My Sunday Snog today comes from my erotic suspense novel Exposure. I’ve been thinking about my heroine, Stella—in fact, I have a post about her over at Oh Get a Grip tomorrow—so I thought I’d let her come out and play.
After you’re finished here, I hope you’ll head back to Victoria’splace, for more sexy Sunday kisses.
Sex, blood and betrayal... It’s all in a day’s work.
Finally, he puts down his drink. “Shall we get started? Let me get a bit more comfortable.” He shrugs off his suit jacket and places it over the desk chair. I gasp as I see that he is wearing a revolver in a shoulder holster. He smiles, just a little, as he removes this and hangs it over the chair on top of the jacket. “I’m a dangerous man, Stella, and I have many enemies. I have to take care of myself.” I nod vaguely. I’m not exactly reassured.
He seats himself back on the sofa. “The stereo is over there,” he says, pointing to a complicated pile of audio equipment next to the bar. Somehow, I figure out how where insert my thumb drive and how to start it playing. I turn to face my audience.
The first bars of the music free me from any anxiety. I fix my eyes on him and begin to move. Graceful. Sensual. I’m extremely turned on, but I want this performance to be classy, not raunchy the way I sometimes am.
The shoes go first. Now I unfasten my jacket, lingering over each button. Building the suspense. I’m wearing regular lingerie, flimsy and feminine, instead of one of my costumes. My breasts are like melons, encased in black lace. No padding or wires on this bra; my nipples are clearly visible, pushing the fabric into sweet little peaks.
I do the classic strip, turning my back and inching the skirt zipper down. Shimmying the garment over my hips to my ankles. I feel his eyes on my rump. When I turn back to face him, I try out the stare on him. The results are mixed.
He’s not closed off like his friend. I can see deep into his soul. I see passion, hunger, clean and healthy. Not twisted and painful like some of the guys at the lounge.
At the same time, though, I feel like he sees into me. It’s like he’s touching me inside, probing, trying to discover what I want. It’s strange and very intimate. His eyes make my clit harden and my juices flow.
But my eyes are doing the same to him. I can see the bulge in his tailored trousers. His breath is coming a bit more quickly, too.
I unfasten the bra in front. Instead of tossing it at him, which is my first idea, I let it drift to the floor. I caress my breasts, as much for my own pleasure as for his. I love their heaviness in my hands. I love the way the skin shades to rich darkness at their tips. And the nipples themselves, round and firm like the best Kalamata olives. I roll them between my fingers, my breath starting to become ragged.
Finally, there are just my bikini panties between me and nakedness. I hold off as long as I can, letting the music build to its climax. At the crescendo, I undo the ribbons at each hip, so the thing just falls away from my body. For a moment I stand there proudly, my curly black pubic hair glistening with my own moisture. Tony’s eyes devour me. Then the music dies away. I sink to the carpet in a curtsy, strangely exhausted.
I came here to dance. Just a job. But now I want more. And so does Tony.
]He lifts me up. He embraces me. Neither of us speaks. We communicate only through the kiss. His mouth feels gentler than it looks. He tastes like his expensive scotch. I let myself relax, feel the stiffness of his starched shirt against my bare skin. There’s more stiffness below. He rubs his erection against my damp bush, making me damper still, while his tongue plays with mine. His fingers lock on to my nipples, pinching them until I squirm with pleasure.
This is certainly a nice bonus. He strips off his shirt, pants, and briefs. He leaves his socks on, and for once, I don’t mind. I usually think naked guys in socks look ridiculous, but nothing so simple could spoil Tony Pinelli. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a condom. Of course he’s prepared.
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