Caramel Flava

  I watched her as she entered her car and backed out. No phone today. Good.

  I kept up the sex pace. Thanks to Librarian Lady and her man, my dick surged to life whenever I heard a car next door. It was like we were on our honeymoon again. I was happy when I woke in the morning, satisfied when I closed my eyes. But Paradise doesn’t last forever. My wife finally had “The Chat.” I’d expected it sooner than this but in any event, I was ready.

  “Honey, we’ve had sex five times this week. We’ve got to slow down. It’s wearing me out,” she complained.

  Trying to love two ain’t easy to do. But one thing I’d decided: If one of us was gonna be missing out on the pussy, it wasn’t gonna be me.

  “Aw, baby, you know I never could get enough of your good loving,” I smoozed, pulling her into my arms.

  She tensed, held me at arm’s length. “I enjoy you too. It’s just that…“Her eyes looked everywhere but at me. “I’m getting worn out from…“Sexing two men. “…From us staying up so late and everything,” she finished lamely.

  There were fatigue lines around her eyes and her mouth was tight. Most likely, her other lover was sweating her and she’d had to put him off, couldn’t work him over since I’d been laying down the pipe like I had a plumber’s degree. She wasn’t tired, she was worried.

  I smiled slyly as I answered, “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything. As a matter of fact, why don’t you take the day off and let me refresh you?”

  She grabbed her purse and ran out the door.

  She came home, arms heavy with folders. “I’ll be up half the night trying to finish these,” she said for clarification.

  I wondered briefly why she couldn’t complete them at the office but held my tongue. Sometimes work did follow you home. She’d said nothing when I’d done it so I stayed silent.

  I missed her as she worked in the office. I watched television, tried not to think about sex, but that’s all that was playing in my head—good sex with my wife. I finally went to bed around eleven while she sat there pecking at the computer, files all around her.

  The revving of an engine woke me again. I felt across the bed, realized my wife wasn’t there. I heard footsteps and my heart clutched. I wanted to get up, see if our local librarian was putting on another show, but how to explain my forays into voyeurism to my wife?

  I lay there as footsteps advanced into the kitchen. Heard the refrigerator door open and close…gulps of soda and light coughs afterward…the terrace curtain being slid aside…the door opening. I sat up then, wanting to stop her; wondering what was happening. Instead, I sat there frozen as a sweat broke out on my forehead.

  After fifteen minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore. I crept to the patio door. My wife stood on the terrace staring at the same room I’d been a front-row voyeur to. My eyes glanced at the room window. Ms. Librarian was being reamed out, the man straddling her back, his tongue hanging out.

  I walked behind my wife; wrapped my arms around her waist. She leaned into me, whispered, “Have you ever seen anything so fucking delicious?” Her body began rocking, pelvis thrusting slightly. My cock picked up her vibe and reared his big-ass head. I licked and nibbled as she stared.

  When Ms. Librarian buckled on a strap-on cock and stood behind the man, my wife lifted her skirt, spread her legs. I slid those panties down her golden legs, pulled her skirt over her ass.

  She watched. I kissed those beauteous globes.

  She moaned. I alternately sank my tongue into both of her holes.

  She rolled. I sucked her clit, feasted on her honey loving.

  She raked her nails across my head. I lifted, slung her over the railing, pulled her titties free.

  She spread wide. I surged in, pumped for all I was worth.

  We made the terrace quake in our passion. A chair tap-danced across the floor as I put my back into it. A potted flower splattered to the floor as she pumped back.

  I fucked with everything I had. I yielded no quarter. Give me everything or give me nothing. I wanted her to know what she had, what she was working with.

  A light was switched on. Still we fucked.

  A surprised “What the hell?” was uttered. Still we fucked.

  Ms. Librarian and her man now watched us, clapped, goaded us on. Still we fucked.

  The slap! slap! slap! of our bodies made the neighbor’s dog bark like crazy. Still we fucked.

