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Whipped Cream & Handcuffs
There was another letter, sitting
there on her desk. She felt her heart skip a beat as heat
pooled low in her belly. Glancing around, she made sure
nobody else had seen it. More instinctive than anything,
since she was usually one of the first ones in the office.
Slowly, her hands shaking, she reached out. A poem this
time? Another short story that would have her quivering and
ready to beg for climax?
Nope.
Not this time.
This time it just read, Soon.
Holy shit, he had meant it.
Whoever it was that called her late at night, whoever it was
that left these dirty little stories, or romantic poems, was
going to finally come out and meet her. Face to face.
The first letter had come nearly four months earlier, on
Valentine's Day, with a basket that held some interesting
little items. A pair of cloth restraints, like handcuffs,
but made of soft material that wouldn't cause pain. A
feather. A bottle of massage oil.
A can of whipped cream.
And a magnet.
The magnet had read
You.
Me.
Handcuffs.
Whipped Cream.
Any questions?
Since then, only the stiff ivory envelopes made of a heavy
bond paper that had linen in it. The writing was all
handwritten and looked familiar, but she couldn't place it.
Sweeping, rather elegant looking, especially for a man.
A month after the letters had started, the phone calls had
begun.
She rubbed her left hand nervously against her pants, the
ring on her finger flashing at her mockingly.
The letters had started less than a week after Tyson had
proposed. And when she told, rather reluctantly, the mystery
man, who refused to give his name when he called her, he had
only responded, "The man isn't right for you."
She suspected the letters had started because of the
proposal. And she also suspected her mystery man was right.
Just reading his letter left her more turned on than
foreplay with Tyson. Very tepid foreplay, at that.
If just his letters, his voice were enough to make her cleft
wet and aching, what would touching him, him touching her,
be like?
She was going to find out.
But maybe she should tell Tyson.
Silk Scarves &
Seduction
His hands were
sweating.
A pulse was throbbing viciously in his
temple, and his throat was tight.
Marc hadn’t ever been so damned turned on in
his entire life. And all he was doing was looking at pictures.
More pictures.
The scarf was red lace this time. It was
covering her pussy in one, the open weave of the pattern showing
enough skin that Marc could tell she most likely shaved or
waxed. She had draped herself over something so that all he
could see were her thighs, her covered cleft, and her belly,
before her torso arrowed back and down, out of sight.
Then another, with the position reversed. And
her fine,
fine
ass was showing, the scarf lying
diagonally, from one shoulder down across her back to the
opposite hip. But he couldn’t even see her neck, not the color
of her hair, not anything. Just from her shoulders to her ass.
Then a profile shot and she had used the
scarf to bind her breasts.
And oh
fuck,
she had one hand buried between her thighs. He could see her
fingers glistening in the light, and almost hear a moan rippling
out of her.
Even if she hadn’t sent the scarf, he would
have known this was Blush’s work. Nobody else could make him
feel, and hear, and taste when he was looking at pictures like
she could.
Only her.
Damn it, he was going to paddle her ass for
doing this to him.
One
of the Guys
Jaynie's breath
hitched a little as she stared at Brian. He was laying on the
weight bench, his gaze on the ceiling, his features blank as he
lifted the heavy bar up and slowly lowered it back down. He
didn't make any of the annoying grunts and groans that Dean
liked to make when he worked out. The only sounds she heard were
his heavy breathing. He did ten reps as she watched.
She waited until he put the bar down and sat up before she
moved. She didn't make a sound, she knew she hadn't, but his
head turned and for a brief moment, there was a fiery heat
burning in the depths of his gaze. Then he blinked and when he
looked at her, his expression was shuttered.
That blank look cracked as she lowered her hands to the robe's
belt. She didn't say anything at first, just opened the robe and
stood there as he looked at her. He stared at her breasts and
she shuddered a little when he licked his lips. His big hands
clenched into fists and under the thin cotton shorts, she could
see the swelling of his cock. His gaze moved down her body.
Jaynie had to fight not to jerk the robe closed when his gaze
fastened on her sex. A muscle jerked in his jaw and Jaynie felt
an answering throb deep inside.
He wanted her. The relief that flooded her was unreal. It didn't
matter that he was probably just reaction to the physical
stimulus of a woman standing naked in front of him. It was a
basic, honest human reaction, a man wanting a woman. That was
all she needed, to know that she hadn't totally failed. Men
could want her.
"I need you to touch me," Jaynie said softly when he finally
looked up at her face.
"Jaynie..."
She knew what he was going to say and before he could form any
words to try and talk sense into her, she shrugged her shoulders
and sent the robe to the floor in a puddle of peach silk. "I
don't want anything more than you touching me, your hands on me.
I'm not looking to find a replacement for Dean and you don't
need to feel anything more than what you're already feeling. I
need to be touched, Brian, and I want you to do it."
His voice was hoarse when he rasped, "And when you wake up
tomorrow, then what? You're Kate's best friend. You're my friend
and we work together."
"And none of that will change, Brian. You don't need to lie to
me and tell me that you love me. You don't have to worry that
I'm using you as a rebound guy after Dean," she said softly. She
took a step towards him. He took a deep ragged breath and
started to reach for her. When he would have dropped his hand,
she took another step and caught his hand, brought up and
pressed it to her breast. His hand cupped her and he used his
thumb to trace a slow circle around her nipple. "But I need
this. Please."
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