His Sugar Baby (13 page)

“
Bend
forward, Winter.” His voice was quiet but authoritative. She realized he wasn’t making a request. She felt suddenly breathless. Slowly, she reclined forward over her knees. She felt his agile fingers unknotting the ties of her bikini at her neck and across her back. Her top fell slackly to her thighs, the ties dangling toward the floor on either side of her legs. Then his hands, slippery with cream, returned to her skin. She smelled the unmistakable odor of suntan lotion. His strong hands kneaded her neck and shoulders, glided down her spine and back up. She moaned with pleasure. “Oh,
yes
. That feels
so
good.”

“I thought you’d like it.” He continued to massage her back with slippery palms. Then his fingers feathered along the delicate beading of her vertebrae. “Your skin is like silk. You’re beautiful.” She heard the roughened edge in his voice, and she shivered, her belly clenching with a flash of want. She sank farther forward, resting her torso on top of her thighs. As his hands swept up her back toward her neck, she felt him bump against the chair back. He grunted and gave a short laugh. “I just realized. This is going to be torture for me.

“Why’s that?” she asked curiously, dragging her mind away from the sultry feelings that his touch was arousing in her.

“Let’s just say that every time I bend over too far I’m bumping wood.” She felt the chair vibrate again. “Shit! It’s like a small detonation going off in my head!”

Winter realized what danger the wooden back of the chair would mean to the blunt head of an engorged shaft. “Oh!” She put her fingers over her mouth and tried to muffle her laughter.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” Michael’s voice was a mock-grumble. His hands lifted from her back. “I’ll get some more lotion.” Within seconds his warm wet palms returned to her torso.

Under Michael’s caressing hands, Winter relaxed completely, feeling the tight kinks loosening in her muscles. Behind the blindfold, her eyes drifted shut. “You’ve found your calling, Michael.”

His voice rumbled huskily over her drooping head. “Lean back. I’ll do your front.”

Winter straightened with a sigh and leaned back against the chair. She tossed aside her bikini top with a careless flick of her fingers. Suddenly, her wrists were shackled by his hands and held behind the chair. Something long and silky was swiftly knotted around her wrists. Behind the folds of silk, Winter’s eyes snapped open, but she was blind. Fear feathered through her. Her heart pounded. She pulled against the binding. “Michael? This isn’t funny.”

“It’s just my neck tie, Winter. Don’t worry.”

Winter felt his slippery hands soothing her stiffened shoulders, her upper arms, smoothing her tensed muscles with long strokes. The pungent scent of the suntan lotion filled her nostrils. She felt the warmth of his bare chest and the rasp of roughened hairs against her shoulder as he bent over her. His hands moved to her fluttering ribcage and the soft underswell of her breasts. He cupped her breasts, lightly squeezing. She bit back a moan. He blew a soft caress of air on each moistened nipple, pebbling them. She quivered with the eroticism, all the more enhanced because she couldn’t see or anticipate what he was going to do.

“You like me to play with your breasts, don’t you, Winter?” A thumb and forefinger pinched and rolled one nipple, then plucked it.

She gasped, a frisson of fire shooting straight to her belly. “You’re torturing me, you jerk, and you’re enjoying it!”

She heard him laugh. He palmed her soft mounds, squeezing and pinching some more. Electricity bolted like sheet lightning to her clit, warming her pussy. Winter squirmed, helpless in her bonds, arching with the play of his clever fingers. Her lips parted on a pleasured groan. His hot breath fanned her neck, and then his teeth nipped her tender shoulder. She jerked with a startled cry. The tiny wound throbbed. Again, he laughed low in her ear. After a few more minutes of teasing play, his hands left her tingling, swollen breasts.

Pent-up excitement heightened her senses. Her heart was beating fast but no longer with fear. She heard the bottle squirt and wondered where he would touch her next. Michael surprised her. He massaged each of her feet, pressing his thumb in short strokes along her insteps.
Oh, God!
Winter threw back her head and groaned. It was sheer heaven.

