Slow Hand Curves (Big Girls Next Door Erotica) (3 page)

“This is what you came for, right?” His voice had mellowed to rough silk. His lips brushed along my jaw line before returning for another kiss.

“I’m n-not sure,” I confessed. There had been no mention of kissing, or that Sam would touch my breasts or anywhere other than down there.

“You want me to continue.”

No questioning lilt marked the end of his sentence. He was telling me I wanted him to continue. He was right. I couldn’t bring myself to admit it -- not with words. Slowly I nodded, the motion precise so that there would be no mistake between the vertical lift of
yes
and the horizontal slide of
no.

A smile played along one side of his face. The hand teasing my breast moved lower. His fingertips slid beneath my panties. The fabric was a light satin pink trimmed with lace. I had purchased them and a matching bra the night before.

The pads of his fingers gently raked the soft blonde fur covering my sex. He sucked at my earlobe, whispering and taking small bites that made me moan. His fingers started a light dance against the seam of my swollen folds. I squirmed, wanting to lift my hips but without the boldness to do so.

His hand dipped down, discovering me wet, my thighs clenching. Hooking a finger, he trailed it back up, separating my lower lips to find the hard pearl they concealed.

“Such a thick, swollen clit, Hollywood.” Sam nuzzled my neck. “Is it sensitive?”

“Oh, yes.” Most definitely. I swore I could feel the ridges of his thumbprint as he moved down to stroke the length of that hard ridge of flesh. A thrust escaped my control and I closed my eyes in shame.

“Shhhh…Amber.” His fingers moved back down, reaching my hole and tracing its edge. The muscles contracted at his touch. “Very reactive pussy. Is that word familiar to you?”

“N-not really.” Another swirling, tracing sweep of his fingers around the throbbing tissue brought my knees jerking up, my thighs spreading ever so slightly.

“Does it offend you?”

I shook my head. The word didn’t sound bad the way his mouth shaped it. Naughty, yes. Very, very naughty, but not the least bit offensive.

“Good. It’s a hot, sweet pussy. I’ll make it purr.”

My eyes rolled up, lashes fluttering. He might not be able to hear it, but I was purring already. Moisture leaked from me, wetting the smooth strip of skin that ran down to my other hole. Contractions squeezed at both openings, the intervals between each pulse growing shorter and shorter.

His thumb rubbing at my clit, Sam pressed two fingers against the opening to my pussy. Sensing his intention, I tensed and gave out a little cry.

He couldn’t know.

Neither could I warn him.

“Amber, unless you tell me…” His throat caught at the words. He swallowed hard, the first sign of uncertainty since I’d met him. “Unless you tell me you’re a virgin, I’m going to stroke inside you.”

My hands had never left his shoulders. I fisted the fabric of his shirt. I was afraid to have him enter me, to lose my virginity in a therapy room with a near stranger. But I was more afraid that he’d stop cold and send me packing if I admitted I had never been with a man.

“Baby, answer me before I go too far.”

I closed my eyes and bit at my bottom lip. I was still breathing through my nose, but fast and very deep, my chest rising and falling faster than the beats of my heart. I had to trust he would go only so far as was right.

I heard a soft growl and then his lips swept down, landing for a second on my collarbone before his mouth took possession of my nipple. His hand swiveled between my legs so that the heel of his palm pressed against my opening while his center three fingers moonwalked up and down my clit.

He pulled the nipple taut, hooking and holding my gaze when I finally opened my eyes to watch him. He was so damn beautiful. The green of his irises had darkened to a deep forest, while the thick dark brows and lashes made the remaining pale green embers smolder.

Releasing the nipple with a wet pop, his mouth traveled lower, following the contours of my stomach and hip as he moved around the table. He peeled my wet panties off, pocketing them with a devilish smile before his hands and thick forearms slid under my bottom and dragged me to the edge of the table.

