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Wicked Wednesday #115 — Traffic Signs

His undone bowtie under her foot, Severine observed her naked long-limbed reflection in the mirror.
The irony was on the way to the hotel, even the traffic signs were conflcting: STOP and YIELD. But she knew she was not going to stop, that she was going to yield to Rafe.
She sang a French lullaby to herself to stop her heart from racing as it had been from the moment she slipped on her thigh highs. Fingered their lacy tops the way she wanted Rafe to touch her where she felt like satin, not lace.
The traffic signs and lights merged into one, a color-filled blur…everything was a blur as she headed up to the hotel room–not the one she was sharing with Oscar, but the one that Rafe gotten for them.
She walked into the room, he was not there. Then she heard the door slam, and before she could turn around she was grabbed from behind. Her struggle reminded her of when she studied ballet. Up in the air, her legs pedaled a resistance she did not really
feel.
Before she could open her mouth, his hand covered it. His scent was everywhere, stained the air as her legs their continued
resistance she did not really desire, but she waged it anyway.
His kiss on her neck quieted her. Her legs back down on the ground, Severine pressed into the front of him. Rafe’s mouth did not leave her neck as he sought the satiny bit of her, she craved for him to touch. She closed her eyes and everything happened to her, he happened to her.
Again.
Her eyes on her figure again in the mirror, she picked up his bowtie and took in his scent.
In this moment he was hers again, though she felt as disposable as one of the characters created by the playwright in The Twilight Zone who would conjure and dispose
of his characters at will.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked her.
Severine studied him, her head cocked.
“The traffic signs on the way here said stop and yield…I yielded…”

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photo via google images

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Wicked Wednesday #114 — Doubt

Rafe settled across from Eliza, it was the first time in a really long time that he felt like they were together.
It was certainly the first time they had gone out in a long time since the accident.
He gazed at her hand wearing the ring he was always proud he had chosen without her. His tastes were far grander than hers. It was not obnoxious of him to say he was the architect of the woman before him, of the woman he was going to marry.
Eliza was more bohemian, and honestly seemed more like someone his sister would date. She recently confessed that she sometimes felt confined by the role of wife to be, so he tried to be more open.
He ran his hand through her hair, absently twisted a strand over and over again as he looked at the hair of the woman at the next table. Her hair was like Severine’s. Severine could be in New York, but she normally told him when she was coming to the city. Or when she was coming underneath him.
His heart still raced when he thought about her. The look on her face when he last saw her on Skype, let him know that he should leave her alone. She was in love with him, and he was not sure what he would be if he continued to contact her.
Eliza looked beautiful in the candlelight, in the dress he had bought her when he was away years ago. The color went well with her hair and eyes. He looked at her hands, and then up at the choker about her neck. There was no doubt that he loved her.
But he could not stop looking at the woman at the other table, her lovely form from behind leaning toward the man she was with. It was wrong, but if it was Severine, he wanted to hurt that man. The rage he felt that the man was sitting with her was irrational, but he felt it.
He felt a lot of things.
Severine, or her look-alike would not turn around for the love of God and he had to be careful with Eliza. She would know if his attention was divided. He reengaged with her, and then he paused. Pretended he was looking for the waiter.
It was Severine, not a look-alike. She noticed him instantly. The look on her face was wildly animalistic. Her walk to the bathroom was steady and self-assured to anyone who was looking, but Rafe knew she was not. He excused himself to go to the bathroom.
The path she took brimmed with her scent of tuberose. The bathroom was was dim, but the frosted glass door revealed which stall she had walked into in the unisex bathroom. Rafe put out his hand to prevent her from closing the door. Severine leaned against the wall, her foot on the toilet seat because there was barely enough room in the stall for the two of them.
“Severine,”
“S’il te plait…” she said, her French rampant when she was vulnerable.
“I knew it was you even from behind.” He cornered her.
“I’m with someone.” She pasted herself to the wall.
“I’m with Eliza,” he said, caressing her face and touching the long dark hair that he had been eyeing with memories. He brought a fistful of it to his nose to take in the scent. “I just wanted to say hi.”
“Touch me.”
Rafe wanted to touch her with every fiber of his being, but he could not have her scent on him. She hitched up her skirt. Closed her eyes,
“I hate myself for wanting you to touch me, but please…please.”
He caressed her face, the smoothness of her cheek, her full red mouth…he needed to touch her other mouth.
She was wet like she always was when he touched her. He caressed just her satiny labia, she almost slipped she was at such a precarious angle.
“Where are you staying?”
Severine dug deep in her clutch, and pulled out a card from the hotel where she was staying.

