Cooking up a Storm (14 page)

She pulled and rocked. She pushed and rocked. She lingered at the deepest point of entry and jiggled the dildo even faster. Ah, God, he couldn’t. He rolled his forehead against the back of the chair. His balls drew upward. He gulped for air. She pulled and rocked. He thrust his hips back at her. She pushed to meet them. She kissed his shoulder blade.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Come.’

Her permission stung like a whip. Feeling seethed in his loins, vinegar sharp, cayenne hot. He was going to come. She began to pull.
Merde.

‘No,’ he gasped. ‘Push.’

She shoved deep again, rocking wildly, right there, right there, on his joy spot. The pressure spiked. He felt the first contraction and then he overflowed. His seed oozed from him, slow and thick, as if the pleasure were being squeezed from the marrow of his bones. His hip joint popped with the tensing of his muscles. He groaned, still coming, still squeezing and then the orgasm rolled past the knot of tightness and into the land of milk and honey.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, after a moment of watching him shake in reaction.

He nodded, his head still supported by the back of the chair. He forced his hands to relax again, trying to work the cramps from his fingers. She pulled the dildo carefully from his body.

‘I can loosen these cuffs,’ she said, touching his wrists. But they weren’t too tight. He could feel the circulation returning as he relaxed. She seemed to sense it, too. She bent and kissed one palm. ‘Do you want more?’

He groaned, not because he didn’t, but because the question inspired an aching resurgence in his cock: not a recovery, but a definite wag of interest.

‘I hope you can wait just a bit,’ she said, with a shadow of humour, ‘because I have a problem I need your help with.’

‘Problem?’

She curled her arm beneath his chest to help him stand.

‘Yes,’ she said, and climbed into the chair to sit on its back. Since it touched the wall, her weight did not overbalance it. She was smiling and he thought he caught a spark of mischief in her downcast eyes. Still not looking at him, she spread her legs and drew her hands up her inner thighs. The thong’s front triangle covered her plump little pubis, but around the edges he saw the damp gloss of arousal in her curls. The gusset was damp as well, the navy silk gone black.

‘I see what you mean.’ He licked his lips and his cock gave another wag. ‘If you were to remove those panties, I believe I could help you.’

She stood on the cushion and slid them down her curvy legs. The show was up close and personal, but she didn’t rush it. By the time she’d kicked them away, his cock was flying at least half-mast. She perched on the top of the chair again, thighs agape. She made quite a picture, wearing nothing but the bust-lifting, waist-narrowing basque.

‘You’ll have to hold yourself open for me,’ he said. He didn’t suggest she untie his hands. He didn’t want her to. Half the pleasure of bondage was all the pleasures he had to do without. They sharpened his appreciation of the pleasures that remained.

With a shiver of self-consciousness, or anticipation — or both — she drew her labia back with the fingers of one hand. He stared at her pretty fruit, at the glistening folds, at the quivering entrance to her sheath and the sharp protrusion of her clit from its encircling hood. Her colouring ranged from salmon pink to raspberry red at the tip of her clit — a true feast for the eyes. Her scent, a light, spicy sea smell, stirred his appetite to taste.

He leant forwards, carefully, so as not to lose his balance. The chair supported his knees and Abby steadied his shoulder. Then he was there, his nose buried in her curls, his tongue probing her folds. Was there ever a more fascinating landscape than a woman’s sex? If there was, he hadn’t seen it. He explored her slowly, learning her dips and swells before centring on her secret jewel. She sighed musically, pressing closer.

He knew he ought to tease her but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hungered for her climax every bit as much as she did. He sucked her hood and shaft firmly into his mouth, tapping the sensitive bead with the tip of his tongue, a quick, steady rhythm that made the nails of her left hand dig into his shoulder and the fingers of her right spear through his hair.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, holding him close. ‘Oh, yes. Oh!’

Her hips shuddered strongly and her sheath quivered just beneath his mouth. Her scent rose in his nostrils like a drug and he thought: one more, one more. He backed off for a moment, drinking in her sigh of relief, then pushed her quickly up the slope again. No mercy this time; he rasped his tongue hard against her tiny stiffened shaft, pressing it to the smooth shelf behind his front teeth.