He wasn’t…really, not…

Those green eyes flashed and I realized he really was going to do it -- he was going to kiss me down there, to part my folds with his tongue the same way he had with his fingers. He was going to lick and suck and--

Oh, sweet heaven! His mouth made contact. My back instantly arched, pushing my breasts high, their tips hard and aching from the absence of his lips. Long strokes started with the tip of his tongue teasing the entrance to my pussy and ended at the top split of my labia. Just when I thought my bones were going to crawl out of my skin, his lips settled on the most sensitive part of my sex -- that hard little nodule tucked within the hood of my clit. He worked its edges, circling, attacking.

Unable to stop myself, I grabbed two fistfuls of his luxurious dark hair. He wouldn’t let me hold him where I wanted -- desperately needed -- him to be. He pulled my hands from his hair, his mouth abandoning the throbbing focus of my entire being to kiss my fingertips.

“You’re having dinner with me, tonight.”

Dinner? He’d stopped to ask me out -- really? Didn’t he know how close I was or that I had never…

“Tonight, Amber.” He blew a cold line of air against that small kernel of need.

“Yes, yes…tonight…please…” My hips gave an impatient roll. My hands flexed and twitched inside his like a spider on angel dust. “Just…finish, Samuel…please.”

Slow to restart, he seemed intent on driving me crazy all over again, pushing me back from the abyss of my first ever climax just so he could teasingly reel me in once more. The side of his puckered mouth brushed the inner flesh of one plump lip as he continued to blow cold air on my achy little clit. He repeated the motion, this time along the other thick, swollen lip of my pussy. His mouth hovered, the cold air replaced by warm and humid breath.

“Such a sweet tasting pussy.” His words whispered against my skin, made me whimper with my need. “Are you going to let me eat it again?”

“Oh, yes.” My eyelids fluttered. As far as I was concerned, we could spend eternity in that room. The contractions that had gripped my pussy spread their way along my clit. I could feel the skin pulling taut, imagined it dancing upwards before the contraction ended.

Sam watched the motion repeat, kissing the center each time the muscle relaxed. The interval between kisses lengthened. The kisses became shorter -- the contractions stacking hard and nearly unrelenting. His tongue rejoined the dance, made fast little flicks against that dangle of flesh. The pads of his thumbs teased my opening, threatening but never venturing inside.

I had lost all track of the music, but I caught the thread of the woman’s voice, the rumbling melody reaching its crescendo. I lifted my hips, pushing, grinding, gasping…

“Oh!” My hips jerked. My mouth opened in another gaping
oh
and then my expression froze. I was coming, my climax rolling through me like a freight train across an open field. No x-ray would show it, but my bones fractured, splintering into a million pieces if only for a few exquisite moments.

My lower body twitching with the aftershocks of my release, Sam eased me back onto the table. He stepped around to my side, one hand quickly reclaiming possession of my pussy while the other cleared the wild fall of curls from my face. Gripping my forehead and my pussy, he bent down and kissed me. My juices were still on his lips and tongue, the scent and flavor mingling with his.

“Address on your sheet the right one?” His gaze studied me as if wary of a lie.

I nodded. I’d been too naïve to think of listing a false address.

“Good, I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.” He paused as a fresh smile surfaced across his handsome face. “It would make me very happy if you wore a skirt or dress. Will you do that?”

*****

Sam didn’t give me my panties back. I sort of asked him, but his mischievous grin told me I would have to do more than sort of ask for their return. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him keeping them as a trophy. That was half the problem -- were they a trophy or a memento? When I considered them as a memento, my heart started skipping happily and a silly grin occupied half my face. But I didn’t want him to be the kind of man who took trophies.

I decided to ignore the question and buy new panties because, damn it, Bree had been one-hundred-percent correct when she joked about my granny panties. Every last pair was one of three colors: white, black or beige. They were all cotton and all plus size. Yep, I’m a real wild child.