  We fucked, fucked, Fucked, FUCKED, FUCKED until we both howled to the moon in ecstasy. Made car alarms go off in response. Collapsed onto the chaise lounge still fused. Dreamed in each other’s arms in the morning dew.

  That night, my wife walked into the house, strutted to the bedroom and returned half-naked. She said nothing as she melded her mouth to mine, cupped my balls before stroking my cock through my pants. I held my breath as her fingers slid my zipper down. My dick saluted. She stuck her tongue out, lightly flicked the tip, her eyes trapping my own.

  “Your turn,” she whispered.

  I do believe we are back on track.

  Sugar and Butter Poured over Muscle

  Azúcar y mantequilla

  derramados sobre un músculo

  Anne Elizabeth

  Skin like caramel, sugar warmed with butter and poured over muscle. He was the most gorgeous man she had seen in ages, and she ached for him.

  It had been a long time since she indulged her sweet tooth. She hungered in a way that made a craving for chocolate pale in response.

  Unconsciously, her tongue licked over her lips. She pursed the perfect pout of her mouth together and pantomimed a kiss.

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t an accident he was staring back now. But she wanted him. Needed him. She had to have him.

  Taking a long breath, she let her chest fill. Her breasts swelled under the hold of the tight blouse and shook with the release. Yes, she was depending on him watching now.

  Running her tongue over the upper lip to encompass first one tip of the cupid bow, then the other, until she reached the edge, then swooped down over the thickness of her lower pout. She watched his eyes track her. Bite Me Strawberry was the color of the bright red lipstick she wore, and she wanted him to—bite her, that is.

  Eyebrows lifted. Thick, dark and temptingly soft-looking male eyebrows arched high into his forehead as if reading her mind.

  “Gorgeous,” she sighed. Leaning forward, she let the button on her blouse strain. The material gapped to show the sheer lace bra beneath. Never in all of her days had she been so grateful she was wearing her push-up. The things Wonderbra did for her breasts was beyond tempting, it was downright damnable. Of course, she would not have it any other way.

  “Excuse me, miss.”

  It was the porter. She did not let her eye contact with the muscular hunk waver.

  “Miss. You are being paged.”

  “Am I? By who?” She was curious enough to give the porter her full attention. She broke her eye contact.

  “Didn’t say, miss.”

  “How do you know I am a miss?”

  “No ring.”

  She smiled at him. “That’s not always accurate.”

  “Should I say Mrs.?”

  “No. Not married. Where do I answer this page?”

  “Over there, miss. In the Airline Club. Across the way, through the door and first room on the right.”

  “You wouldn’t be accompanying me?”

  “No, miss.”

  Opening her Prada, she fished inside for a tip. A five and a twenty came out. She stuffed the twenty back in and gave the porter a five.

  “Thank you, miss.”

  Nodding her head, she gathered her possessions. After finding her Hermès scarf on the ground, she shook it to rid the silk of airport dust and stood.

  Her man was gone. She felt her facial features pull into an unattractive expression and forced herself to release it. She sighed. “Figures.”

  Setting off in the direction bid, she wondered what the issue was. Did work track her down, because s
he refused to turn on her cell or bring a BlackBerry? Was it her family? Did the airline have an issue? Questions rattled in her brain.

  As she pushed through the last door, she could not help freezing in her tracks. Nothing could have prepared her for this. It was him. “You?”

  “Yes.” His voice was deep, melodic and rich. The image of sugar warmed with butter came unbidden again and she licked her lips.

  He walked toward her and his stride was long, graceful. The play of muscles was extraordinary and her mouth opened slightly.

  Hands pulled her purse from her, the travel bag, and her coat. Her arms were suddenly empty save for the silk scarf which he drew around her waist to pull her closer.

  “How? Who?”

