His animal lust shoved his noble instincts firmly to the back of his mind.
'What's in the bowl?' he asked, half-hopeful and half-wary.
Emma concentrated on keeping her hands from shaking as she stood in the doorway, the warm bowl in her hands and the apron the only shelter from his gaze. She had seen his eyes surf over her body, once quickly and then again more slowly. He gave no indication of whether he liked what he saw. Her gaze skimmed over his chest and shoulders; he was even more fit than she had guessed, his muscles well defined and coating his frame in a thicker, more solid layer than she'd seen on men her own age. He looked like a man, not a boy. Brown hair lightly covered his pectorals and traced a line toward his navel. She'd never been with someone with chest hair, and there was something about it in this context that made her nervous; it made her more aware that she was here to please a man, not to play with a boy.
'You'll find out soon enough what's in the bowl,' she said, arching a brow and trying to sound confidently mischievous.
'Before you find out what's in the bowl you have to agree to two rules,' she said, trying to stick to the plan for a 'blow his mind' evening she'd downloaded from a sex advice site on the Internet.
'Okay,' he said warily.
'The first is that you can't come until I say you can. No matter what I'm doing and how much you enjoy it, you can't come until I say so.'
The sheet over his loins moved, a mound forming. 'Okay.'
'And two: you can't touch me until I say you can. You have to let me do to you exactly what I want.'
The mound turned into a ridge, tenting the sheet. 'I think I can do that.'
She grinned, her confidence rising along with his erection.
She came forward and rested the bowl against her hip as she reached down and slowly pulled the sheet off him. The head of his erection came free, and then the whole lusty rod in its entirety, thick and strong and rising proudly from a dark thicket of hair, his balls beneath drawn tight up against his body. His thighs were lightly coated with dark hair, the hair growing heavier farther down his legs and ending neatly at the top of his pale, clean feet.
'You look like a satyr,' she said.
'Is that good or bad?'
She felt a tingling between her thighs as anticipated being taken by him, those strong thighs between her own softer ones, that rigid member embedded deep within her. 'It's good,' she said in a husky voice. 'Definitely good.'
She set the bowl down on the side of the bed and dipped a finger in. She put on a fake French accent to go with her outfit. 'Do you like zee chocolate?'
'Usually,' he said warily. 'Why?'
Emma had never been an actress; she couldn't even lie. As her finger scooped up a dollop of warm chocolate pudding, embarrassment made her want to giggle and make a joke about the situation; she was afraid that he would find what she was about to do ridiculous instead of sexy.
'Why? Because you are about to have a tres intimate encounter with it.' She lifted the dollop of pudding and, with her eyes locked on his, painted it around her left nipple.
His eyes dropped to her breast, watching the movement. She swirled it over her aureole, leaving the peak of her nipple bare, then brought her finger to her mouth and slowly sucked the pudding off.
His erection bobbed in approval. 'I think that chocolate just became my favorite food.'
A smile quavered on her lips. A good start, but it was ad-lib time now. The sex advice script hadn't filled in all the blanks for this amorous scene, and she'd never been naturally creative with her body movements. She didn't even dance.
She dipped her finger again into the pudding and circled her other nipple, nervousness making her do it too quickly. She
She glanced up at Russ and saw a faint frown between his brows, the delight of a minute before now fading, his erection looking a hair less upright. She was losing her audience. She was doing a terrible job of being seductive.
A squeaky giggle of embarrassment slipped out. 'I'm messing this up.' She fluttered her hands helplessly in the air. 'Do you want me to stop this? This pudding thing?'
'No. But…'
'But?'
'If I could offer a word of advice?'
'Please!'
'Go slow. And drop the accent.'
She blushed. 'Okay.' She could do slow, couldn't she? And dropping the accent was easy enough. He didn't want her to stop
She closed her eyes and listened to the music. The rhythm was slow and swaying; she could imagine a belly dancer moving to it. Opening her eyes she set her gaze high up on the wall, so that Russ was only a blur in her peripheral vision. She untied the apron and let it fall, then scooped up more of the warm pudding and painted a circle in the center of her torso with two fingers. Trying to forget that she was being watched, she swirled her fingertips in the dollop of pudding and then let them wander across her skin in slow, dancing loops, moving with the beat of the music. She scrolled a path along the bottom of her ribs, letting the music guide her instincts, her fingertips dancing upward to paint the underside of one breast.
She let her fingers slide up over her nipple, the warm slickness of the pudding feeling erotic, turning her own fingertips into a warm tongue. She slid the peak of her nipple into the vee of two fingers, feeling the aroused hardness of it. She pinched it lightly and sensation shot straight down her body. Her lips parted and her breathing deepened.
With her other hand she dipped again into the bowl. She lowered her gaze to Russ, not afraid now to look at him. He was transfixed by her play with the chocolate, his gaze going back and forth between her nipple and her other hand, moving now toward her lower belly.
She smeared the chocolate just above her mound, then played at the tops of her thighs, creating a circle around her sex. She let her fingers go down into what remained of her hair, to smear the warm smoothness over the hood of her desire, stroking it while he watched and feeling the pleasure that came with her own touch. She had never touched herself in front of a man; had never let one watch as she gave herself pleasure. He clearly was enjoying the show, his attention never wavering.
She didn't see him now as the man she was here to please. He was the gorgeous male body she was going to use for her own delight. Her toy, her willing slave who did as she bid.
She climbed onto the bed, straddling him, and moved her hips back and forth over his erection, letting her folds lick his length, his rod massaging her clit as she moved over him. He reached up and held her hips, urging her down harder.
'Don't touch!' she ordered.
He groaned and dropped his hands.
She got down on all fours over him and lowered herself until she could feel his hardness pressing into the softness of her lower belly. She rubbed against him, the chocolate letting her glide over his ridge, then lowered herself farther so her nipples could rub against his chest. His hair tickled at her, stimulating her in a way she would never have guessed.
She glanced up and met his hazel eyes, the color almost swallowed by the blackness of his enlarged pupils. She wiped a bit of chocolate off her breast and painted it over his lower lip. He held motionless while she did, but she could hear his quickened breathing and feel his tension beneath her.
She licked the chocolate off his lip, then sucked at it, running her tongue over the soft silkiness. He started to kiss her back and she withdrew.
She slid down his body, letting her nipples rub against him the whole way, enjoying the feel of him beneath
