Sensuality (12 page)

“Well. We both know that’s not true. Don’t we? You have absolutely no authority whatsoever about what is best for all involved. And you certainly have no authority to say how it will play out, much less how, when, or if it will end. We both know that is my domain. Don’t we, Baby Girl?”

She closed her eyes. He could see she was trying to hold back her reaction. Squeezing her breasts tighter, he pressed his lips to hers and enclosed them in a kiss. Her mouth opened to him immediately and for that he allowed a calmer exploration than he had that morning. He took his time probing the depths of her mouth and reclaiming his space. As he let his finger scrape the protruding nipples in her lacy bra, the moans that escaped her lips urged him on even further. He moved down to her skirt and lifted it enough to give himself access to her stockings, garter belt, and lace thong.

The thong was drenched.
Yet another thing to add to her growing list of infractions. Cumming without permission is a nono.

First two, then three of his fingers slid their way into her slick folds and penetrated her in ways the dick straining against his zipper longed to. With her silk shirt bunched up to her neck and her skirt scrunched up around her hips, she looked exactly as he had imagined her many times for the past two months. Burying his head in the lace of her bra, he grasped a nipple in between his teeth and bit down as he finger-fucked her. Nibbling on the nipple as he probed her
G-spot, he then pressed his thumb tightly to her clit and felt her burst. Her pussy spasm squeezed his fingers and she rocked rhythmically against him.

He let go of her nipple but kept his fingers in her soft, wet hold. “Did you just cum without permission, Baby Girl?” He tsked in mock annoyance. “Someone has allowed her little hiatus to make her forget all her training. We’ll have to deal with your infractions later. Right now, I have to fuck you, Baby Girl.”

Her eyes widened as he lifted her onto his desk, swiftly pushing everything onto the floor in one sweep. Pulling her hips to the edge of the desk, he wasted no time entering her. He pushed into her hot, slick, wet pussy all the way to the hilt. He was home.

“Ahhhhh!” She threw her head back and cried out as she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer to her with her arms. “You see,” she accused. “This is exactly what I was talking about. We shouldn’t have…ahhhhhh…Oh God!”

“Don’t.” He smiled when she fought back the orgasm that threatened to rip through her. Even though he knew she was nowhere near ready to submit fully—to assume her role and ask for permission—the brief exchange of power was not missed.

She took deep, panting breaths and expelled a sharp hiss. “This is wrong, Miguel. We shouldn’t be doing this. We should have had better control over our desires and we never should have given into them. This has to end, now.”

He lifted her off the desk and walked with her still firmly impaled on his dick to the large brown leather sofa in his office. Laying her down, grabbing her arms, lifting them
above her head, and holding them in the grasp of his hand, he continued to fuck her as he spoke. Enough was enough. He had given her the time away because he realized that their last scene together had taken them to such an incredible place of pleasure and pain that even he had been caught off guard by the intensity.

He loved her more than words could ever express, but maybe his mother was right and he had married a witch. For only a spell-casting temptress could have caused him to go against every dominant bone in his body and let her leave. It wouldn’t work this time. As far as he was concerned, if she wanted to remain free, she should have stayed gone. Coming back to town and work firmly placed her back where he wanted her all along.

“This is not wrong. What’s wrong is you thinking for a moment that I’m out of control. Or that you can come in here and dictate anything at all. The mere fact that I let you walk away for two long months, come back here, and went a whole day without fucking
my
pussy right there in the hall for every single one of my employees to see is a testament to the amount of control and restraint I have.” He measured each of his words with sharp penetrating stabs of his dick.

“Ohhhhh…Oh. Shit. Oh shit!”

“And don’t you dare cum, Baby Girl!”

Her eyes glazed over and she swallowed.

“Don’t you think you have cum enough for one day?” He lifted her leg and buried his dick deeper inside of her. She felt so unbelievably inviting. So tight. So warm. The sticky sweetness of her was about to send him over the edge. He bent his head and bit down on her nipple to take the edge off himself. He couldn’t cum yet. Not until they were clear.

He pinched the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and tugging it as he sucked and nibbled on the other. He felt her pussy tightening around him and knew it was only a matter of time until his Baby Girl exploded. But first she had to acknowledge that was exactly who she was—
his.

