss, like being unravelled into sex. He eases my shirt up so that it ruffles and slides against my skin, and then as he removes my bra he slithers the silky cups against my nipples so that they ache and shiver pleasure on down between my legs. And all the while he follows every inch of my body with his eyes, as though he's never seen anything like it.

I want to ask him why he waited so long – his cock sure seems to think he shouldn't have waited so long – but then again, why did I? His excuse doesn't seem as good as mine, but then, I don't know what it's like to be so into something. I like all sorts of men: small, fat, skinny, thick, big and all the things in between.

Not like him, who only likes me.

He unbuttons my jeans until I squirm and tell him to go faster. But he just laughs and says, ‘As though I'm going to rush this.'

And I suppose that I love him saying that more than I love going faster. Besides, slower means that I get to feel every tiny step towards utter all-consuming desire, that ache in my nipples spreading to liquid heat that blushes and swells my pussy until I'm concentrating on nothing but it, and even better than that I get to consider everything in his story as it relates to me. The ink-black curls he exposes when he tugs down my panties, all the soft hollows and curves of my body, and his hands stroking them as though he loves them all.

He licks the inside of my thigh on the way back up from the crouch he's in, and his tongue is just about the sexiest thing I've seen. It's even sexier when it flickers briefly but unerringly through that split of my sex he wanted to see so badly, and when I make a surprised sound he makes a little answering sound back.

He doesn't have to say it but he does anyway:
I'm so hungry for you
. And then he bites me, he bites the flesh at my hip, and the soft underswell of my breasts. And then my throat, deliciously that much harder than he bit the other places, and I realise with a jolt of heat through my clit and my nipples and everywhere that he got that from my stories. That I like to be bitten hard just at the beginning of my throat.

And I know what he likes, too. He likes to watch.

So I push him away, and lie right back on the table, and wrap my legs around his waist so that his erection can only press into the place I want it to go.

‘Watch, then, in close-up,' I say, and put my hand between my legs.

It takes him around ten seconds to put the condom on – which he gets without moving from between my legs, from the pocket of his discarded jeans – and while he does it his eyes don't leave my hand. Of course I hardly do anything to myself but spread for his delectation – mainly because I'm so liquid anything else would be hard – but that's not really the point. The point is that now he's ready to go fast.

Still, he tries to be careful. He tries, but I'm so wet that he just keeps right on sliding until he's good and deep inside me. It feels amazing to have something fill me up in just the right sort of way, while my fingers slip over and around my swollen clit. So amazing that my hungry pussy clenches and pulls at him, and his hands grip my thighs sudden and tight.

‘Oh honey, that's too much,' he says, and I love that flushed cast to his face and the way his lips part, and just thinking about how worked up he's been getting himself and then how worked up my body and my slick hot pussy is getting him makes my clit jump against my fingers and my cunt cream.

‘Just fuck me,' I tell him. ‘Fuck me however you want.'

At which point he grabs great handfuls of my ass and surges against me hard enough to make the table move. He actually pulls me onto his cock that way, over and over again until I know we must be making a racket and the table is almost up against the fridge, but it feels too good for me to care. Someone could be spying on
us
and I wouldn't care. I just hold on to the edge of the table with one hand and fuck myself with the other, and let him pound me until my tits jiggle.

When they do, he moans
Oh fuck, oh fuck, you're magnificent,
and not only do I believe him as every part of me undulates, I
feel even better than that. I feel like the queen of my harem, making this gorgeous man flush and sweat and fuck me like he's possessed.

He grunts and groans and I know he's about to come, but he presses the heel of his hand down on my sliding fingers first and rubs, and the demand is just enough to make me twist and come around his cock in wracking shudders.

Oh, oh, oh
, I tell him, and he answers me in similar style.
Oh yeah
, he stretches out, in between each one of my high tight moans.

And then we're done. Fucking in Ryan's kitchen, completely naked and somewhat covered in ice cream. The tub's overturned, and I look as though I'm wearing an ice-cream sleeve. But as he gazes down at me, eyes still stormy and hooded, glazed in perspiration, I don't think he's going to have any problems with that.

‘So how come that story worked, and the first one I tried went down like a lead balloon?' he says, much later, as we lie in the rubble we seem to have created. I can hardly speak, but I manage at least, ‘First one?'