His ruthlessness took her by surprise. She cried out. Her hips thrust closer. The muscles of her thighs tightened around his ears. She cried out again, a growl of effort this time. Then she shook, harder and longer than the first time, her knees jerking uncontrollably, her cream flowing over his face. He kissed her as she settled.

Her fingers played through the long, damp strands of his hair before pushing him upward again. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I feel much better.’

They smiled at each other. She wiped his cheek with her hand, but he turned his head and licked her fingers clean before she could pull them away. ‘You’re outrageous,’ she said, her blush utterly fetching.

He ran his tongue around his lips. ‘I like the way you taste. All that chocolate you eat must keep you sweet.’

She covered her face, then peeked at him through her fingers. Her gaze fell to his groin. She reached out, curled one finger under his resurrected cock and gave it a slow upward stroke. His flesh barely gave. Bringing her off had restored his former glory.

‘That’s looking much better,’ she said. ‘But I think it could still use some encouragement.’ The words alone lifted him another fraction, and the way she snapped a black latex tie between her hands made him even harder. The remaining ties draped the arm of the chair, all within easy reach. ‘Let’s see.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘Where would this look best?’

He could not answer her, but she did not need his advice. She wrapped the tie around his chest, twice, so that his nipples were pinched between the two rubbery edges. She kissed each button lightly and grabbed another strap. With this, she bound his elbows to his torso. She made an X with another pair, passing the straps between his legs to either side of his scrotum and tucking the ends under the other straps. The arrangement felt extremely secure and looked brutal, like a strange gladiator costume. The straps of the X thrust his balls into greater prominence — not that they needed it. Though his testicles still hummed with remembered pleasure, they were as swollen as if he hadn’t come for days.

‘Now.’ She tapped her cheek in thought. ‘What’s the best way to do this?’

If he couldn’t answer before, he certainly couldn’t now. He could only stand, his skin pulsing from head to toe, no more sure of his ability to control himself than he’d been the first time.

‘You leave everything to me,’ she said, as if she sensed his worry. ‘I’m in charge and whatever happens is my responsibility.’

He groaned and she kissed his helpless mouth, goading him with the probe and retreat of her tongue. Then she turned in the chair and got down on her knees. ‘Take me,’ she said, and wiggled her bare white bottom at his cock.

For a moment he froze, unable to believe it could be this easy. His hips moved before his brain did, knowing what he needed, knowing what he wanted. He slid into her sheath with a silent shudder of relief. She was hot, hot and dripping wet. But with his hands tied behind his back his balance was unmanageable. Every motion threatened to topple him over.

‘Lean on me,’ she said.

He bent over her, blanketing her back with his chest. She was such a little thing he surrounded her completely. Her position could not have been more vulnerable and yet all the power was hers. The latex straps simmered against his skin as if they were extensions of her flesh, her will. He had the sense of being entirely enslaved, and more grateful than he could ever recall being to a woman. The feeling frightened him, but at the moment he was in no state to resist its allure.

‘Fuck me,’ she whispered.

He closed his eyes and began to thrust. She came almost at once and he thanked God for that because he was veering out of control. His thrusts were choppy, ragged. He couldn’t slow down. He couldn’t get deep enough. He dragged his face across the tender skin of her back. He groaned and bit the nape of her neck, the way a horse will, or a cat. She arched her back and let him in deeper. She reached between her legs and massaged his balls.

He cried out in the language of his childhood.

‘
Ouu, c’est si bon
,’ he moaned. It’s so good, so good.

Her sheath quivered at his words, and grew hotter, and wetter. She tilted her hips higher still and gripped him with her hidden muscles. Her fingers moved on his balls. She squeezed the straps that pressed the two swollen eggs together.

Words spilt beyond his control, words he thought he’d forgotten. ‘
Aie pitié de moi
!’

She laughed, guessing at his plea for mercy, and sucked him irresistibly deeper. It was heaven. She was the sweetest — the dearest.