Stacy couldn’t believe she was right there writhing under her husband, both of them partially clothed and fucking on the sofa in his office like they didn’t have a lick of home training. That was the biggest problem of all, wasn’t it? From the first time she laid eyes on him, Miguel always made her forget all her inhibitions.

The man unleashed things in her, desires and wants that she never knew she had. She was a successful, strong black woman, for goodness sake! There was no way in hell she could possibly want the things he offered her. She didn’t want to be sexually dominated. Did she? She was the independent woman that Beyoncé and the girls sang about before they started giving lap dances on awards shows, singing about catering to a man. She couldn’t be both. Could she?

Everything that had happened to her since she’d taken the position in his company had been under his control, at his command, by his desire. You would have thought that she would have hightailed it out of there when she found herself having the kinkiest, wildest sexual encounters she had ever experienced anywhere, let alone in the workplace. But their affair had been so sudden and so breathtaking that she had gotten swept up in it. And before she knew it, they were in Vegas, closing a business deal and then sealing her own fate with a
quick marriage. By the time she had a second to process it all, she was Mrs. Miguel-fucking-Suárez. That she hadn’t hauled ass then was a testament to how caught up she was.

The day-to-day aspects of their life, the way they conducted themselves as intelligent colleagues, all went out the window when they came together sexually. The night before she left, he’d both stripped her of any remaining semblance of control she thought she held and given her more intense pleasure than she’d ever known.

And she’d loved every moment of it! Just like she loved him. The pain. The pleasure. The power. The pull of his love. The push of her own. It all just became too much for her and she had to leave before she could no longer recognize herself.

But lying there with her husband’s dick stretching her and filling her and feeling the sweet torture of her nipples as she all the while fought even her own reason and held back the screaming orgasm that threatened to escape any minute—all so that she wouldn’t displease him—she recognized more about herself than she had been willing to face. She could be both the independent woman and cater to her man, at least in their intimate lives. She
was
both—independent
and
submissive.

A low, keening moan escaped her lips and she bit down to gather the strength to fight off cumming, so that she could find the strength within her to say what needed to be said.

He removed his mouth from her nipple. He continued to work the other nipple as well as his hips. “I can’t let you go, Baby Girl. I tried. I can’t. I won’t. I know what you need and you know I do. So tell me, Baby Girl, tell me.” The last of his words rushed out in a mumbled groan and she could tell
that he was as close to bursting as she was. “Tell me what you need, Baby Girl.”

“I need…I need to cum,
Papi,
” she managed to pant out. “Please. I need to cum and I need you,
Papi
. I need you so very much.” It didn’t surprised her how easily she fell back into the groove of their D/s relationship, how quickly she became Baby Girl to his
Papi.

His mouth covered hers and he slowly moved his tongue in and out of her mouth in tandem with his dick. He fucked her mouth as he fucked her. And he hadn’t said she could cum! As he pulled away from her lips, he nipped the bottom one in his teeth in a piercing grasp and demanded, “Cum, Baby Girl. Cum for me.”

The orgasm was instant and ripped through her the moment he uttered the words. If she had any doubts about where she belonged and who she belonged to, she didn’t have them anymore.

Her pussy cleaved to his dick, latching on and trying to pull it further in, as if that were at all possible. He let out a bellow and held her tightly as he released his hot burst of sperm inside of her. “I love you, Baby Girl. I love you so much. But if you ever leave me again, I’m going to spank that ass of yours until it feels like it’s on fire and then I’m going to make you beg me to fuck you, knowing that the next time you see an orgasm would be so far away you might even forget what it felt like.” His tone held no hint of play and she knew he was letting her off easy.

She took a deep breath. She embraced herself and his love for her. “Permission to speak,
Papi.
”

“You may speak, Baby Girl.”

“Since we both know there is no way I’d ever forget what
a climax brought on by your wonderful lovemaking feels like, can we move this party to our home so that I can show the man I love and adore just how much I’ve missed him and…begin my penance for being a
very
bad girl? Can we go home now,
Papi
?”

Miguel smiled before kissing her slowly and seductively. “Yes, my love. Let’s go home.”

