The Yearning (6 page)

Exquisitely trapped and used, she required even more. Using the last of her strength, she took him inside her mouth. The head of his penis slid past her tongue to her throat, silky, salty, savory and stunning.

He muttered an obscenity.

No sounds could leave her. He filled her too well. As he worked her openings, cunt and anus, she deliberately held off suckling his cock, cradling his testicles instead, testing their weight, learning the contours of the wrinkled, lightly furred glands.

His legs pressed her shoulders and hers hugged him. It seemed a toss-up as to who would come first.

Jasmine surrendered, mostly because she had to, partly by design, since she wasn’t remotely through with him. Her ragged gasps allowed him to slip from her mouth. His erection snuggled against her damp cheek, thrilling her with its merciless power.

He placed both hands on her ass, spreading the cheeks wide to display her tightest passage. A promise of what he would have. “Good?”

She smiled at the way he repeated her earlier question, with the same hope in his voice as she’d had in hers. Like him, she nodded. The movement rubbed her face across his dense pubic hair, releasing more of his musk. She shivered.

Lowering his legs, he yawned and stretched.

She seized the opportunity, gathering what little energy remained, and pulled from his grasp. Slow to respond, he grumbled good-naturedly. She turned around and straddled him again so they faced each other.

The dim lighting caressed his magnificent chest, a sweep of smooth coppery skin and taut muscle, while curiosity lifted his brows. Fascination soon replaced it as she wound her fingers around his still-rigid cock and brushed the head over her sheath’s slick mouth.

He inhaled sharply and lost his breath on a rough sigh. “Take me inside of you. Now. This fucking minute.”

Her pussy pulsed, suffering without him as much as his shaft hurt without her. Even so, the real Jasmine, not the creature she’d become, grew genuinely playful, something she’d never been with any other man. Mike was different. He had a sympathetic heart. She knew he grieved from a tragic event in his past. She’d witnessed his stricken expression when she’d kissed his scar and wanted to purge his pain, if only during this act. “In a sec.” Eyes on him, she ran her forefinger over the crown and down the slit, slippery with pre-come.

His legs drew up so fast, his hairy thighs knocked into her buttocks and back.

Pretending to be startled, she deliberately dropped his penis. It bumped into her smooth groin and quivered above her thigh. “Whoops.”

He laughed. “Dammit, mount me.” He pushed to his elbows and warned, “Don’t make me wait.”

She did, knowing he’d enjoy the game as much as she. Scooping his cock in her palm, she used his pearls of moisture and her own nectar to lubricate his cap and shaft. He fell back to the floor, his head smacking it lightly.

Jasmine scolded. “If you knock yourself unconscious, you won’t be able to enjoy this.”

He laughed again and swore beneath his breath. The heels of his hands ground into his eyes.

She quieted her voice. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to miss me taking you inside.” Pushing up, she positioned her body over his.

He moved his hands away from his face, lifted his head and stared as her opening swallowed him slowly, inch by inch, her inner walls stretched relentlessly by his size. At the pressure of containing him, her breathing picked up, jiggling her breasts. With unyielding purpose, his male organ squeezed through her narrow walls, commanding shelter and obedience. She gave it, helpless to do anything else, moving down him until her engorged lips nestled above his dark thatch of curls.

His hands fisted. Hers drifted over her jeweled navel to her mound.

“No. Stop.” Grunting, he pushed to his elbows and a sitting position. Hands on her hips so she’d stay put and keep him inside, he edged them toward the muraled wall, using it to brace the back of his shoulders and head. Settled, he swept her fingers away so he could claim and use her clit.

She conceded, bringing her hands to her breasts, fondling them, tugging on the nipples as he’d done, while he lazily stroked her nub.
My God.
She couldn’t even gasp the words—his actions and girth overwhelmed. Dominated by his shaft and fingers, intimately used as a female needed to be by a male, her vaginal muscles clenched.

His cock answered by swelling a bit more.

Her head slouched to her back, her hair trailing past her shoulder blades. She lifted herself from his penis, nearly releasing him before slinking back down. His fingers paused in their stroking, her movements destroying his concentration.