Eliza gasped.
When she looked up in the mirror and saw Oscar, she gasped.
When Rafe returned, she weakly excused herself to go to the bathroom. In the bathroom mirror, Oscar was behind her.
She was glad it was a unisex bathroom.
“You’re beautiful.”
He’d told her that when she was in the hospital, now when he was telling her it might have been true to him.
“Oscar.”
She wrapped her arms about him, her desire like fire ignited on the side of a matchbox. Restraining herself, she moved back from him.
“I am so happy to see you. I could not wait for tomorrow, but now is like bonus time.”
Oscar smiled at her.
“Yes.”
“Is that the woman you have been seeing in Paris?”
He nodded.
“She’s beautiful.”
“So are you.”
Eliza held the bathroom sink for support.
“I have to go, but tomorrow?” he questioned her.
She swallowed hard and gasped.
“Yes, have no doubt.”
They hovered over each other, the fire ignited again, then sputtered when he kissed her cheek.
Left her for now.
When she saw her face in the mirror, she was filled with doubts.
Her walk back to Rafe was unsteady, but his smile comforted her. Calmed her for the moment. Her emotions were as crooked as the books stacked by the fireplace in the restaurant beside Rafe.

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photo by f dot leonora

Sticky Note No. 7

Yesterday, I wrote this inspired by a wedge that I saw on subway tracks the day before yesterday. Tamsin Flowers shared with me that she always wondered how shoes ended up on the highway…my character had one more shoe, so I decided to explore that…

Her bare feet were on the dashboard. It was pitch black outside, except for the stars that were piercing white almost like the sun. She was being a bit of a monster. A spoiled child really, daring him again. He did, threw her other wedge out of the car and onto the highway. Every time she saw stray shoes on subway tracks, trees or highways, she wondered how they got there. Once a bully snatched her new mary jane from her foot and hid it. Her mother was so mad at her, did not care that she had been bullied. Now she was bullying and hoping to be bullied now in a grownup way.

photo by f dot leonora

Sticky Note No. 6

I was waiting on the subway platform, looked down on the tracks and instead of a rat…there was a woman’s single wedge. I curled over–carefully–to take a picture. I knew it was going to be a sticky, but not how it would manifest. The pen I wrote with was choppy at best, but I always type it out for you so…

The tattoo said “Monster.” She could not believe that someone would have a tattoo that telling if it was true. Looking at her wedge on the subway tracks, she herself wedged against the filthy column and him her thoughts were readjusted. Her bare foot on his shoe, so she did not have to step on the even filthier platform. Her hand on his bare chest not out of affection, but necessity to balance. She’d dared him to, he did. Disbelief filled her but secretly, she liked that he’d put her in that precarious position. A game like adolescents would play, but they were not. Her desire rose…

photo by f dot leonora

A Darker Flame: Now What?