Browsing the lingerie section, I had no idea what Sam had in mind for the night, knew even less what I wanted him to have in mind. Still, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with silky ice blue panties and a matching bustier that would make my mother faint if she ever laid eyes on it.

Sam didn’t mention where we were going for dinner. Whether it was fancy or casual didn’t really matter when it came to my closet. The few dresses and skirts it held were either for church or work. So I stopped at the dress shop on my way home. Normally I keep my arms covered up, but I picked a sleeveless dress with a draped criss-crossing bodice and belted waist. Top and bottom, the free flowing fabric was draped. A deep turquoise, the dress had a full, circle skirt that fell a few inches past my knees to preserve my modesty while showing off a little bit of leg. Surprising, I know, but I like my legs -- at least the parts below the knees. They look like they belong to a much thinner woman. I’m certain somewhere there is a really skinny girl pissed off because somehow she got my legs and I got hers.

Still smiling at the thought, I met Sam at my front door. I had finished my outfit with a white tatted shawl around my shoulders, pearl white pumps and a matching clutch. He had changed into a slim-fit, button-down, collared-shirt in a dark charcoal that had the thinnest of pinstripes. He wore the bottom out over dress slacks of the deepest gray. He presented a mouthwatering sight. Too mouthwatering, actually, for him to take me on a date or anything like it.

He caught me before I could retreat into my house. His hand curved around the back of my neck, the fingers pushing up into my curls as he pulled me toward him. He kissed the corner of my jaw, just a little below my ear. “Pure Hollywood.”

I pressed a palm against his chest and looked away. The gesture came close to the one I’d witnessed with Portia that afternoon. Only I truly am demure. My blush was real. It started somewhere above my knees and ended at the top of my cheeks.

Cupping my elbow, Sam led me to his car. It was a sedan, not much different than the decidedly family car Beau had complained about trading his Mustang in for once Melinda was six months pregnant and couldn’t slide into the sports car’s front seat like she used to.

Seeing the sedan, I realized I didn’t know anything about Sam other than where he worked. He was maybe six years older than me, judging by the laugh lines that were just starting to appear. He could be divorced.

Oh, double Dixie, I swore inside my head. He could be married! Worried, I turned to him as he opened the passenger side door.

“What’s wrong, Amber?” He squeezed my shoulder, his gaze growing concerned.

I looked at the sedan, worried I was about to insult him for the second time that day, but I had to know. “You’re single, right?”

Sam chuckled, his expression relaxing again. “I drive a truck, Hollywood. Single cab, bench seat, with a sticky manual transmission and a bad rear shock.”

Taking my hand, he maneuvered me into the seat, reached across me and fastened my safety belt. Cupping my face, he stared straight into my eyes. “This is my sister’s car. She’s got two rugrats.”

Embarrassed by not trusting him, I lowered my lashes. “I like trucks. My daddy drives one that sounds a lot like yours.”

His thumb brushed across my lower lip. “I’ll remember that for our second date.”

Stunned, I watched him circle the front of the car. Did he really want another date? Triple Dixie -- I’d never had a second date. Most guys decided halfway through the first that being seen in public with me wasn’t worth getting close to Brandon Rice.

Sam folded his long frame into the driver’s seat. Seeing my expression, he quirked a brow at me. “Am I being too optimistic, Hollywood?”

That made me smile and lower my lashes again. I couldn’t remember smiling on any of my other dates. Of course, those dates had all been orchestrated by someone else -- mother, Beau, Melinda…even Bree had arranged one of my dates. My father was the only one that didn’t try to fix me.

“Is that a
yes
or a
no
?” One eye on the rear view mirror the other on me, Sam backed out of the drive and onto the street.

“We’ll see.” I gave his shoulder a soft push.

Capturing my hand, he held it against the side of his thigh, his thumb lightly stroking the inside of my wrist. The sedan was new enough to have a bunch of controls on the steering wheel. He pressed one and the CD player started. I recognized the song immediately, even though I hadn’t heard of Etta James before that day.