Wine, Tarts & Sex

her silken thighs and blonde pussy a damned inspiring sight.

Quick to take his cue, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it.

A second later, green silk panties joined his T-shirt on the floor.

He unsnapped his jeans.

She looked up, her dress half off. “This is sooo bizarre,” she murmured, the sound of the snap having buzzed her back from her jazzed-up, take-me-I’m-yours trance.

“Don’t knock it. Karma’s karma.”

“You think?”

He shrugged. “Absolutely.” No way was he stopping. Not with her dress down around her waist and her lush boobs scorching his retinas.

“Okay,” she said, as though maybe she’d needed permission. Then he slid his jeans down his hips and legs, stepped out of them, and any hesitation she might have had instantly vanished. She wanted what was under his boxers with or without karma or reason or practicality. Someday, she’d question her obsession. But. Not. Right. Now.

Back on track, she slid her dress downward, slipped her legs out, and tossed the bright yellow silk aside. Kicking the duvet down to the foot of the bed, she figured she’d worry about whatever there was to worry about later-like tomorrow or never. “Yesss, normal sheets,” she exclaimed. “Chaz has not gone completely Bollywood.” Falling back in a languorous pose that was second nature to her after ten thousand photo shoots, she lay on Chaz’s six-hundred-count lavender cotton sheets and said with a smile, “As you may have noticed, I’m in a slam-bang mood.”

He grinned. “Are you on speed, or something better?”

“I wish I had that excuse. I’m straight and sober, and have no idea why I’m suddenly so impatient. Maybe it’s your eyes; they’re gorgeous. Although your splendid hard-on can’t be discounted, either,” she added, her gaze flicking to his crotch. “Oh, yeah, definitely a factor…”

“Speaking of factors,” he murmured, his dark gaze focused on her pussy, prominently on display as she lay with one leg slightly bent at the knee and tipped to one side. A tantalizing glimpse of her pink labia commanded his attention, her soft, plump flesh glistening wet, as in ready for action.

“Do you need help undressing?”

His gaze came up, and he grinned. “Can’t wait?”

“No. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t a clue.”

“Give me a second to find a condom,” he said with a smile, quickly stripping off his blue boxers, “and I’ll be right with you. Knowing Chaz, I’m guessing there’s some around.” Jerking open the drawer on the bedside table, he lifted out a string of foil packets. “Score.”

“Thank God. I was about to panic.” His engorged, waist-high erection was making her even hotter. With a suffocated groan, she cautioned herself to patience while every feverish nerve in her body screamed its dissent.

In the act of tearing open a foil packet, he paused at the sound of her muffled groan and glanced over. “You are on a real short fuse, aren’t you, babe?”

“Sorta,” she whispered. “I apologize.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. I’m counting my blessings.”

She watched him roll the latex down his stiff prick with swift precision, her cunt pulsing and throbbing in anticipation, all her senses primed and aching to feel that huge dick slide inside her.

The condom in place, he leaned over the bed, setting his hands on either side of her shoulders, and dropped between her legs in a supple flow of muscled strength. “Time to get this show on the road?” His voice was soft, his smile close.

“If you don’t mind.” There it was; courtesy even in extremity.

“Do I look like I mind?”

She smiled. “You have my eternal thanks, believe me.”

He almost said, Who would have nailed you if I hadn’t asked? But seconds away from sinking his dick into her cunt, he whispered, “My pleasure, babe.”

He didn’t even have to use his hands.

She shifted her hips slightly, adjusting her wet-with-longing cleft over the head of his penis… until she was right on target.

He pressed forward, entered her, and gave it up to whatever was making him feel this good.

Everything proceeded in perfect harmony-faultless to a fault, as Robert Browning would say-the quintessential fit of slick cunt and hard cock, of time and circumstance, of uncomplicated desire.

She gasped softly as her G-spot nerve endings made contact with his hard, rigid penis.

He heard her gasp but neither paused nor stopped, single-mindedly intent on sinking hilt-deep into her silky warmth. Slowly forcing his way in, he felt her flesh gradually yield to his size and length, and when he eventually reached bottom, he grunted in satisfaction.

That low, guttural sound triggered every primal nerve in her body; all the complexities of civilization vanished, and she became incarnate female to virile maleness. Not necessarily a completely tractable female with her twenty-first-century mind-set, but definitely and certifiably receptive.

Even as she took note of her peculiar reaction, her body shamelessly contrived to further advance the act of mating, flooding her vaginal tissue to allow better access, making her more available, easier to fuck.

Acknowledging the added lubrication, Jake shifted his tempo marginally, moving with less caution now, sliding in and out more forcefully, no longer concerned with curbing his forward motion in order not to hurt her.

She responded, accommodating his rhythm, her hands clutching his shoulders, her feet braced on Chaz’s lavender sheets to better meet the power of his downstrokes. Each time he was completely submerged, she’d arch upward to experience that exquisite, fierce ecstasy, holding her breath as the flame-hot rapture flooded her senses. As he’d withdraw, she’d whimper, reluctant to relinquish the intoxicating pleasure, pleading. “Stay, stay, stay…”

He never did-knowing better, intent on the ultimate sensation-and after a millisecond suspended at the extremity of his withdrawal, he’d plunge in once again and smile faintly at her gasp of pleasure.

Her orgasm wasn’t long in coming.

Not that he’d thought it would be in her self-described slam-bang mood.

She quietly climaxed on one of his downstrokes, dying away on a sigh and a wave of molten bliss.

He was surprised at her constraint, having expected something more violent and vocal from a woman who approached sex with such dispatch. As he rested in her, waiting for her last ripple to fade away, she lay motionless and silent.

Christ, had he hurt her?

Or had she freaked out?

Was she some head case? Not an impossibility in the idiosyncratic world of modeling.

Although, primed as he was for his own climax, he decided further speculation could wait. Time enough to worry after he came.

Moving into a smooth, practiced rhythm, he’d no more than settled into a lazy rock ’n’ roll undulation than Liv picked up the dance, her hips swinging in time to his, matching each deft flux and flow with gratifying precision. Her little breathy pleasure sounds started up again, too, warming his throat and curiously insinuating themselves into his psyche that had been, to date, immune to such tender sensibilities.

Fucking had always been just about fucking.

Why his psychic receptors were absorbing her soft, frenzied utterances with such clarity was weird, although not altogether bad, he had to admit, bombarded as he was by a full array of seriously prodigal sensation. In fact, it was pretty much the opposite.

“I am so turned on,” Liv panted on a particularly deep plunging downthrust. “I’m going to simply expire…”

“Wait a second. We’ll expire together.” Okay, so his psyche wasn’t completely weirded out. He could still deal with the practicalities.

It took maybe another five seconds-give or take-and once she started to scream, he half-smiled. That’s more like it, he thought and proceeded to let himself go and come… and come… and come… in