Now what exactly! When Chris of Stranded in Toronto said he needed a prompt for his deliciously named erotica meme A Darker Flame.…well I could not leave him stranded, could I?! I came up with this prompt, so that means I had to write a story…gulp!
Let me tell you this meme is amazing, and I am going to be a return customer! Getting to this point was half the fun! Below is what I came up with…

Adora embraced herself on the sand. She arrived on the island with three things as she was instructed, while she waited for Elijah to meet her after his conference. She had been with him in Chile for a few days, but he suggested she might like time alone to write.
Her notebook, a fountain pen and a book of Pablo Neruda poems she bought in Santiago were all she had. She bought the book of poems after she had visited La Chaschona, the home Neruda had named after Mathilde his wife. The wife he had written the passionate poems in her possession about.
Inside the bungalow she took off all of her clothes except for her corset which she bought in a Chilean store. Even without Elijah there, she was in a mood. Between her legs wound with desire she could not ignore. Absently, she caressed her notebook and the Neruda poems.
She was alone, but she felt surrounded by the spirits of literary icons like Neruda and Anaïs Nin. Adora was a huge diarist like Nin. She shared everything with Elijah, but the journal was hers. The things she did not, and could not share with him.
The wound pulse between her legs demanded attention. She ran her hand over the hollow of her neck, trickling her fingers to the softness that was her breasts pushed to the top of her corset. Her breasts were smooth, and she enjoyed playing with them.
Then she heard movement in the house.
The house belonged to Didier, Elijah’s boss who was letting let her stay there for the few days. But there was obviously someone in the house. She put her petticoat back on, thinking maybe it was housekeeping since the house was impeccably clean.
When she turned the corner barefoot, she gasped at the Didier who she recognized from behind.
She was very familiar with him from various angles.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she stated bluntly without finesse.
“What are you supposed to be? Madonna circa her Like a Virgin period?”
Adora had to admit, she was channeling that look in her lacy white corset and petticoat.
“Elijah told me you wouldn’t be here.”
Didier looked her up and down in the lingering way he did that she hated herself for liking. He always looked at her like that, and it always made her tight as if knots of rope for tug of war were being pulled between her legs.
“Because I told him I would not be here.”
“But why?”
He walked toward her, and she tried to pretend like it did not affect her.
Elijah had a close relationship with Didier. And from the moment that she met him…that was when she began to have journal entries she could not share with Elijah.
“I wanted you here by yourself.”
Adora rubbed her eyes, sure she was dreaming. Didier whose name meant to be desired, was saying he wanted her there by herself. She could not believe this was happening.
Because she had dreamed it.
“Why do you want me alone?” She put her arms behind her back moving back toward the wall.
“I want you, and I know I shouldn’t so if I have you…if I have you I will not think about it anymore.”
“But I do not want you.”
He paused in front of her, and she stopped breathing.
“If it happens here in the house on this island, it is almost like it didn’t happen.”
Adora’s breath returned as she pressed herself against the wall. He followed her, and placed his hands on either side of her.
“But I do not want you.”
Both times the lie was weak, but she wanted to believe it.
“From the time I met you, I have not been able to see Elijah the same because he is with you.”
Looking into his eyes was a bad idea, she softened as she looked up at him.
“I’m with Elijah.” she reiterated.
His hands on her hips, he traced her shape through the corset.
“You are trying to act like when we kissed at the ball it was nothing.”
Her body even softer, she closed her eyes and swallowed when he took hold of her arms and pressed her to him.
Adora really thought she wanted time alone, but time alone would have been to write about Didier. To write about the kiss at the company ball, where Elijah left her with Didier to work.
Where she kissed Didier, then ran away pulling her gown up and acting like Cinderella. But instead of a pumpkin, she turned into a ball of desire.
Being with him right now scared her. She’d wanted to be with Didier on this empty island in her dreams, and now she was terrified.
Always the good girl, she had never been with a man simply because she wanted him. Especially if she was with someone else. She always dressed sex with love. Barely dressed now, she very much wanted Didier.
Stepping out of her petticoat, she pressed her breasts even more to his chest.
She did not want to talk anymore.
This kiss was not an accident, it was all encompassing her mouth sucking all the warmth from his.
“Take off everything except the corset, I like the way your breasts spill from the top.
Adora obeyed him, undressed except for the lacy corset.
He placed his hand over her bare triangle, his fingers played with her moisture.
“Let’s go outside.”
He took her hand, pulled a sheet from the bed and they slipped through the sliding doors. Didier spread the sheet over the sand, and got on his back.
“Show me what you want.”
Looking down at him, he looked so vulnerable. Adora saw her breasts push up all the more with the rapid beating of her heart. She sprawled over him, showed him what she wanted with his warm, hard body. Exploring different parts of him, she watched his face to tell what he liked and what he did not like.
She liked him touching her breasts, and that tiny spot between her legs where she would have to make a decision where she wanted him to enter her.
The sound of her racing heart and grunting anchored her as she made her decision. She had never been on top before, and every moment of it felt like a dream she was not waking up from.
Getting him in her and sliding completely down his shaft, her heart raced so that she was not sure if it was in her chest, or between her legs.
“I knew I would find you here!”
Elijah stood at the sliding doors. Adora was startled, but at the same time she was almost about to come.
“I knew I would find you here,” Elijah bellowed again with a revolver pointed.
Adora could not let Didier slip out of her, but she was frozen with fear and unable to absorb the desire that the etymology of his name demanded…

