Sensuality

  I forced myself to stop teasing him long enough to pull a casserole dish out from under the island and set it next to the cooktop. Once I was back behind Chris, I let one hand trail down the warm plane of his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. Chris leaned into the counter’s edge, pinning my fingers in place so I couldn’t explore any…lower.

  “Pour it in the dish,” I softly instructed. I shut the burner off with my free hand and wiggled my fingers where he’d trapped them against the countertop.

  “Not till I finish, Miss Bossy.”

  Once he was done, Chris clamped a firm hand down on my wrist, turned, and pulled me against him. Our eyes locked and we smiled at each other as he casually draped his other arm over my shoulder. “We could finish this later,” he whispered against my cheek.

  The feel of his hand delving under my skirt, the warm firm pressure of his fingers on my damp curls tempted me.

  “Put the peaches in the oven,” I murmured, pressing my face into his chest to smother my groan of frustration. I was ready to put the entire cobbler in the oven so we could move on to bigger and better things. “They need to stay warm.”

  His movement freed my hands to quickly measure out the ingredients for the crust and dump them in a bowl. From another drawer I pulled out a pastry blender and handed it to him with my most serious expression on my face. “Now the crust.”

  “I thought we were done?”

  “Not quite, querido.”

  While Chris cut in the crust with almost determined precision, I went for the pantry and the brandy.

  He glanced at me, one dark eyebrow arched. “Beer’s not enough? Or do you just need that so you can handle me?”

  “Please!” I giggled. As if I couldn’t handle him. “Don’t ask questions. Just take notes. You have to remember all this so you can tell your cook in Tennessee how to make it for you…or maybe you could make it for her?”

  “Or maybe you could come back home with me and make it every day.”

  “You want me to move to Tennessee just so I can make cobbler for you every day?” I took the pie cutter away from him and added milk, handing him another spatula. “Stir.”

  “I told you, I dream about your cobbler.”

  “You have a one-track mind and you’re crazy,” I said with a laugh. “Now mix that up real good.”

  “I might be crazy, but they’ve never been able to prove I’m insane.”

  His words gave me pause as I turned toward the oven and pulled the warm peaches out.

  “I’m kidding…it’s the job that makes me crazy,” he said. “Now you gonna drink that brandy or what?”

  With a grin and a shake of my head, I measured out a liberal amount and slowly poured it over the peaches. “How’s the crust?”

  “Take a look for yourself.” He held the bowl up so I could see.

  “Perfect.” I nudged the brandy-covered peaches toward him with a nod. “We’ll make a cook out of you yet. Now, drop spoonfuls of dough on top and then we can bake it.”

  I sounded like Julia Fucking Child. While Chris finished the cobbler, I sipped my beer, contemplating my next move. The countertop was too high for sex. But the old pine table that ran the width of the kitchen was perfect.

  “So it’s the brandy?”

  “Shhhh.” I grinned and held a finger to my lips. “Put it in the oven and set the timer for thirty minutes.”

  “So what do we do for the next thirty minutes?” he asked once he was done.

  “I’m sure we can think of something.” I took my beer and sashayed across to the table, turned, and leaned against it with my legs crossed. Now that the business of baking had been taken care of, it was time to get to more important matters. “Still got my panties?”

  Chris followed my path across the kitchen, pulling the panties out of his pocket as he got closer. Smiling, he held them to his nose for a heartbeat or two before tossing them on the table beside my beer. My granny would have had a fit…if she were still alive.

  “Lose the shirt.” He nodded his head with a determined gleam in his eye.

  “Ha! You lose yours.”

  He gave me a hard once-over, then peeled off his shirt, revealing the heavy pecs I’d fondled earlier. They were covered with a light dusting of dark brown hair that tapered down to a thin line and disappeared into his shorts.

  “Now the shorts.” My mouth was practically watering. He was tanned a light golden brown and while he didn’t exactly have a six-pack, he definitely had nothing to be ashamed of.

  Chuckling softly, he unsnapped the button fly on his shorts but left them on.