Gently, he pushed her thighs apart, and she felt him kneel between her legs. He was breathing heavily, his warm breath wafting across her skin. His coated palms worked up each smooth calve to her thighs. Resting his large hands on the top of her legs, his thumbs caressed high up on her sensitive inner thighs. She felt her body quiver in response. A forefinger was drawn slowly down the crotch of her damp bikini bottoms. She arched away from the chair back, her breasts lifting. Her legs parted wider. He grunted, his hot breath huffing on her naked belly. He stroked her again. Then his fingers slid under the thin strip of fabric and began to work erotic magic.

She was wet, and his fingers stroked slickly in and out, finally curling against her G-spot. She gave a cry, jerking her hips again and again.

Winter panted. Her hands fisted in the knotted tie. She was being expertly seduced. Even through the sexual haze suffusing her, she knew it. Michael knew just how to touch her, to inflame her. She still had on her bikini bottoms. It wouldn’t take much for him to rid her of them. A sharp tug—Winter whimpered. Long curved fingers twisted in and out of her moist tightening channel while the thumb strummed her clitoris. The flash-fire combusted through her body. “Michael!
Michael!
”

Swirling passion spiked disjointed, jumbled thoughts. She shouldn’t want—want so badly. She would go mad soon. She tugged against the binding, but it held.
Yes, good—ashamed rutted like animals.
Hot waves crashed over her, frying her mind. Her body shook and convulsed. From a long ways, she heard him mutter a sharp exclamation. His hands pushed behind her, cradling her head and shoulders. Still blind, she breathed in his musky scent, pungent with suntan lotion and sweat. She sobbed before she caught her breath.

His hands slipped away, and his body eased out from between her slack legs. The air was unpleasantly cool without the nearness of his heat. “Michael?” She sensed him moving. Then his fingers worked the knots at her wrists and the neck tie was pulled away.

Winter slowly straightened, her lethargic limbs limp and reluctant. She reached up to take off the blindfold, but his hand stopped her. His voice was husky, roughened. “No, leave it. It’s your turn now. I’ll sit on the chair. You massage me.” His hands closed on either side of her waist, and he lifted her easily to her feet. Winter stood uncertainly where he had placed her. She couldn’t see anything from behind the dense folds of the blindfold. She felt the brush of his body as he pressed by her. The chair creaked under his weight.

“Do it just like I did for you, Winter.” He took her wrist and turned over her hand. She felt cool lotion pooling in her palm. “Except you have to do it by touch. Just let me know when you want more suntan lotion.”

She curled her mouth in a smile. She was at once intrigued. She rubbed the greasy lotion between her palms to coat them. “
Bend
over, Michael.”

“Whatever you say.”

Winter reached out tentatively, searching for him. Her hands found the long warm slope of his back. She shifted closer so that she could better reach the taut planes and ridges. It was strangely exciting not to be able to see what she touched. She took her time, learning him. She felt his back rise and fall with his breath, heard him sigh deeply. Resting one hand on his back, she stretched the other over his broad shoulder. “More lotion.”

Thick cool liquid squirted into her hand. Carefully, she greased both hands and went to work on his well-built shoulders until the lotion was absorbed into the warmth of his solid flesh.

Winter stepped to the side, sliding her hand along one of his shoulders as a reference. “Okay, lean back, and I’ll do your chest. Give me some more lotion.” He obeyed. As she leaned in, she felt his palm come up to cup one of her bare breasts. She swatted his hand away. “Uh-uh. You have to keep your hands down. Fair’s fair. Hold onto the chair.”

“Well, damn.” He sounded both surprised and aggrieved, and she laughed.

Winter discovered that it was difficult to reach all of his chest leaning in from the side. She stepped over his thigh, one leg at a time, holding onto his shoulder for balance. Satisfied, she bent forward and continued the massage of his chest, over the hard, flat disks with puckered nipples, her sensitive finger pads brushing over wiry hairs before sweeping down the ridges of his abs. His skin quivered under her fingertips. His whole upper body was rigid. His chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths. “Relax, Michael.”

“I am relaxed!” he ground out.