  Lips turned up at the corners. “They like the military in airports.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “I told them I’m with the military.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. Do you doubt me? Do you doubt what I am capable of?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that I—”

  “Don’t know what I want?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t keep the quiver out of her voice. Every fiber of her body screamed for him to touch her, but her mind, now that it was faced with the moment, was a little scared.

  “It didn’t stop you earlier.”

  Her body wouldn’t let her betray this need. She leaned toward him, wanting this gorgeous man, and she was getting closer to him by the second.

  The next words bathed his chin. “Your—”

  “Name is—”

  “Isa.” She could hear the quake in her voice. Damn, she hated that she sounded scared.

  “Rafael.” His tongue tripped over the syllables like a licking caressing. “You have skin like milk.”

  “Oh.” Her mouth opened wider, and his descended.

  All thought disappeared as his tongue touched hers. It teased, tickling the tip and tantalizing the length. Slowly he stroked her tongue until she moved beneath him.

  Her mouth stroked, wanting to drink from his mouth as he did hers. The fingers, so carefully manicured hours earlier, dug into his shirt and pulled.

  He made a sound and drew back from her.

  Her eyes flew open, though she couldn’t have told you when she closed them. The arched line of her eyebrows drew together and she knew she was making that face, the unhappy, stressed one she so desperately sought to eradicate.

  A smile played over his lips. He leaned in and kissed between her eyebrows and the wrinkles faded into relaxation. “Yes, my red-haired beauty. I shall make everything better.”

  Sugar and butter, her mind mulled. Skin so hot, like savory, creamy caramel.

  “Will you allow me?”

  “Yes.” The words left her mouth before she could stop them. But as his hands started unbuttoning her blouse, she wasn’t sure she could stop.

  Clothes seemed to strip away in a blink of an eye until she was standing there naked. Hands ran over her. Instead of making her feel bare, the caresses made her feel beautiful, sexy and desired.

  As his hands grazed the inside of her thighs, she parted her legs wider and his fingers found her. She sighed as he rubbed her clit.

  Lust pushed away the lull of the steady stroke as she pushed herself toward him. “My greedy redhead. Did you know there is a vine which bears grapes called Isabella? Do you need to be picked, my Isa, my beauty?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was a whisper. She wanted him. Yet somehow, she still felt disconnected.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She did. Responding immediately to the command in his voice.

  Teeth stretched his face in a long smile, like he was baring them. His fingers played over her gently. “Is this what you want?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Liar.” He squeezed her labia.

  Her body quaked.

  “You want something else.”

  “Yes.”

  “Louder.”

  “I want something else.”

  Her eyes looked down. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Her needs were not allowed in her world. It was too straitlaced, too staid. It was the reason she could not help flirting with the gorgeous Latino man in the airport, the one who held her now so intimately.

  “You want me to master you.”

  Her eyes snapped to his. She knew if she had a mirror they would be large and very, very green. “Yes.”

  “Light or heavy pain.”

  “Light.”

  “But you want some now?” A hand was in her hair, rubbing and massaging her scalp.

  “Yes.”

  He twined the length of hair around his hand and used it as a handle to place her head where he wanted it. His mouth was back. Rougher this time.

  He ate at her, taking her mouth and claiming her skin. A hand tweaked her clit and she felt herself come. It was small, but joyful. If this was it, she promised herself, she would be happy, could be happy with just—

  Without prep, she was turned. The front of her body grazed the wall and the shock sent her pleasure/pain receptors into “receive” mode.

  The sound of a zipper, the crinkle of foil, prepared her this time, but him entering her from behind, stretching her wide, took her breath.

  “Big. So big.” She panted.

  “Hmmm, you are tight, my milkmaid. Very tight.”

  This part of him felt as thick and muscled as the rest of him. She couldn’t help it, she tensed.

  He stopped, half in and half out of her. “Ease.”

  She was drawn from the wall. Fingers played over her breasts, stroking, pinching, teasing until she relaxed. Her uterus eased.

  “You know me.”

