Women in Lust (7 page)

When she let go, they both took a few seconds to catch up on oxygen. Lene wondered what neurotransmitters and hormones went into the experience. It felt too good to be straight-up epinephrine. She cut that train of thought off sharply, with a
promise to deconstruct later. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

“Is that good?” he asked, with an audible smile. He slid his hands down her back to her bum and made sure she knew just how good it was for him by grinding against her.

“Ah…yeah, I think so.” A few bites later, she was sure of it. Impulses to cover him with kisses or marks from her teeth whirled around her brain until she couldn’t tell one from the other. The guilt and pity that she’d been expecting never materialized. Feeling him struggle with himself to hold still for her and keep quiet made her hungrier. It was an irresistible dare, challenging her to break that control.

Lene scooted down and found a place on his side under his rib cage that looked vulnerable. She nuzzled the spot and kissed it. He gripped her shoulder with nervous fingers. She chomped down with abandon. He yelped and threw her off the bed. She knocked over a couple of packed cardboard moving boxes on her way down, mashing one of them significantly with her head.

Jamie scrambled to the edge of the bed and looked down at her, wide-eyed. “Sorry! You all right?”

She lay on her back on the rug with her arms out at her sides, grinning like an idiot. She could feel the place where her head collided with the box, but it wasn’t serious. “Yep. You?”

“Just reflexes. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Lene peeled herself off the floor and stood. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to hurt you a lot more.”

He laughed. “Well, that was quick. I thought you said you never had any inclination in this direction.”

“That was over five minutes ago. Ancient history. Why are we still wearing clothes?”

Jamie shrugged and lay back down. She unbuttoned her shirt the rest of the way. He unfastened his belt, raised his hips a little, and slid it out of the belt loops. He offered it to her. She
took it, and understood why he’d been vague; this would have gone over poorly five minutes ago.

He kicked his shoes onto the floor. “If you’ve had enough concussions for one day, there’s duct tape in the box we just dented.”

She yanked the box, marked MISC, opened it without a second thought and rummaged carelessly through the clutter of toiletries and desk supplies for a few seconds until she came up with tape. Presumably he’d forgive her for spilling all his paperclips. When she turned around, he was unbuttoning his jeans, a pleasure that she wanted for herself. He hesitated when he saw her slight frown.

Lene came back to bed wearing the roll of duct tape as a bracelet. She set down the belt and pushed his hands up over his head, pinning them at the wrists, possessive. He looked absurdly sexy wearing the bruises she’d given him, and ready for more. “Are you sure you’re up for anything short of permanent damage? Once I get you taped up, I want to take a lot of liberties with you.”

He hesitated before he said yes. She heard the timber of fear in his voice, and her heart beat faster. Although she still didn’t entirely believe him, she believed that his yes covered anything she was likely to actually do. “Good. Hold still a sec.” She found the end of the tape, unrolled a long strip and tore it off with her teeth.

Instead of holding still, he reached around and unhooked her bra while she was busy with the tape, and cupped her breasts with his hands. When she looked down at him and raised her eyebrows, he said, “I thought I’d take a couple liberties with you while I can.” He pinched her nipples lightly, then placed his hands back where she’d left them. That was the last coherent thing he said for some time.

Lene rolled Jamie onto his back again, with his cooperation. She was getting efficient with the tape, and quickly had his feet secured to the footboard, keeping his legs apart. His arms ached from being bound in the same position for however many minutes or hours it had been.

“Anything I need to know before I gag you?” she asked, holding up a small strip of tape.

He shook his head no. He was dimly aware of a number of things that would be smart to say, but he didn’t feel like talking.

She covered his mouth and kissed him through the tape, then drew back and regarded him with a satisfied smile. Her fingernails left pink trails of heat as she dragged them from his collarbone to his thigh.

Pain didn’t have the same edge it did when they’d started. He basked in it instead of struggling to get away and tried to ask her for more with his eyes.

Lene obliged him for a minute, raking fire up and down his body, but then caught sight of something and paused. She touched her finger to his forearm, and showed him the drop of blood on her fingertip. He closed his eyes and shuddered. She drew her wet finger across his cheek slowly.

“I didn’t mean to do that, but if you could see yourself right now…” She sighed and turned his head to the side, with his bloody cheek facing up. “You look lovely in red.”

It felt right. After all she’d put him through, after he’d buried his face in the pillow and yelled until his throat hurt along with everything else, it would have been odd if he hadn’t bled. He opened his eyes a sliver when she stood up from the bed.

She crouched over the open moving box rummaging through his things again, and came back holding a fresh razor blade.

He stared. That was one of the things he’d thought vaguely of asking her not to do, and now he couldn’t. She was going to cut him, and there was nothing he could do or say to stop her. Once that sank in, he accepted it. He’d be still so she wouldn’t cut too deep by mistake.

Lene set the razor blade down carefully on his chest. She straddled him and unzipped her pants. “I’m thinking about what I’m going to do to you in a minute.” She slid a hand under her purple underwear and touched herself quietly for a minute, watching him—mostly his face.

It excited him to know that she was getting off on the idea of making him bleed for her, and having his hands bound was frustrating. He tried to rub against her, but she didn’t allow it much—just enough to drive him even more crazy.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then relaxed with a shiver and withdrew her hand.

Jamie was still very much aware of the razor blade sitting on his chest, waiting.