For her, the world consisted of this moment, having him tunneled within. Again, she pushed up and coasted down, while roughly caressing her breasts. He produced a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl, the kind only a man can manage if driven past all boundaries.

Bucking his lean hips to drive himself deeper and to hasten her strokes, he resumed playing with her nub, knowing her lack of endurance, goading her to the brink. Heavy with lust, her pussy swallowed him a bit deeper, the muscles flexing painfully, begging for relief and an end to this blessed agony. He tried to lengthen it until she slowed her strokes as he’d slowed his. With both wanting to win, they each conceded. This time they came together, panting and writhing, with neither able to resist.

Physically drained, Jasmine slumped to his chest, cherishing his scent and heat as a forgotten comfort settled over her. It wouldn’t last. It never did since the curse, so she kept her eyes closed and didn’t move, intent on relishing each blissful moment.

Not even trying to hide his fatigue, Mike’s hand bumped limply down her spine to settle on her ass. “Wow.”

She giggled so hard it stole the last of her breath. Right behind it, tears returned. She wanted this to continue, to endure. His presence reminded her of the loneliness she’d borne prior to the curse, and the despair she’d known since then. How could she let him go? How could she not? Snuggling closer, she tried to become a part of him, to pull his strength into her for the long days ahead.

“Hey.” Doubt laced his voice. “You okay?”

She lied. “Hungry. You?”

“Enough to eat my own cooking.” He continued over her newest giggles. “Want me to order a pizza?”

“It’s too late.” Even if there were an all-night place with delivery, if someone saw him here and she found she couldn’t let him go… No, she wasn’t yet ready to face the decision she’d have to make. Skimming his right pec with her fingertips, pleased at how the muscle danced, she put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “I have leftovers from tonight. Ham with honey sauce, potato salad, coleslaw and cinnamon cake.”

“I’m impressed. You had me at leftovers.” His hands wearily cupped her ass. “After we’re done with our meal we can use the table to continue with this.”

No, they could not. If Violet and Lily weren’t already here, they would be shortly. “I don’t know about you, but I miss being in a soft bed. Old age, I suppose.” As he chuckled, she lifted her face and grazed his lips with hers, adoring the bite of his bristly upper lip and cheeks. “How about I take you upstairs and let you snooze while I get the stuff? I’ll serve you dinner in bed.” She eased back.

He looked at her through slitted lids. “And after dinner? What happens then?”

She was afraid to think of it. Upstairs, handcuffs waited. So did Ben. He’d seen her and Mike together. Jasmine had spotted him at the top of the stairs when Mike startled her as she’d left her office. In that moment, Ben’s handsome face darkened with jealousy. Luckily or not, he’d already retreated as Mike looked over his shoulder.

Consumed with worry and possessed by yearning, she breathed, “This.” Her mouth molded to his with her suggestive kiss.

Chapter Four

Mike didn’t have long to enjoy it. All too soon, Jasmine deserted his mouth and stood. “Your bed awaits.”

Her enticing offer reminded him of a story he’d read in high school: Homer’s
Odyssey
, specifically, the Sirens’ song to sailors. As Mike recalled, the sea nymphs’ sweet voices tempted mariners to shore as long as the men could get safely past the boulders. The poor bastards never did. Climbing her staircase seemed as daunting, given his fatigue. Not that he’d tell her. With meager energy and grace, Mike groaned inwardly as he got to his feet and scrubbed his face with his hands.

Jasmine ran her nails lightly down his backbone.

God. Shivers feathered outward from his spine to his fingers and toes. Heels leaving the floor, his legs wavered.

She looped her arm around his waist, draped his arm over her shoulder and placed his hand on her ungodly soft breast. “You ready?” Not waiting for an answer, she pushed to her toes and suckled his neck.

A tingling warmth reached parts of his body he didn’t know existed. He huffed. “Let’s go.”

She headed toward the steps. He did not. Though beat, he possessed far more strength than she and encountered little difficulty turning them both toward her office.

Jasmine tightened her arm around his waist in a foolish attempt to hold him back. “What are you doing?”