  “I know pleasure. Never doubt a Navy man knows his way around a woman.”

  He surged and sank himself to the hilt.

  She cried out and her body convulsed around him. The gush of liquid was huge as it bathed his cock.

  A growl came from his mouth. He set his teeth against her skin and bit, leaving a ring to mark her. At the same time, he squeezed her nipples hard and she came. He released them, tenderly mended the ache. Then pinched again and held tight, and pumped hard and fast.

  Her fingers dug into his thighs and he groaned. There was wet beneath her fingertips and he lifted her up and away from anything to grab.

  Turning her, he placed her on the conference table, so she squatted on the table. He was still in her and he drew her tight, all folded up, against him.

  The position bunched the muscles of her legs together. It was uncomfortable having her knees tucked into her chest and she squirmed against him. He was too big for her in this position and her body started to force him out.

  He acquiesced and drew all the way out of her and laid her body out on the table with her butt in the air and legs dangling over the side. Drawing back his hand, he smacked her skin.

  The first swipe was shocking. The second brought a smile to her lips. She sighed after the third and pushed up to meet him for the next ones.

  Ease flowed through her body, making her heart beat faster and her pulse thud. The part of her brain that longed to let go finally released and she felt the tender touch of floating. It came sometimes, when she was being attended in such a way, but it had been so long. So long.

  His cock brushed against her leg and the beat faltered.

  She shivered. Hot, so hot.

  He pulled her against him. The heat was too much, and she fought to pull away, but he thrust his cock into her.

  She was wet. It made a sound, like the smack of a kiss or the swat of a behind.

  He sighed. The pace he set was fast and steady.

  Fingers played over her, rubbing, kneading, pinching, prodding, until the pleasure/pain line was so blurred every part of her flowed into him and his next movement.

  She felt her climb, and it wasn’t a mini climax building, but one of those multi-orgasmic, triple-tiered episodes that shimmered with aftershocks. “Permission to—??
?

  “No.” The word ground out, the sound gravel-hard and deeper then before.

  She concentrated on her breath, trying to pull it back in, but like her body it was out of control. She panted like she was running a race and her body was so hot, so wet.

  “Please.” The word hung plaintive between them. She wouldn’t beg, she couldn’t, though her body cried its own tears for release. She was so wet. So wet.

  Hands squeezed her breasts and yanked her from the table.

  The rhythm was broken. She shook and shuddered in his hands.

  He pulled out and she wanted to weep with the loss of him.

  He turned her to face him. “Say my name.”

  “Rafael.”

  Fingers squeezed along her lower back. “Again.”

  “Raf-y.”

  “Yes.” His mouth claimed hers. It branded her with the kind of kiss that would leave her red and swollen later.

  Hands lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. They stood in the room, nothing supporting them, and fucked. His cock stroked in and out, making little noises of joy as it came out.

  He kissed her. Frantic laps of tongue and teeth.

  Kissed and fucked, until it was unclear how many times she climaxed.

  When he finally released her mouth and drew out of her cunt, she was shaking on legs too rubbery to stand. He picked her up and laid her on the table again.

  She was covered in sweat and without his warmth, started to shiver.

  He watched her for a minute, then went to his luggage. Rummaging inside, he finally drew out a T-shirt, clean white cotton. The smell of detergent and bleach welcomed her.

  He rubbed it over her body, drying her, cleaning her.

  She was silent, agreeable. Rolling, lifting, opening as he bid. When he completed the task, he moved it over himself and tossed it toward the luggage.

  Her head lolled toward him and she stared at his navel. Her tongue snaked out to lick a line over his belly. Before she knew it she was on her hands and knees eating over his flesh like a starved woman. Caramel.

  He lay down on the table, and she moved over him. “A feast. My own banquet.” With hands, teeth and tongue, she tantalized and teased his flesh. It was so much better than she imagined. Sugar warmed by butter and poured over muscle. She bit him and he cried out.