  “Tighty whities,” I teased, peeling off my own shirt and dropping it to the floor beside me.

  “Those are nice,” he said, indicating my breasts.

  “I like ’em,” I said, winking.

  “I noticed.” He reached up and unhooked my white cotton bra, pushing it off my shoulders. “You just don’t seem like a girl who’d wear cotton.”

  “It’s not about the boring cotton, querido, but what’s in it.” With a grin, I delved inside his shorts and cupped the firm cheeks of his ass, pulling him against me.

  “I promise there ain’t nothing boring in my cotton, sugar,” he whispered against my neck. His stubble tickled, but I didn’t move as he pressed a soft wet kiss under my ear. “You have the softest hair…the softest skin. Come back to Tennessee with me and make us both happy.”

  I leaned back, reclining the length of the table, my skin so hyperaware of everything that I swear I could feel every scar and pit in that old table. “Take off my skirt.”

  “You didn’t answer me.” He obliged, working the skirt over my hips and letting it fall somewhere below me.

  I continued to ignore his insistence about Tennessee, because frankly, I didn’t take him seriously. Instead, I focused on what I wanted. I watched him through half-closed eyes as my hands skimmed across my rib cage and the flat plains of my stomach to between my thighs. “Touch me, lover.”

  In response, he pushed his shorts off his hips and slowly ground his cotton-clad crotch against my naked pussy.

  “You want me to fuck you?” he growled, my legs held firmly in his grasp.

  I shook my head and smiled. “Not yet. I’d much rather you touch me…with your mouth. That sweet mouth. Yes?”

  “You are enjoying watching me suffer way too much.” He frowned in obvious frustration and splayed his hands across my ribs.

  “Be a good boy and I’ll give you hot cobbler with ice cream later.”

  His frown turned into a grin and he chuckled as he propped my legs open wide. He nodded and planted a soft kiss in my belly button before trailing lower. On a happy sigh, I closed my eyes and bit my lip in anticipation and he didn’t disappoint. Chris’s tongue was good for more than eating fruit. My hips arched upward as he deftly teased my clit and licked every inch of me. I refused to wiggle or give in to the ever-increasing need to pull him in deeper, by his hair even, and come all over his face. Instead, I forced myself to breathe though the tension coiled tighter and tighter low in my belly until I almost couldn’t stand it.

  “Stop…stop it, Chris!” I pushed at his shoulders and wiggled away.

  He finally came up for air, planting another soft kiss on my belly. “What’s the matter?” he asked, frowning.

  “There’s more of me that needs attention.” I lifted one leg and traced the length of his chest with my big toe, being sure to pay special attention to the one nipple I could reach.

  Smiling, he grabbed my foot and nipped the fleshy part near my toe. “You are a demanding mistress.”

  “I can be.” I sighed as he pressed a soft kiss to the arch, then my ankle.

  “Maybe I won’t take you back to Tennessee with me.” He sank his teeth into the tender flesh behind my knee.

  “Then you wouldn’t get any more peaches and cream.” I tugged my leg from his grasp and sat up, pulling his head down to mine. “And then what would you do?”

  “Guess I’
d just have to come back to Texas for a regular fix.” He sealed my mouth with his own cool, firm lips and delved inside. He tasted like peaches and brandy and me. I pushed his jockeys down, pausing long enough to assess the size and girth of his cock, before I released it and landed a smack on his bottom.

  “Mmm!” He scowled down at me, one of my wrists firmly clamped in his hand. “What the hell was that for?”

  “You got in the peaches!”

  “So!” His scowl morphed into an outrageously shameless grin.

  “I should spank you. Or maybe something worse?” I reached down and cupped his sac, smiling as it twitched ever so slightly in my hand.

  “How many licks do I get?” he asked, snickering.

  “How many peaches did you sneak?” I gave his balls another squeeze, firm enough so that he knew I meant business, but not painful. Then I leaned over and gave the head of his cock a light lick. When I looked back up at him, he had his lower lip caught between his teeth, and I couldn’t resist giving him another swat on the ass.