Behind the blindfold, she rolled her eyes. “O-kay. Good.” She held out her palms. “Lotion.” When her hands were full, she concentrated on backing away slowly, using one of her legs to brush the hairy inside of his thigh for a guide. “You know, this isn’t really that easy,” she remarked. She knelt between his parted knees. He gave some sort of strangled grunt.

She massaged both of his feet before working up his muscular calves. Out of lotion again, she laid one hand casually on a hard thigh. It jumped and twitched under her fingers. She raised her other hand. “Lotion, please.” There wasn’t a sound or movement from him. She tilted her head, listening. “Michael? Have you fallen asleep?” She reached up for the blindfold.

The hard thigh muscles bunched. Her hand was snatched down before it could reach the blindfold. “No! No, here, sorry.” Thick liquid squirted into her palm.

Winter shook her head, almost laughing. It was fun and sexy working on him. She worked up his inner thighs with the heels of her hands. Her breasts bobbed, at times bumping against his legs, and he twitched each time. She could hear his labored breathing. She ducked her head, biting the inside of her lip. She was thoroughly enjoying returning the torture. It wasn’t long before she discovered that he was not wearing his trunks. She curled her fingers around his thick rigid shaft. She touched her tongue to suddenly dry lips. Slowly, lightly, she explored the hard velvet length.

“More—more lotion?” Michael’s voice sounded strangled.

She held up her hands. A very generous portion overfilled her palms. Greasing his length, she curled her fingers more tightly around his flesh. She squeezed then began to move both hands up and down in a corkscrew. The dark behind the blindfold accentuated her senses. His male scent was strong. He was big and hot and stiff.

One of Michael’s hands wrapped over hers, tightening her grip and adjusting the rhythm. It sounded as though he spoke through clenched teeth. “That’s it. Like that. A little harder
—God, yes!
”

Hot fluid erupted between her flexing fingers, and his shaft jerked convulsively. His thighs were rock-hard under her elbows. Winter gasped at the blind erotic feel of his slippery pumping cock, the heat radiating off his body. The potent musk of him was overpowering. Her belly clenched on swift arousal.

Michael’s hands slid under her shoulders, and he lifted her up into his arms. He pulled her into his naked lap, where his still-hard cock pressed hot and sticky against the curve of her ass. His muscular arms wrapped around her. He touched his sweaty forehead to hers. His breathing was ragged in her ears, his breath warm on her face. “That was good, sweetheart. Really good.”

Winter’s heart raced, and the blood sang through her veins. She touched his face and whispered, “Touch me. Please touch me. I want you, Michael.”

He put her off of his lap and stood up. Then he pulled her close until her naked breasts were crushed against his bare chest. His hands slipped down to her bikini-clad butt, squeezing almost painfully, before he set her aside. “Why don’t you get cleaned up first while I do a few laps in the pool? That way you don’t have to wait on me. You can take off any time you want.” He patted her on the backside and brushed past her.

Winter yanked off the blindfold and spun around. She was alone in the bedroom. Michael had walked out, just leaving her standing there. Her thoughts tumbled with hurt and disbelief. He hadn’t bothered—what she had been feeling, wanting hadn’t been important to him. Michael had taken his own satisfaction at her expense. She felt the rejection keenly.
Damn him, damn him!
Damn him for putting her in her place.

Winter showered, dressed, and hurried out of the house without saying good-bye to Michael. She doubted that he even noticed her exit, she thought bitterly. He had still been swimming laps when she had marched out to the patio to retrieve her canvas bag. She threw the unoffending bag into the car and got in.

It had gotten dark. She switched on the headlights, gunned the cantankerous engine, and sped away. It wasn’t until she was halfway home that she remembered again the phone conversation with her ex-husband. She thumped the steering wheel with her fist. Angrily, she swiped away tears.
Men are such shits!

Chapter Eleven

Sweetheart?

Michael adjusted the speed of the treadmill and picked up his pace. The soles of his running shoes slapped out a steady rhythm. He had joined Darryl at the gym for an hour workout, hoping to work off some of his frustration. So far, it wasn’t working. Sweat beaded his forehead and ran in rivulets down his chest and back, soaking his T-shirt.