I had a plan.

I bit down on a fat, juicy strawberry and chewed slowly as the tart sweetness filled my mouth.

My name is Fiona Menard and in my opinion, the highlight of Carthage, Texas’s Peach Festival is seeing Chris Whittier, never mind that he usually comes with a different woman every year (pun definitely intended).

I never took my eyes off him as I stuck my tongue out and caught the bit of juice that had escaped. “The strawberries are very good this year.”

“I see that.” He’d been staring at me
and
the strawberries for ten agonizing minutes, as if debating his next move.

Though he wasn’t exceptionally tall, Chris was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, with short chestnut hair and delicious green eyes. A bit of chest hair peeked out from the top of his T-shirt and I found myself distracted, wondering just how hairy he was. If he had a soft pelt that covered his chest and tapered into a yummy happy trail that led into
his denim shorts, and would I have to hunt for his nipples to nibble at them.

“Nice to see you again, Fiona.”

Every year we seemed to play the same game of cat and mouse. Though it was also my job to flirt with the customers, to sweet-talk them into buying more than they came for, Chris always got more than his fair share of flirting.

Rumor had it he was from Tennessee, where he did something in the music business. He usually spent the festival weekend eating himself silly on peach cobbler (usually mine) or peach ice cream and the remainder of his vacation fishing and drinking beer with the friends he brings with him.

This year was different, however. Not only had he come sans an entourage, he’d come sans a woman. I’m not much of one for poaching, so beyond the usual chitchat about his vacation, I’d never managed to learn much about him. No one had. The man liked his privacy and I could respect that, but I had every intention of getting in his bed this weekend. Or getting him into mine.

I threw the last of my strawberry in a nearby trash can and slowly licked my fingers clean. “Did you decide?”

“How about just a bowl of fruit?”

With a smile, I filled a bowl with chilled peaches, cantaloupes, and strawberries and handed it over to him. He accepted it and returned my smile with one that crinkled the corners of his brilliant green eyes. Even dressed in nothing fancier than denim cutoffs that showed his thickly muscled thighs to perfection and a faded T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, he was yummier than any damn peach. My nipples puckered under the covering of my own baby-blue shirt as I accepted the bills he handed me.

Thankful for a lull in the crowd, I leaned over and rested my arms on the pitted wooden countertop, giving him a peek at my cleavage.

“Where are your friends?”

“I came alone this year. Wanted some privacy.” He popped a slice of cantaloupe between his lips and chewed thoughtfully.

“Good?”

“Worth waiting all year for.” He gave me that grin again, the one that turned my insides into a puddle.

“My cousin brought them up from The Valley. Just picked this week.” Texas’s Rio Grande Valley was nearly as famous for its fruit as were Florida and California.

“No wonder they’re so good,” he muttered, slipping another piece into his mouth. “Let’s talk…cobbler.” His voice dipped dramatically on the last word.

In Carthage my peach cobbler was nearly as famous as my cleavage. The women stopped by my booth to chitchat and try to wrangle my secret cobbler recipe out of me—the men, well, they came for my cleavage. I flicked a long dark curl behind one ear and gave him a smile I knew bordered on a smirk. “I made
six
this year. I hear three are gone and the bidding is fierce over the last three.”

“I know…those assholes outbid me!” He leaned in so close I could nearly count his eyelashes, his freckles, and every shade of green that made up the brilliant hue of his eyes. “I dream about your cobbler. All. Year. Long.”

“Poor baby.” I laughed, then pursed my lips thoughtfully. “Is that all you dream about?”

“I’ll never tell.” His eyes lingered on my cleavage before meeting mine again. The husky tease of his voice made my
skin tingle. The late-afternoon breeze ruffled his hair and plastered his T-shirt to his chest. “I think you should come home with me and make one for me every day.”

“Come home?” I quirked one eyebrow and chuckled. “To your little fishing cabin?”

“No, Nashville. Since you won’t give me the recipe for my cook.”

“You don’t need me,
querido,
if you got a cook,” I purred, leaning closer.

“Querido?”
he repeated with a frown.

“Darling,”
I translated with a smile and added, “or
dear,
if you prefer.”