‘
Fourre moi
,’ he crooned, thrusting like a madman through her delicious contraction. ‘Fuck me,
mon cœur. Fourre moi.
’ It felt so good to let the words out, as good as the slick, hot friction of her pussy on his cock. He grew delirious with the unbearable pleasure of feeling, speaking, fucking so deeply all at one go, like a child tearing off his clothes to race in the sunlight. When she began to come again, with a ripple of shudders that trilled down the length of his cock, his head seemed quite literally to spin.

‘
Je t’aime
,’ he groaned as if he truly were dying. ‘
Mon Dieu, je t’aime.
’ His passion exploded with the force of a star going nova. He poured it into her, sobbing with pleasure, sweet,
mignonne
, sweet…

Then he heard the echo of his own words. A chill washed over him.
Mon Dieu
, what had he said?

Neither of them spoke once the last of his spasms trailed away. He sensed she didn’t wish to comment on his lapse any more than he did. They were both breathing hard. His cheek lay on her back and he hadn’t the will to lift it. An involuntary protest broke in his throat as she disengaged their bodies and eased him away.

When she turned to face him, her eyes were strangely quiet. She must have known what he’d said. The most ignorant American could translate
je t’aime
. But her expression gave nothing away. She ran her hands over the spaces between the shiny black straps that crisscrossed his chest. The contact was both welcome and nerve-wracking. He felt like a lathered horse, spooked and grateful for the touch of its master.

‘Abby,’ he said, to break the silence, but after that words failed him.

Apparently, she preferred to ignore the issue altogether.

‘You aren’t soft yet,’ she said, cradling his diminished but not quite vanquished cock. Her lashes rose and for the first time he knew what men meant when they spoke of drowning in a woman’s eyes. A ring of Caribbean green surrounded the huge glossy circles of her pupils. She had the gentlest gaze he’d ever seen and, though it did not seem guarded, he could not read the mysteries behind it.

‘Do you want more?’ she asked. ‘Shall we take you to your limit?’

He would have given his right hand to have his arms free then, to touch her face, to pull her into a long, wet kiss. ‘Yes,’ he said, despite the further loss of control he might be risking. ‘Take me to my limit.’

He knew he might never find another partner he trusted so completely.

*   *   *

Abby let her eyes fall from his, still shaking and not wanting to dwell on why. She couldn’t afford to indulge in wishful thinking — not with this man who could reduce her to jelly with both hands tied behind his back. He had placed himself at her mercy. He had offered his body as her personal playground. That was all she needed to know for now.

She drew another strap from the tangle on the chair and trailed it thoughtfully across her palm. His body stiffened and his dangling cock flushed a deeper red, though it did not lift. She was reasonably certain she could remedy that.

He enjoyed this bondage business. The more she restrained him, the better he seemed to like it. But what about her? she wondered. Did she like binding him for its own sake, or did she like it because he liked it?

She wound the strap around his narrow waist and contemplated the question. Both, she thought. If he hadn’t enjoyed it so much, the thrill would have been empty. But she did like the look and feel of the straps, and the sense of power they gave her. This kink in her nature was not as hard to face as it would have been a week, or even a day, ago. She’d faced more sexual firsts in the past few days than she had in her entire adult life — not the least of which had been making love to her father’s closest friend.

The secret sent a pleasant frisson through her sex. She tucked the ends of the narrow strap together, then made a little opening to bare his navel. Storm jumped when she stuck her tongue into the curving shadow. He was ticklish. That was good to know — almost as good as knowing how easily this play made his cock rise. Determined to give him the full treatment, she covered his thighs in the stretchy ties, then his shins. Finally a single strap remained. She knew just what she wanted to do with that.

She licked her lips and eyed his now proud cock. It stood red and tall again, its plum-like cap flaring to full prominence. If her preference were all she had to take into account, she wouldn’t have covered one inch of that gorgeous rod. But she knew how much he’d enjoy it and so, taking her time, she looped the last tie round the base of his cock and evened up the ends.

Storm muttered something in French, a curse from the sound of it. Then he clenched his jaw as if determined to say no more. But that was all right. She liked watching him hold back as much as she liked watching him lose control.