Darker flames can be found here:

photo via wikipedia

Wicked Wednesday #113 –Past, Present, Future

Even with Oscar’s hand in hers. Even though they were the only people in the forest. Even though they had made love against the only tree in the forest, Severine did not feel like she was with Oscar. Her past with men–not only Rafe–had disenchanted her.
Everyone needed her body like breath or blood in the beginning, and she loved sex so it was beautiful. Her libido was indefatigable. Sex always worked well, because that was how she interpreted love. Words meant little to her. If the song went it is in his kiss, for her it was in the way a man made love to her. She’d read that in The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir, Anne in the novel said you never really knew what a man was like until you were in bed with him.
With Severine it always felt like she made love in a forest, being the only two people in that time and space. But then at some point she and the man she was with got lost like Hansel and Gretel, with nothing at all to lead them back where they had started.
She held Oscar’s hand tightly presently as she thought about past lovers. She had the advantage in this moment, because she was the one doing the navigating in the forest. He followed her, because she was the one who had gotten them here. Most places they went she knew how to navigate better than he did, well at least the far-flung locations like this.
Except Shanghai. Oscar knew a lot about Shanghai, even though he did not tell her much about his time there. She did not ask him a lot, because previously she was unlike Anne in The Mandarins. Her behavior was more like Paula clinging to Henri in the beginning of the book, wanting to believe so much in everything. Even what was not there anymore.
But she was in control presently, of their movement through the forest and her emotions. Oscar’s warm hand in hers, if she put his fingers to her mouth she would taste herself. Yet still she did not feel close enough to him. Or maybe she was afraid to feel close to him…
If serendipity had not taken flight in her life like a grand papillon, if she had not met Oscar randomly in her favorite cafe…She had had no intention of suggesting or starting anything on the plane, because she was still in love with Rafe she had believed. She told Oscar that in the cafe.
He told her about the woman who had haunted him currently. All of their ghosts were put on the table next to their grande cafes, explored like tarot cards. Soft kisses followed only that day, tender and rough lovemaking later. Usually it was a little bit of both tender and rough when they made love. She liked rough because she needed to feel what was being done to her strongly.
They would be in New York tomorrow, and their future would be determined in a much more defined way. The ghosts they placed on the table in Paris were there and even though they had not talked about it, they would know what their future held after that.
Severine was not afraid this time of facing the truth in love. She pulled Oscar’s hand to her mouth, slowly sucked his fingers so she could taste herself on the platter of him.
“Can you taste yourself?”
His words jarred her, but she kissed his hand, dragged her tongue along a vein and nodded.
He stiffened. Severine knew she was no longer in control. The sun filled her eyes, and their tongues filled each other’s mouths.
On the flight going to New York, Severine wanted to flaunt that she was with Oscar, especially for Eleanora’s benefit. But she did not want to give her the leverage to taunt her with it. She was taunted enough with him there, looking at him made her think of forests and lovemaking.
And not getting lost.
They had made love in a plethora of destinations, because of her job as a flight attendant. She ached to slip into the bathroom like they did in the past on prior flights. It was always his impetus. Him looking restless in his seat, tie undone and his hands moving over the wave of his shirt where the buttons were. She went along willingly, staggering her arrival into the tiny bathroom that made peeing a nightmare but created a delicious tightness for making love. Her ass on the sink, and her legs pistoning about him.
Presently she just ran through her mental picture book of them..
What was them?
She walked down the aisle by Oscar, and sudden turbulence and a little extra landed her on his lap. He was hard. Eleanora stared at her, but for a moment she could not resist looking in his eyes and thinking about their future.
“I’m sorry!” she announced for the entire first class.
He caressed her ass just barely.
“No problem.”
With a slight long caress with her backside over his thighs, she imagined giving a lap dance. She felt him get that much harder, and she sashayed away. Not looking back at him, but thinking about tomorrow in New York, and of ghosts.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