Mike stopped and finished his yawn. “Getting my Glock.” Having it in her office while they were down here was one thing. Leaving it one floor away as he dozed in her bedroom was quite another.

She shook her head. “What’s a glock?”

“My pistol.”

“No. Why? Nothing’s going to happen to it on my desk.”

“Something might, if anyone breaks in here.”

“No one’s ever broken in here. This is a safe neighborhood.”

He rested his head against hers, closed his eyes and failed to inject any energy into his voice. “Then why’d you tell me to park my bike in your garage?”

Her body stiffened as though she recalled her earlier words.

“See what I mean?”

“No, I don’t. I wanted it in the garage so no one would hit it. My neighbors are elderly. They don’t see as well as they used to.”

If they were that old with bad eyesight, they probably didn’t cruise the streets at midnight, now did they? Rather than point out the obvious, he stayed firm on his gun. “Whether your place is safe or not, there’s always a first time and I don’t intend to take a chance on either of us getting hurt. I’d feel better having it at my side.”

She shrank away. “You’re going to wear it in bed?”

He warned himself not to laugh at her adorable naiveté. “I’ll put it on your nightstand. You do have one, don’t you?”

“I have a dresser. We could put it in one of the drawers.”

He pictured it beneath her underwear, if she owned any. Planting a small kiss on her forehead, he blinked repeatedly until he got his lids to stay up. “We’ll pick the spot together, how’s that?” Unwilling to give her time to debate it, he broke her embrace and dragged his tired body to her office.

She grabbed his wrist with both hands, stopping him from opening the door. “I’ll get it. Wait here.”

He used the muraled wall for support, overcome by another yawn before she returned. This time, unlike the last, she held the holstered gun in one hand and as far as she could from herself

“Careful.” He eased the barrel to one side so it no longer pointed at his groin. Taking the pistol from her and lowering it to thigh level, he crushed her wavy hair in his left hand, using it as an anchor to keep her to him. “Thanks.” Intent on showing his appreciation, and to erase the anxiety on her face, he dropped his head to her right breast and ran his tongue over the ruddy nipple. Her areola pleated instantly, the once smooth ring a landscape of peaks and valleys, further delighting his mouth. He drew it inside and suckled leisurely.

She arched her back to grant him full contact, her fingers flicking down his throat. Her bewitching touch was nearly more than he could manage. His convulsive swallows bobbed his Adam’s apple.

He tongued her nipple one last time and got his head up, despite how heavy it felt. “Ready to go upstairs?”

Renewed passion showed in her dazed eyes. “Oh yeah.”

He liked her enthusiasm and intended to reward her for it after a ten-minute nap. Like a good boy, he allowed her to pull him up the stairs. On the fifth step, he joked, “Does this stairway ever end?”

“We only have eight more steps to go. Not bad at all.”

He turned his head so she wouldn’t see his eyes rolling. She took the next step. He didn’t.

Decorating the wall were numerous paintings, the kind you’d see at one of those starving artists sales advertised on late-night TV. The uninspired landscapes and portraits didn’t match the elegance of the rest of this place. Nor did the frames fit the spaces they occupied. The powder-blue paint was a shade lighter around their edges, as if something larger had been there previously. “What happened to the original paintings that hung here?”

She halted on the next step. Still holding his hand, her arm remained outstretched. “Those are the originals.”

He lifted his face. She regarded the paintings. Given how her brows drew together, he knew she saw what he had.

He kept his voice mild. “All right, so there weren’t any other landscapes or portraits there before these. How about photos?”

Her head swung to him. She opened her mouth and closed it without comment.

He wondered why it was such a big deal. He’d simply been curious and guessed she’d had money problems, which required her to sell the original paintings to pay the property taxes on this place. Only now, he realized there had been photos in these spots. So why take them down? The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Did you have pictures of you and your parents here?”

Her face and chest flushed, darkening her rich skin.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, going up the steps to her. “If the pictures caused you more pain, there was no reason to keep them there.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I waited years to put them away. I just couldn’t stand the memories any longer.” She dropped her head and shook it.

He gave her a moment, then spoke as gently as he could. “Forgive me for having asked. None of my business. Maybe you should start telling me to shut up.”