  “I ate three,” he said with a grunt, “and they were so good. Now do that some more.”

  “What’s the magic word?” I could taste him and I wanted more.

  “Please,” he whispered, nodding and tangling a hand in my hair.

  I propped one foot in a chair for support and leaned over, drawing his cock into my mouth. My hands trailed down the length of his back and across his ass, landing another smack that echoed through the cozy kitchen. His breath hitched and he grunted, bucking in my mouth.

  “You make me wanna come so bad,” Chris ground out in a shaky voice.

  “Then no more of that for you. It’s not time.” I slipped off the edge of the table but left one leg propped on the chair and tugged him toward me by his cock. “First, I punish you, then you get to come.”

  “Fine, whatever you say.” His eyes at half-mast, the tiniest smile on his face, Chris wrapped his arms around my neck, as if he’d given himself over completely to whatever pain/ pleasure I might dole out. The sight of his surrender left me weak-kneed and achy.

  “Move a little closer,” I whispered, giving another gentle tug.

  He did as I instructed and I started a slow rhythmic pumping with one hand. We ended up forehead to forehead, whispering soft lover-talk to each other: Do you like that…Harder…Can I touch you…Spank me. A request I was happy to fulfill, smacking one plump muscular cheek while I continued to jack him off. I forced my eyes to stay open, forced myself to breathe, to stay in control despite my own growing need.

  We stood there, our breaths mingled, the musky perfume of sex mixed with peaches and cinnamon and brandy. Chris’s long dark eyelashes fanned out under his eyes, his breath came in short huffs as he demanded I go faster, demanded I spank him again. Of course, that’s when I didn’t. Never mind that my pussy had grown slicker and wetter every time my hand connected with his bottom, so wet in fact, the tops of my thighs were damp.

  I didn’t change a thing, not the speed of my hand on his cock, nothing, until he reached the point where he was begging. Begging for faster, begging to be spanked. All his earlier playfulness was now long gone.

  “Relax,” I instructed as I fought the urge to give him what he wanted. Me.

  “I can’t…I wanna come so bad.” His face was tight, his teeth gritted together and his body hummed with tension.

  “Not yet, okay. Now relax or it’ll hurt more when I spank you. I don’t want to hurt you, querido.”

  “I know you don’t, but if I relax, I’ll come,” he insisted.

  The hand wrapped around his cock sped up. “Relax,” I hissed. “Breathe, Chris…breathe.” Under my other hand his right cheek muscle softened the tiniest bit and I smacked him again just as I released my grip on him, and he found himself thrusting into air.

  “God!” He reared back, every muscle in his body tense as he sucked in a deep breath and fought for control. “Dammit, Fiona!”

  “Touch me, lover.” I lightly fondled every inch of his erection with my fingertips. The head of his cock was nearly purple and the shaft swollen to delicious proportions.

  His large, gentle hands wandered from my hair to skim the length of my back and caress the soft underside of my breasts, my shoulders, my arms, and my legs spread wide between us. Goose bumps popped up on my skin, and I hummed in pleasure as my nipples puckered even harder.

  We kissed, wet, sloppy, breathless kisses until Chris came up for air, nipping at my earlobe and begging to fuck me.

  I lay back on the table, closed my eyes, and handed him the reins, smiling as he jerked my bottom to the edge and thrust inside me with a rude grunt of satisfaction. I caught my breath at the sudden sharp invasion, then locked my legs around his waist and met every hard, hungry thrust. He’d definitely been more than worth the wait.

  “You’re a…damned…tease…Fiona…” he insisted with each lunge.

  “And you love it. Now c’mere.” I held out my arms and reveled in the hot, heavy length of him in me. Then slipped one hand between us. There was no way I could catch up with Chris, who was already beginning to climax, but I followed quickly, squealing and bucking against him and milking us both for all we were worth.

  We lay there the longest time. Until the air-conditioned air cooled the sweat on his back and our heavy breathing had returned to normal.

  Chris’s legs shook as he slowly pushed himself up on one elbow. “So what about Tennessee. Did you decide?”