photo of the ouija board by norman rockwell taken by f dot leonora

Polished

From the first when Charlie of Sex Blog (Of Sorts) fame suggested this meme, I loved it because it was girly and clever (like she always is). Sadl, there were stipulations that would have made it difficult for me to participate. I was over the moon when she revised the rules and I could be a part, but apparently it is now a contest! Gosh, if I do not win, I just hope she tells me what her favorite anthology is and…OMG Kristina Lloyd has sweetened the deal with a copy of Undone?! Okay, here is my “entry!”

Shirley swore as she pointed her leg to apply nail polish to the run that had started high up on her thigh. She was pissed about the run, but swore because the only bottle of polish she had that could be used was cherry blossom…with her black from head-to-toe outfit. Even her bra and thong were midnight-colored. But she had no choice they were going out for her boss’s birthday, and she had to look perfect.

She had never fucked her boss, but her close rapport with Arthur made the entire company think they had and she did not correct them. In lieu of an actual love life, it was nice that people thought she was fucking him. And it meant no one asked her any questions, so she did not have to answer anything.

Especially to her boss’ smug boss Oliver, who insinuated out loud about their relationship. For him, she had to look especially good.

Everything went as planned, even her run cooperated. Gins and tonics flowing like a river, who would have noticed anything awry anyway?

Shirley was back at her desk, even though everyone else had left for the day. Her close rapport with Arthur was because she worked like a fiend.

“No wonder Art is so in love with you, your blood is the color of cotton candy!”

A quick glance over her shoulder, and she saw him. Instead of being mortified that Oliver saw her cherry blossom nail polish fix, she turned around and fished through her drawer for the dried out bottle of cotton candy polish she had.

“This,” she stood up full of indignation and thrust in his face “is cotton candy!”

With that, she pulled down her black dress and grabbed her bag.

Oliver did not move.

“So what color is smeared on your ass then?”

He startled her, but she hid it.

“Cherry blossom.”

“You are tough as nails for someone who is nailing her boss.”

“I am not fucking Art!”

“Really?” he scoffed.

“No, I’m not, but if all of you want to believe it I could care less!”

“Then why,” He looked at her with amazement and confusion. “do you make it seem like you are?”

Looking in Oliver’s eyes was something she had always avoided. Their intensity quieted her bravado.

This was a question she didn’t want to answer.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks about me!”

Oliver would not move, and she wanted to get past him. Shirley felt sweat bead on her temples, she wanted to go before she started sweating profusely. A drop of sweat started its trickle down her face, Oliver wiped it away…

“You’re hot…”

She could have gotten him out of her way, but her two gin and tonics gave her a lazy buzz. But she knew what she was doing, and she was damn hot.

For him.

She knew that was why she really hid behind Art, so she could keep herself af arm’s length. Her smart mouth had got the better of her, admitting she had been misleading trying to spite Oliver.

Now what was she going to do?