“Ah, I see. So, my little peach, what would it take?” He fished a slice of strawberry from the bowl and slid it into his mouth, then licked his fingers just as slowly and provocatively as I’d done earlier.

“I like a man who knows how to use his tongue.”

Even as Chris howled with laughter, a deep sound that drew more than one censorious stare, I heard a gasp from behind him. It was my seventeen-year-old assistant, who I’d surely corrupt if she spent any more time in my company. Poor Fankie took naive to a whole new level. I should’ve behaved myself, but I wasn’t a woman to let something like that stop me, and I wasn’t afraid to go after what I wanted.

“You want my recipe? What’s it worth to you?” I murmured while quickly assessing the crowd. We only had an hour or so before we closed down for the day, and all of downtown became a dance floor. Surely Fankie could handle the last hour by herself.

“The sun, the moon, the stars—all my earthly riches for just a taste—”

I licked my lips, aware of those eyes focused on my mouth. “Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

His eyes warmed noticeably. “What did you have in mind?”

“You’ll see,” was all I’d say.

Instructing Fankie to finish cleaning up, I untied my apron and tossed it on the hook by the door. Stepping outside the almost claustrophobic confines of the booth, I took a deep, cleansing breath and crooked a finger at Chris, assuming curiosity would propel him to follow.

I managed to wade through the sea of peach-happy humanity while occasionally checking over my shoulder to be sure Chris was behind me. He was. Finally, I reached the corner of Main and Vine and slowed down enough to allow him to catch up. With an extra swing to my hips that made my skirt swish against my knees, I kept moving, but at a slower pace. The heat of the late-afternoon sun quickly soaked into my scalp as the heat of anticipation built between my thighs. I was already walking a fine line with the townspeople. If I got caught…I’d just have to make sure I didn’t.

“Where the hell are you taking me, Fiona?” he demanded, grabbing my hand.

“You’ll see.” With a sly smile, I nudged him into an alley. A few more steps brought us to the drugstore’s recessed delivery area. We had a shaded concrete pad covered from the heat of the sun and safety from the prying eyes of anyone who might wander past the alley’s entrance. Prying ears, however, could be a whole other matter, if I wasn’t careful.

“Do you like me as much as you like my cobbler, Chris?”

I spun around and gave him my most seductive smile. My panties were already damp and my insides quaked the tiniest bit at having him within my reach. My nipples were so hard they hurt but I refused to give into the urge and pinch them like I wanted to. Not yet anyway.

He chuckled and stepped closer as if he was finally aware of what I had in mind—of what I wanted.

I took the bowl of fruit he still carried and set it on a chair someone had left outside, then hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. “Do you?” I whispered.

“Do I what?”

“Like me as much as my cobbler.” The backs of my fingers traveled lightly up his neck and across his stubble-kissed jaw.

“Definitely.”

I sighed in pleasure as he leaned down and caught one finger in his mouth. His teeth exerted just enough pressure to not be ignored while his tongue gently laved at the pad of my finger. He moved closer, close enough so that his denim-clad thighs were pressed against mine and the brick wall bit into the tender flesh of my bottom through the thin material of my skirt. He was hot and hard and the slightest bit rough as he ground against my mound and continued making love to my finger.

Aching to relieve the ever-increasing pressure, I pushed my hips toward him, then shivered and gasped in pleasure as rough denim made contact with my pussy lips.

Finally, he released my finger and pressed his lips to my neck. “Now what exactly do I have to do to get some of that peach cobbler of yours?”

His callused hands were under my skirt, traveling up my
thighs, squeezing the cheeks of my ass, probing, spreading them wide and delving lower to tender lips filled with nerves, flushed and swollen and already hungry, and I realized I’d just lost control of him and this.

I pushed him away with a flirty “behave,” and forced air into my lungs. I’d never given my recipe out. Ever. To anyone. I couldn’t believe I’d consider it now, but Chris was worth it and by the time I was through with him, I doubt if he’d remember how to make it anyway. “You have to be a good boy and do what I say, and in exchange, I will give you some…cobbler.”

“I’m not very good at taking orders. I’m more used to giving them.”

