9781618857569GettingitAllStorm (10 page)

She
settled back. Her fingers moved over her body.
Uncovered,
firm flesh in the cooler, steamy air.
Slick, watery skin enveloped
underneath the warm fluid. She loved her flesh. She loved the feel of her hands
on her, in her.

Her
fingers probed and ever so gently plucked at her most sensitive areas.
Rode the hills and valleys, dipped into the most intimate
entrances.
Entrances that had been abandoned except
for her own reclaiming.

She
stroked her clit, plucked at the wet mat of pubic hairs. Thrust her full hips
up to meet her descending fingers, clustered into kissing digits, tiny
five-fingered mouths, five-tongued adulation.

Her
breasts bloomed. Her skin flushed, warmer underneath the water, degrees cooler
out. She dipped her chest as her hands pressed and possessed, her nipples
plunging into and out of the water, her full breasts making waves, foamy waves,
female adulatory waves, addressing her body’s need, attending to her want.

The
water began to slosh, her body writhing deliciously in response to her watery
ministrations, her fingers working more assiduously, doing their duty, probing,
teasing, plucking, pressing, filling her—not as deep, not as far inside, but
enough…enough.
Enough
.

Soon.
Too soon.

She
squeezed her breasts with the upper part of her arms and reluctantly removed
her hands from her nether regions, pulling them languidly up her center. She
pressed the fingers gently into her tummy, feeling its fullness, testing its
elasticity. Her fingertips trailed up her front, pausing to play at her
bellybutton, to probe at her abs, and finally to slide across and grip the
opposite elbow, cupping and caressing her breasts.

She
gently lifted the full-blown mammary glands, feeling their heaviness and their
womanliness. She crossed her legs underneath the warm water and squeezed,
tightening her vaginal muscles, tightening her arms, compressing herself into
one fully aware package. Slowly she writhed, feeling her skin slicked by the
water and kissed by the moist air of the heated bath. Her whole body sang.
Every nerve ending joined the chorus. Her flesh was music.
Full-throated.

She
felt the tempo building, the climax coming. She urged the finale on. Her back
arched. Her hands plunged into the water and into herself.

She
exploded.
With a grateful expulsion of breath, followed by
gasped giggling.
Her whole body tingling as she climaxed, merged with
the water, with the candlelight, her fluids pouring into the warm hot
receptacle of her tub, her mother lode. She drove her fingers deep, titillating,
dragging the orgasm out, stretching it like a lush rubbery sheath, her hips
convulsing as the interior waves thrashed for release, and then poured their
release into the milky universe she was suspended in.

God.

Damn.

Good.

Dot
stretched, spread her legs, pointed her feet, stretched her feet, lifted her
legs and hooked her heels onto the sides of the tub, her white-knuckled fingers
gripped the rim, then plunged in again to pull her pussy wide, wider so she
could kiss it with her finger probes, thank it with the hard-pressing palms of
her hand. Iron its bloom, its full blossom back into place. Where it would be
waiting for her again when she needed…

…to
remind
herself
…

…she
didn’t need any man.

Chapter
Four

Peering over the edge of her
margarita glass, Dorothy watched Lucy intently follow
Giancarlo-their-waiter-for-the-evening adroitly swivel-hip his way away from
their secluded booth through the crowded tables of the local Italian
restaurant.

“He's cute,” Lucy noted, sitting
next to Dorothy on the padded seat, wide eyes aglow at the brightly decorated
pseudo-Italianate surroundings.

“Cute and high school jail bait.”
Across the table, Christy took a sip of her house red and reached for a
breadstick.

“Really?
He looks a
lot older than that.”

“Now, the dude that brought our
drinks, you could lay hands on him with no trouble at all.” Christy crunched a
good portion of her breadstick and munched seductively.

Dorothy stroked a pink tongue
over her salty lips “Lucy, how often do you get out these days to where you
even see guys?” She checked out a young waiter nearby taking orders. “Though
some of the local high school guys are old enough to knock up their fellow
female students, the law says we cougars are not allowed to knock them up
without getting our hands slapped.
Seems unfair to me.”

“Cougars?”
Lucy's
brow furrowed.

“Okay, two cougars and a baby
lioness,” she amended, shooting a glance toward the second cougar as the baby
lioness giggled.

“We all know where our hunky
school board head stands on that,” Christy noted, dryly. “Not where he stands
on 'cougars',” she explained to Lucy's raised eyebrows.
“On
'knocking up.'
He said it loud and clear. What we do
not
know, is where Matt stands on,”
she paused, directing her look at her two dinner companions.
“Us.”

“Us?”
Lucy's
eyes suddenly brightened.

“You won the bet,” Dorothy said
without emotion. “There
is
no us. Isn’t this little
victory dinner a reason to rub our noses into that very evident fact?”

“Well, that's what I've been
thinking about.” Christy traced an elegant finger around the rim of her glass.
“Though there's no doubt in my mind that eventually I would have bedded the
dude fair and square, there may have been extenuating circumstances this first
time around.”

“What extenuating circumstances?”
Lucy leaned forward.

“And what do you mean, 'first
time around'?” Dorothy asked.

“Dear innocent Lucy,” Christy
turned toward the innocent. “It seems you set him up for me and I, efficiently,
knocked him out of the park.”

“And I didn't even get to pop a
foul,” Dorothy muttered darkly.

The youngest of the trio looked
puzzled. “What do you mean, set Matt up?”

“It's all over the town gossip
loops, little one. You and Matt were caught canoodling at the scenic pullover
off the Taconic. Obviously, after so easily getting to first base, he was ripe
to be picked off by me.
Batter up.”
She elegantly
swung her breadstick before popping it between her gleaming white teeth and
taking another healthy crunch.