He followed another bead of sweat down her cheek with his finger, used the dampness to ease his way down her cheek and into the hollow of her neck. Moisture beaded along another part of her body with his touch.

“Yeah,” she answered as if there had not been an involved delay in the conversation. “I’ve been running around all day…”

He didn’t answer. She recognized the fixed look in his eyes, the tightness of his lips and the way his cheeks sucked in as he looked at her…Only she believed it was an illusion, her emotions playing a Harry Houdini on her. Shirley moved as if she was shackled in chains and breaking free.

“Shirley.”

She turned right around, and dropped her bag but did not try to pick it up.

Looked at him.

“I know I never gave you much of a reason to like me, but I have behaved badly with you…” His shoulders were squared, his head bowed.

She rushed to him to let him know it was okay. When he looked up, his face was a breath away from hers. His kiss was expected and not. She proceeded to comfort him as she had intended within it, her hands caressing his face and hair. But his mouth quickly made her caresses rougher, transformed by her previously latent desire. He grabbed her ass where the nail polish was. Afraid he would get it all over his fingers, she tensed biting his lip before remembering the polish was not wet anymore.

But she was.

photo by f dot leonora

Wicked Wednesday #112 — Last Tree In The Forest…

Not quite sure how they got there, but the woman grabbed my trunk so I noticed her right away. Her long dark hair covered everything but her broad smile, which even I had difficulty being immune to. The man with her had no chance.
It did not look like he wanted a chance.
I wanted to know what they were saying but they spoke in whispers, her hair covered their mouths so I could not even read their lips.
I am huge–almost kissing the clouds—so visually they were a lot smaller than me. But they were not small, what was going on between them was not small at all. When she swung her hair away from their faces, their kiss was deep. His hand grabbed the hair she flung away, pulling her closer to him. She was lured willingly, and she grabbed my trunk again to lure him to her.
To me.
Maybe she wanted me to be part of it. This had not happened in a long time. When there were more of us, it was a frequent occurrence. Sometimes it was like an orgy out here, especially at night. But now it was just me–and now them. It looked like I was going to be part of it, which excited and intimidated me at the same time.
She pasted her back against my trunk, I am very hard obviously but she did not seem daunted. Pressing herself against me again and again, in her response to him pressing against her. The stimulation was almost too much for me, but I was frozen in place as I had been for all my life.
He kissed her until she turned her mouth, ragged and gasping for breath. He held her face, and kissed her again until he was breathless.
Together they panted, looking at each other with wide smiles. His fingers caressed the curves and the opening of her lips, his finger entering her mouth. She closed her eyes, held his finger fast and pounded her palms against my trunk like a fierce drum.
He removed his finger slowly, and her lips followed it for a bit. They pressed against each other again, with the famine I had seen before when I was not alone here. People used to flock here for trysts, and we were more than obliging. We contained them, their secrets and let them do what they wanted. We were the ultimate voyeurs.
Now I was alone, but this couple found me. They made me alive again with their hungry bodies. With their hungry emotion. It was hard for me to date their relationship, but the man mirrored the kind of longing I had felt for some time now. As if instead of filling her, she was filling him. She looked felicitous in that not so secret way women do when they are completely fulfilled.
Their frenzy could not be hidden, their eyes darted about so that I knew they liked the being out in the open but away from prying eyes. Well except mine, as they pressed against my trunk. I could not see the parts that the others so easily revealed in the past, but the arrangement of their bodies made it clear they were doing it.
The woman began pounding my trunk harder, a litany of exclamations that was not the usual language. I had not heard this language before. I have been in the same place all my life, so I only knew the one language they emitted when they came here in couples or more.
The man’s litany was completely familiar to me, before it became guttural. They reached the height of their pleasure and then stopped.
I stopped too.
They were in a rush. Since they had not even taken off their clothes, her palms left my trunk as she raced him to button up and zip. It was a draw, as he took her hand and kissed it. Then he kissed her mouth. It was not a goodbye kiss I suspected.
For her.
But for me, I would be left alone. The last tree in this vast forest with only memories of the other trees and lovers who had sought us. I watched them until they were dots and then…gone…

More Wicked Wednesday here:

photo by f dot leonora

BAD BOY MÉNAGE RELEASE DAY

I am so excited about the release of BAD BOY MÉNAGE, which also happens to be the Ravenous Romance book of the day! It was extremely easy to acquire stories from my selection of submissions, and I got to work with so many authors I know and love again.