‘The first one I tried. About the guy with his curvy girl.'

The gross fat chick story. Oh for the love of – the gross fat chick story!

Of course, I don't say that. Mainly because I feel like a massive fool. But also because what I really want to say is this: ‘Stick to reality, honey.'

CLAIRE SWIRLED THE
remains of her Matinee around the glass. ‘I need a good long hard shag. It's been too long and I'm about ready to jump the nearest man and fuck him senseless. Or let him do me. God, this is insane.' It wasn't helping that nearly every man that walked past her set her body on fire. Maybe it was just the club, or the drink, but whatever was going on her sex drive had slammed into overdrive. ‘This just sucks, big time, and I'm running out of batteries!'

‘No luck on the boyfriend side of things?'

‘None, dried up. Drake split. Besides, I don't need a boyfriend, I need a fuck buddy. Dates, relationships, they're a waste of time lately. A man in my life? For what? To complain when I stay late at the office?' That was the last thing she needed to deal with right now.

‘So, do something about it instead of sitting here with me.' Sharon gave a half-shrug and glanced around the busy bar. Smoke curled upwards from a dozen tables as couples, small groups and single men and women mingled. Music thumped out from the nearby jukebox, adding to the background noise. ‘Get proactive on this. Or don't you have the guts?'

Claire's shoulders tensed as she sucked in her bottom lip. ‘What?'

‘Come on, it's not like you. So what are you going to do about it? Sit back and sulk, or get out there and grab a man?'

‘I hear a dare coming on.' She sipped the last of the drink and set the now-empty glass down. ‘So spill. What are the terms?'

‘Just like that?' Sharon drained the last of her drink. ‘Give me a chance to think here, I wasn't expecting you to dive right in on this. Damn it, woman, you don't like to make things easy, do you?'

‘Why not, you're the one who made it a challenge.' Claire smiled; if nothing else, she'd caught her old friend off guard. ‘Or is it too much for you? We can always change the subject if that's the case. I can find something else to do. Or someone.'

‘All right,' Sharon growled and closed her eyes, shutting out the distractions around her. Her long, French-manicured fingernails tapped against the table, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. ‘The dare. You're to find and seduce a man from this club, and bring back a trophy to prove it. His fly button. I want to see his fly button in the palm of my hand tomorrow morning at coffee.'

Heat flushed through her cheeks. ‘Tonight? You sure about this?'

‘Yes, that way you don't get a chance to change your mind, or have something come up. Now, choose your target!'

‘You mean my prey?' Claire grinned and licked the tip of her tongue slowly over her lips.

‘That works, as long as you get this done tonight. You need a good long screw with a guy that will leave you walking bow-legged for a week. All you've got to do is pick one out.'

Yes, it did work and in more ways than one. Hunting down a man for sex – well, she'd never done that one before but there was a first time for everything. Pick one. Sounded easy, but the reality was another matter. ‘Hm, now which one to pick, perhaps the blue shirt over – no, there's a blonde hanging on his arm.'

‘Ah, yes, that would be competition for you.'

‘No, not that, trouble. I'm in no mood to end up in the middle of a cat fight and she looks like the type that would scratch the
eyes out of any woman who went near her man. Look at the way she's glaring at the brunette.'

‘Hm, good point.' Sharon pursed her lips and nodded towards the bar. ‘What about the dark-haired hunk there?'

‘Gay.' She barely glanced at the man in question.

‘How do you know? Come on, you're dodging!'

‘I know his boyfriend.' Pity about Gavin, he was one gorgeous piece of man flesh, but his interest in women as sexual partners ranked right up there with cleaning up dog shit from his shoes. ‘Great guy, if you need a fake date for the night, but that's as far as he goes. He's great when it comes to choosing wine as well.'

‘I'll remember that, always useful to have a back-up.'

This wasn't helping. Who was she going to target? It wasn't as if the bar was short of likely subjects. It was a pick-up joint, that's why she'd come here in the first place.

‘Mike.'

‘What? The bartender?' Was she kidding? Mike didn't date people from the bar, everyone knew that.

‘Why not, you've had your eye on him for months now.' Sharon nudged the empty glasses across the table. ‘And you've got the perfect excuse, or don't you think you've got what it takes to land him? Is he out of your league? Imagine that, a bartender out of your reach.'