  I smiled but before I could answer, the oven timer went off.

  The Salsa Connection

  Anna Black

  She moans beneath him as the rhythm of his hips matches the tempo of the music. Each thrust of his cock into her cunt goes deeper and deeper, like the steady beat of the timbales. Sweat coats his skin and hers, the bed creaks beneath them, a breeze, redolent with the smell of the ocean and of mariposa lily and the intoxicating sounds of the salsa band playing beneath their open window sweeps across their frenzied bodies. His hands grip her wrists, holding her firmly against the mattress, his lips sear her throat, his teeth nip at her skin. She feverishly rubs her breasts against his chest, the black, curly hairs strafing her throbbing nipples.

  His moans echo hers and he punctuates them with fiercely whispered words in Spanish that she does not understand but the meaning is as clear as his pelvis grinding against her, his cock pulsating within her, his body possessing hers.

  “Pay attention, Gloria.”

  Startled out of her daydream by Eduardo’s words, Gloria twisted her ankle as she tried to turn where he was guiding her. She stumbled and was slipping toward the hardwood floor of the dance studio.

  Eduardo quickly grabbed her, his arm snaking around her waist. She looked up at him. His dark eyes glittered with annoyance, his firm, sensual lips twisted with irritation.

  “I’m wondering whether you and I are wasting our time.”

  She squirmed away from him. “Wasting our time? Haven’t I been coming here every week for the past month?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his black cotton shirt stretching over his broad shoulders and lean, muscular arms. “You do not feel, Gloria. And because you do not feel, I cannot teach you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You take the lessons but you do not experience what you are doing. Tell me, why do you want to learn to dance the salsa?”

  “What does it matter, why I want to learn?”

  “I want to know what is in your heart.”

  “My heart? What the hell does my heart have to do with it?”

  Eduardo shook his head, as if confronted with a misbehaving child. “There’s no need to curse, Gloria.”

  “You call that cursing? Trust me, when I get to cursing, you’ll know.”

  “When you asked me to teach you to dance the salsa, I made it quite clear that if you were not serious about it, I would not waste my time teaching you.”

  Gloria clenched her hands. “I am serious. Why do you keep saying I?
??m not?”

  He tapped her on her forehead. “You are not here when we dance. Your thoughts are elsewhere.”

  No shit, Gloria thought. Her thoughts were definitely elsewhere. For example, in bed with Eduardo as he thrust with what she imagined was a most delicious cock inside her, at the beach with Eduardo, waves washing over them as they fucked, on a—”

  “There you go again. Daydreaming.”

  Gloria focused back on Eduardo’s face. The smoldering dark eyes framed by thick black lashes, the classically sculpted face, the sensual lips. Why did he have to be so goddamn gorgeous? And how in hell was she supposed to concentrate on dancing when all she could think about was being naked with him, his long brown limbs wrapped around her, his thick, long cock (and, yes, she had no doubt it was thick and it was long) pumping steadily inside her hot, juicy cunt.

  “I’m not daydreaming.”

  “This is not going to work,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I am not going to waste my time teaching you, Gloria.”

  “But…I’ve paid you—”

  “I will return your money.”

  “Why?”

  He touched her forehead and then moved his hand, lightly touching her chest. Her nipples tingled. “In your head and in your heart, you are not here. I cannot teach you.”

  “You are such a pompous ass,” Gloria blurted out, her sexual frustration finally lashing out as anger.

  His eyes widened. “Pompous?”

  “Yes, pompous. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?” She waved her hand at the other instructors who, along with their students, were staring at her and Eduardo. She didn’t care. “They don’t make such a big deal out of it. They’re just having fun.”

  “Fun?” Eduardo nodded as if something had been confirmed for him. “If that is what you want, only to have fun, perhaps you’d be better off with one of them.”

  “Fine. Maybe I would.”

  “I’ll see that your money is returned.”

  He walked away and Gloria, despite her disappointment and anger, couldn’t help noticing what a nice ass he had.