Every story is so delicious, and as always there is a different interpretation of a bad boy. What is your definition of a bad boy? Tell me about your favorite fictional–or personal–one, and I will give you a copy of BAD BOY MÉNAGE!

Some of my fabulous BAD BOY MÉNAGE authors including: Penelope Pruitt , Amanda Earl, Kimber Vale and Giselle Renarde are blogging about the release as well. Stop by and visit them, they’re amazing!

I am still jumping up and down, this NEVER gets old for me!!!

Wicked Wednesday #111 – Masturbation Fodder

Eliza rubbed the piece of raw marinated steak between her hands. Rubbing the steak was like masturbating. The constant rubbing shook her breasts, her nipples jumped against the silk of her slip, which made her so tight between her legs she would have stopped to touch herself if she had not been touching raw meat.

Everything was masturbation fodder for her these days. Everything made her want to rub herself.

She had recovered from the car accident, but had not recovered her sex life. Cooking made her happy, she did a lot of things now to make to make herself happy.

She was living with Rafe again, and they were devoted to each other as they had been before, but they had not made love. Their mutual dabbling outside their relationship was something they had to consider. Neither of them was happy about what had happened, but they had planned to make a life together and that was not something they planned on breaking.

She felt like she had felt when she was in Shanghai, and her lust for Oscar had driven her barefoot in a cab to his hotel to get to him.

Oscar.

Her thoughts drifted to thoughts of Oscar which made her cry as if she had been chopping onions. She rubbed the steak again, the spices spread over her palms, wrists and inside her fingernails. It was the spices there that touched the tips of her fingers that made her entire body tingle. She quickly washed her hands which were remained redolent of sage, that wafted up her nose when she grabbed her breast and rubbed her nipple with her index finger. Her hand slid down over and under her slip, and she was just about to ease the tightness between her legs…

“What are you doing?”

Eliza dropped her hand to her thigh, turning back to Rafe sheepishly.

When she turned away from him, she felt him move behind her. He had not been that close to her in such a long time, his finger on her was like striking a match against its box.

His hand was on her breast, but it did not smell of sage. He smelled of sandalwood and bergamot. She leaned against him, unsure if it was of her own volition or simply for the depth of her lust. Her hand was on the top of her thigh, his hand covered hers.

“I missed you…”

He put his hand about her neck, and she gasped even though he was nowhere near choking her. She tilted her head so that he could kiss her neck.

“I missed you,” she admitted shyly as if she felt she was being unfaithful, when she was with the man she was engaged to.

Rafe kissed her neck, cheek, temple and just the very corner of her mouth, his hand still on her breast. Her slip fell down about her ankles, and she did not step out of it but spread her legs as far as it would allow her. She leaned into him even more, she wanted it from behind. There was no intimacy lacking even though they were not facing each other. The sound of his zipper made her so tight, she closed her eyes trying to bare it.

He put his hands on her shoulders after he kissed both of them, and entered her. His style was always animal, he made her feel like he was marking her. This time especially he was, he really was. His thrusts pressed her against the sink and she gripped the steak in response, tenderizing it with her fists.

Then Rafe was tender, kissing every inch of her body. Eliza quivered with the sensation of his lips, wishing she was a writer because she was sure there was a clever metaphor here. Rafe inside her while she fondled a steak.

Steak would now be legitimate masturbation fodder for her..

More masturbation fodder, I mean, Wicked Wednesday here:

photo via Google Images