-->
By the time you read this - if all goes well - I'll be in Hokkaido, Japan, enjoying my first visit to that region of legendary beauty. I'll be gone for two weeks, but I've got lots of great guests lined up here at the blog. And I couldn't leave you without a snog!
Here's a bit from my romantic erotica novel Nasty Business. If you like your stories intense, varied and kinky, you'll love this book.
After you savor my snog, hop back to Victoria's and sample lots more sexy kisses.
I want sex, I need
release, but it doesn't seem that I'm going to get it tonight. I
stand, stretch, realize that my muscles are stiff and sore. Perhaps
from my awkward position this afternoon. Perhaps because I haven't
worked out in several days. Then I remember the well-equipped gym
Rick showed me during our tour of the house. Just the thing.
I change from my sweat-
and sex-damp dress into a sports bra and shorts, pull my hair into a
low ponytail, and wend my way down the dark corridor toward the back
of the building, where it settles into the hillside. Everything's
very quiet. There's no light under Rick's door, or under Margaret's.
It crosses my mind that
Margaret was odd and unfamiliar tonight, less diffident, more
assertive than usual. She seemed to radiate a happy confidence that
overwhelmed her usual seriousness. I guess that she has gotten over
her embarrassment about her interlude with our host. I'm pleased at
her resiliency.
The gym is even darker
than the corridor. Like Rick's office, it has only small windows set
high in the wall. I grope for the light switch, turning on the track
lights overhead. Experimenting, I find that I can dim them down to a
more pleasant, less blinding level.
I start with some
stretches at the barre, watching myself in the mirror opposite me. I
don't normally spend much time gazing at myself. I know I'm
beautiful. But the woman I see reflected back at me tonight seems a
stranger. Her petite frame, her small breasts, her delicate ankles,
make her seem fragile. With my hair pulled back loosely, I look
young. Innocent. Vulnerable.
I have to laugh at this
fancy. I know that I am strong and full of power. I shift to one of
the stationary weight machines, working my triceps and biceps until
they burn. I've stopped watching myself. Next I turn my attention to
my quads and adductors, pushing the weights apart as I open my
thighs, working against their force to pull my legs back together
again.
I work hard, trying to
burn my arousal away into exhaustion. Somehow, it's not happening.
Every time I spread my thighs apart, I'm acutely aware of my
throbbing, swollen clit, hidden in my soaked shorts. I increase the
force and pace of my repetitions, determined to be the mistress of my
body and my urges. It's almost as though I'm climbing the slope to
orgasm. The harder and faster I work, the more excited I become.
Finally, I have to stop. I
lie back in the apparatus, panting. The room smells of musk and
sweat. With a pang, I recognize the odor not only of my perspiration,
but of his. Rick's. Damn. I close my eyes wearily, willing my body to
relax. Damn, damn, damn.
There's a sound. My eyes
fly open. I am no longer alone. For the briefest instant, I think
that it's Rick, and my heart accelerates as though I were still
working the machine. Then, with an inner smile, I realize my error.
Raoul.
"Ruby!" he says
in that soft Latin voice. "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I
had no idea that there was anyone here."
He has obviously come for his own
workout. He wears a loose pair of shorts, nothing else. My eyes trace
the curlicues of hair on his muscled chest. I smile. He smiles,
sniffs, strolls over to stand between my spread thighs.
"I was having trouble
sleeping," I tell him, knowing that he's reading other messages
in my body, in the air. "Exercise is usually a good way for me
to get rid of tension."
"Maybe I can help,"
he says, almost whispering. His hands on the tops of my thighs, he
leans over and kisses me full on the lips. It's a simple,
uncalculated kiss, no hidden agendas, no power trips, just texture,
wetness, warmth. It's an invitation.
I accept. As he bends over me, I raise
my legs and clasp them around his waist. I can feel his delicious
hardness, pressing against me through our clothing. He gives a soft
laugh, pulls up my bra and takes my nipple in his mouth. Lovely, to
feel that texture, warmth, wetness against that sensitive flesh.
He gives me long minutes
of bliss. When he stops, my nipples are round and rigid as ceramic
beads. "Let me go for a moment," he says, and I release the
clutch of my legs.
He stands and with a grace
I find in few men, removes his shorts. I can't help but marvel at his
beauty. Muscles that swell rather than bulge, curves that flow under
his bronzed skin and lush fur. His cock juts proudly from a jet
tangle at his groin. I have a sudden, uncharacteristic impulse to
kneel at his feet and take him reverently into my mouth.
Before I can evaluate or
act on this impulse, though, he seats himself on a recumbent
stationary bicycle and leans back against the seat, one bare foot in
each stirrup. His cock stands straight up, swaying a bit as he moves.
It's simultaneously silly and wonderfully lewd.
He grins up at me. "Care
to come for a ride, Ruby?"
No comments:
Post a Comment
Let me know your thoughts! (And if you're having trouble commenting, try enabling third-party cookies in your browser...)