Dorothy spoke up brusquely.
“Christy, not that I don't appreciate a free meal, but why are we
here?
You didn't have to take us out to gloat. You could have announced
your victory at The Crowing Glory and the entire county would have known it by
nightfall.”

“The entire county knew it by
nightfall, anyway,” Lucy sighed morosely. “And we didn't make out at the
overlook. We just looked. It was a beautiful sunset. He said it was a special
place and he wanted me to share it. I did get a really nice kiss.”

“It's where he first asked his
wife to marry him,” Dorothy explained, surprised the margarita was going to her
head so quickly.

“Oh.” Lucy's eyes grew wide.

“She said no.” Christy killed
Lucy's hopeful look. “He talked her into it later.”

“Oh.” Lucy looked totally
confused. “What did that mean, then? Why do you think he took me there?”

“Did he say why?” Dorothy asked,
a bit more of a
teacherish
edge to her voice than she
had meant. Her margarita was already half gone and her face felt flushed. She
reached for her water glass.

Lucy searched her memory.
“Just...he wanted to share it.”

“Was it a nice sunset? Maybe he…”

“It was okay. I like the ones
with more clouds better, you know? This one was a little bright.” She blinked.
“We were looking right into the sun.”

“Maybe,” Christy broke in, “he
just wanted to share a pretty sight, a pretty place. Some guys are like that.
They just like to share. It's been a long time for Matt.” She smoothed the
tablecloth surrounding the bread plate in front of her. “Okay. That's a good
segue into what this little victory lap here is about.”

“Here you are, ladies.”
Giancarlo-for-the-evening magically appeared with a tray filled with their
appetizer plates, which he efficiently set out. “Have you thought about a main
course, or will this be a light evening for the ladies?”

“I'm thinking we might need
something substantial. What do you say, girls?” Christy asked. “Do you have
spaghetti with meatballs and roasted vegetables?”

“With
scollops
?”
Lucy piped up. “I love spaghetti
and seafood.”

“Mushrooms
and chicken.”
Dorothy smiled in Christy's direction.
“Since you're paying.”

“Very good.
A celebration.”
Giancarlo impressively rattled off a series
of Italian phrases interspersed with spaghetti. “Was there a bet or something?
And a winner?”

“You nailed it. She won.” Lucy
pointed to Christy.

“And she's paying? You ladies are
after my own heart.”

“Aw, I'll bet that heart is
taken.” Christy ran her fingers through her white-blonde mane, peering up under
her lashes. The effect was made. The young man's handsome face reddened as he
gave a swaggering shrug.

“
Naw
.
I'm free as a bird.”

“From one flower to the next,”
Dorothy noted, dryly.
“Ah, to be young and free...from one
flower to the next.”

“Well, uh, I'd better get these
orders in.” Eyes bright, cheeks pink, Giancarlo swivel-hipped away.

“Nice bottom,” Lucy noted
quietly. “Oh, my, I'd better have another drink.” She looked around for someone
to signal.

“Speaking
of nice asses.”
Christy picked up her
phone,
tapped on the touchscreen and presented the result to her
dinner companions.

“Oh. My.
God.”
Lucy breathed. “It's Matt.”

“Naked.
In bed.
Asleep?” Dorothy's heart was instantly thundering. She felt slightly faint.
Surely it was the drink. They must really lay the tequila on here, she thought.
“That is a beautiful butt.
And chest.
And chin.
And...” He was lying on his side, a leg over, covering himself, a sheet
covering nothing else.

“I thought you two would
appreciate it.” Christy had every right to be smug. “And then there's this
one.”

She and Matt were in his
bathroom. She was snuggled behind
him,
her phone
raised taking a picture of them in the mirror as he shaved. He was naked. She
was naked. He was fully exposed, grinning at her audacity.

“That's...beautiful. Gee...he's
big.” Lucy swallowed.

Dorothy was struck dumb. He
was...perfect. She had never seen her old buddy totally naked. Not since a very
long time ago.
When he was a lot more underdeveloped.
He had grown into the perfect full-ripe manhood.

She struggled to get a grip on
reality, to rationalize the male in front of her. He was a little soft, she critiqued.
Too much time behind that desk in that cluttered auto shop
office.
Not quite as chiseled as he once was on the field…in the locker
room. Maybe a bit more...hairy than he once was.
A bit
more…solid…a bit more…more.

She could feel his chest hair prickling
against her cheek. She could feel his pubic hair cushioning her nose. Her eyes
brimmed.

“Oh, shit.
Dot.
I didn't mean...” Christy put a gentle hand on her longtime friend's arm. “Oh,
babe, I really didn't mean to upset you. I thought...” She brusquely pulled the
phone
away from Dorothy and
stashed it in her purse. “I'll make you
guys
blow-ups
and then I'll have to delete these. I promised. Dot, are you okay?”

“It's the horse-radish in the
hummus, I guess.” Dorothy wiped her eyes with the restaurant's signature dark
beige napkin and forced a laugh. “How was he, Christy? A great lay or a great
lay?”

“A damn fine pussy-busting lay
and that's what I want to talk about.”

“Uh...your dinners are
ready...ladies.” It was dear Giancarlo.
Eyes wide.
Ears red.
Cheeks even redder.
Dinners at the ready.
He parceled them out in silence as the
women tried to repress grins. “If there's anything else...anything else...at
all...I can get you. I'm available.” He pulled himself up.
Stood
very tall.
Nice chest to match his nice ass. He was a handsome young
lad.
“Another drink?”