“But this is a vacation—no need for giving orders when you’re on vacation, right,
querido
?”

With a smile, I hooked my thumb in the waistband of my skirt, pushing it and my skimpy bikini panties off my hips to reveal his prize—if he was good. His eyes immediately dropped to my neatly trimmed snatch, and a hungry smile spread across his face.

I had a feeling he was going to be very,
very
good.

I leaned against the brick wall, briefly covering my swollen pussy, shielding it from those liquid green eyes, despite the provocative outward thrust of my hips. Then I gave him a playful smile as my hands ever so slowly skimmed across my belly and under my shirt, pushing it over my breasts so I could unhook my bra. “Well?”

He nodded, never taking his eyes off the set of C-cups I held in my hand.

“You like to watch?”

He nodded again and swallowed hard three times as I
pinched the cinnamon-colored tips, then rolled them between my fingers.

“That’s good, ’cause I like it when you watch. Do you like peaches and cream?” My words caught his attention, and his tanned brows puckered in a frown. “Get a piece of peach, lover.” I nodded toward the bowl he’d bought and released my nipples.

With an indulgent smile, he followed my instructions, finally aware of what I wanted. I reached down and pulled the lips of my sex apart, then gasped as the cool juicy treat made contact, sliding between the hot, slippery folds. I couldn’t help myself. I spread my lips wider and arched my hips upward.

“Like that?” Chris asked, moving closer.

I felt the fruit slide inside me the tiniest bit and forced myself to stand still, but that didn’t stop a moan from slipping out as peach juice trickled down my legs. “That’s good…very good,
querido.
”

“I’ve got something better,” he whispered against my skin, then pressed a kiss to one painfully taut nipple, pulling it into his mouth.

“Not yet. Do that some more.”

From far away I could hear the low-level hum of the crowd, and the sultry scent of peaches and sex tickled my nose. Chris’s wet tongue slid out and circled my nipple while he never took his eyes off my face.

He continued to tease me with the fruit and his fingers, sliding them in and out of me, fucking me until my legs shook and I couldn’t hold off my orgasm any longer. Between his fingers and the peach, I was a goner.

“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop, dammit.” I locked my
arms around his neck and latched onto his earlobe as I rolled my hips against the slick fruit tickling my clit. The soft material of his T-shirt chafed at my nipples, pushing me to a fever pitch. I stiffened against him and my hips took on a mind of their own as I climaxed with enough force to steal my breath away and leave me weak-kneed. Thankful for the wall at my back, I pushed myself upright, despite my pounding heart, and gave him a sleepy-eyed smile. “Eat it.”

He never even hesitated. Just slid the peach, coated with my juices, between his lips like a good boy and sucked it clean before cutting it in half with those sharp white teeth. He fed me the rest on my order and watched as I licked the last of my juices from his fingers.

With another deep breath to clear my head, I rehooked my bra and pulled my shirt down. “If you want…some”—I gave him a long hard look, taking in the prominent erection straining against his shorts—“you have to help make it.”

It, of course, being peach cobbler.

Slipping from his arms, I retrieved my skirt and shimmied into it before turning and tucking my panties in the pocket of his shorts.

“You’re gonna kill me, Fiona,” he mumbled with a shake of his head.

“But you’ll die a happy man.” Smiling, I grabbed his hand and led him out of the alley. We turned down the sidewalk, heading away from the commotion of downtown Carthage.

“How far are we going?” he finally asked. We’d only gone a block.

“Not too far, why?” I turned and smiled at him over my shoulder but didn’t stop.

“Baby, I’m hurting,” he groaned softly.

“Just a little bit further,” I coaxed, turning onto my street. Two houses later we were turning into my driveway. I gave a last glance over my shoulder at the neighborhood. All was quiet. The tidy old houses with their tidy little lawns, pristine and sparkling in the early summer sunshine. Not one curtain moved. Good.

“How bad do you ache,
querido
?” I slowed my pace as we neared my Mustang. “You want it now, or should I make you wait a little longer?”

“Now, inside.” Pushing me against the car, he lifted my skirt and ground against my bare ass. A move that made my belly tighten with need.

“How about now?
Right here
?” I challenged, smiling to myself. Chris had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.