But first, she decided to go down on him. Her hand and her mouth were both so warm and friendly after all that teasing. She put her whole body into it, rubbing against his leg and rolling her shoulders in time with her tongue until he knew it was going to put him over the edge if she didn’t stop. Girls liked a little warning, didn’t they? He tried his best to communicate in muffled squeaks. She intensified her efforts, and he had no choice but to come, even if it meant she’d pick up the razor blade that much sooner, or possibly because of it. Gravity took a holiday, and the world dissolved into pure white bliss.

Awash with tingly satisfaction, he couldn’t have moved even if his limbs were free. Lene kissed him repeatedly, moving up his stomach and chest until she got to the razor blade. She paused dramatically, picked it up and turned it over in her fingers.

He stopped breathing.
Don’t do it. Not now.

She tossed the blade back into the box it had come out of and grinned. “Psych.”

 

The late afternoon sun angled through the window, illuminating dust motes and casting a bright golden square against the back of the door. Jamie and Lene lounged against a pile of pillows, sheets, bits of tape, and jumbled clothes, after-glowing.

“I’m afraid this may be habit forming,” she said.

Jamie used his toes to retrieve the blanket from the floor. “Thank god.” His voice was strained. He shivered and pulled the blanket over both of them. “It feels like I lost my virginity all over again.”

Lene snuggled up to him to warm him up. “I don’t know how to explain what I feel like, but it’s really good.” It was sort of true. She was madly in love, and no longer able to convince herself otherwise. The idea of saying so aloud just then terrified her and would probably scare him off, too.

They cuddled quietly for a minute before Lene realized from the change in his breathing that Jamie had fallen asleep. She eased out of the bed an inch at a time to avoid waking him, and put her shirt back on. While she brushed the tangles out of her hair with her fingers, she inspected his face one more time to make sure she hadn’t left any handprints. No bruises were coming up on his cheek—pretty good for not having a clue what she was doing. She resisted the urge to kiss his face. There was no need to wake him yet.

Instead, she performed a few ballet steps in the sunbeam, then hunted quietly through the box of “misc” for antibiotic goop and a Band-Aid.

I
want to fuck you.”

Rita didn’t know who was more surprised. She, at the words that came out of her mouth, or Nate, who looked at her like a steer caught in headlights.

“What?” he asked.

Rita pretended the last minute hadn’t happened. She waved her pad at him. “What would you like to order?”

Nate lifted an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes.

She steeled herself. Hopefully whatever cut he gave her would not be loud enough for the other diners to hear. The last thing she needed or wanted was the town gossip mill looking in her direction.

“I’ll take the blue-plate special,” he said, “the steak medium well, heavy on the gravy, four biscuits. Coffee. Black.”

Rita wrote furiously and reached for his menu.

He held on to it and forced her to meet his eyes, his questioning, hers resolved.

He let go of the menu. Rita forced herself to walk slowly
toward the kitchen, all the while yearning to run from the room. She put in the order and kept walking down the hallway, out the back door. Leaning on the wall, she took deep breaths to calm her racing heart and covered her face with her hands. She shook her head and dried her sweaty palms on her apron, a blush hot on her cheeks.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She couldn’t believe she had given voice to her secret obsession, and to Nate’s face, no less. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had leapt onto his horse and ridden for the hills.

But he looked so hot in his tight jeans, and whenever he wore his white shirt and leather vest combo, all she could think of was riding a cowboy—Nate, to be exact. She’d ride him until he was wild and sweaty, until she’d quenched her lust for him.

Rita heard her name being called. She straightened her hair, her Mexican lace blouse and her spine as she entered the diner.

Nate’s eyes followed her, as she filled coffee cups, took food requests and chatted with her customers. Aside from refilling his cup, Rita ignored him. On any other day, she would have rejoiced at having him linger over his meal so she could steal glances at his chiseled features, his dark wavy hair, and the big bulge in his jeans. She’d built fantasies around him and that bulge. Her favorite was the one of them fucking in a booth, ending with his tongue on her clit and his cock in her mouth. On any other day—but not today. She wanted him to leave so she could soak her head.

Rita put the check upside down in front of Nate and quickly stacked the dishes. “I’ll get these out of your way.” She was talking too fast, a clear sign of nervousness.

Nate caught her hand. She froze.

“Is there something else you want?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

“You.” He ran his fingers across her skin.

“What?” Did she just squeak?

“You.” His voice was confident and strong. “Your breasts cupped in my hands, my tongue in your mouth, my dick…”

Rita pressed her fingers against his mouth and looked around frantically in case anyone had heard.

He pulled one of her fingers into the dark wetness of his mouth. Her eyes looked into his. Hunger stared back. She saw his eyes drop to her breasts. She imagined him sucking her nipples and desire pooled in her cunt.

For a second, they were alone with their desires; only the tinkling of china brought them back to reality. He let her pull her finger free, but she couldn’t resist stroking his lips.

“What time do you get off?” His hand was still hot on hers.

“I’m closing tonight.” Her voice was breathless.

“I’ll be back to fuck you then.” He stood in one smooth movement. The heat of his body was intoxicating as it pressed against her briefly. The warmth of his breath caressed her neck and sent shivers down her body.

Rita took the plates and headed toward the kitchen. She watched Nate walk out the door. He had a tight ass and a swagger. Very John Wayne. Very sexy. She looked at the large clock over the counter: two hours to closing.

Closing time crawled closer. Customers came and went. The kitchen closed. Rita was finally alone. She pushed tables and chairs around, preparing the diner for a private seductive encounter.