Black Orchid (16 page)

Brett's hands came beneath her, supporting her bottom
whilst at the same time he took her straining clitoris between
his teeth and nibbled on it gently. Emily went wild as her
orgasm exploded, bolt after bolt of lightning, coursing through
her veins, suffusing her with heat.

Brett held her still, his lips pressed hard against her throbbing
nub as the waves at last subsided, leaving her drained.
She whimpered slightly as he lay down beside her, curling up
with her back to him. He put his arms around her and moulded
his body to hers, spoon fashion. Emily had never felt more
comfortable in her life and, with a small sigh of contentment,
she closed her eyes.

When she woke about an hour later, Brett had rolled over,
onto his back. One arm was flung out at right angles to his
body, the other still cradled Emily. He was sleeping heavily, his
strong, symmetrical features relaxed, his dark hair tousled.

Emily ran her eyes over him greedily, examining him more
fully than she would ever have dared had his eyes been open.
Those eyes were fringed with the thickest, longest lashes she
had ever seen on a man. They looked incongruous, somehow,
the only feminine feature on a totally masculine face as they
shadowed the area under his eye.

His skin was a smooth, sun warmed brown, stretched tight
across his bones. There was a slight bump half way down his
nose, but his lips, soft skinned, yet firm, were perfectly formed,
the lower slightly fuller than the upper.

Tentatively, Emily reached out and ran a finger along his
jawline. It was strong and firm, like the rest of him, and she
could feel the sharp rasp of his beard as it pushed stubbornly
through his pores. He looked like the type of man who had to
shave twice a day, she mused, her eyes running over the black
shadow.

His breathing was still deep and even so Emily dared to
look further. Gently, so as not to disturb him, she peeled back
the covers to expose his nakedness. Beneath his jaw, his neck
ran in a thick, strong column to the place where his collarbones
met. Touching him lightly there, with the tips of her
fingers, Emily watched his Adam's apple move in automatic
contraction.

Obeying an impulse, she dipped her head and pressed her
lips against it before moving down to kiss the hollow at the
base of his throat. The skin there was warm and slightly damp.
She darted out her tongue and tasted the salty tang of it, nervously,
as if biting into forbidden fruit.

Glancing quickly upwards, she saw that still he slept, one
arm thrown out, unmoving. Her eyes ran across the breadth
of his shoulders, liking their symmetry, the beauty of the
smooth, polished skin. Further down that glowing flesh was
all but covered by the thick, silkily coarse hair that covered
him like a gossamer blanket. His flat, male nipples showed
through, dark pink and hardening as they were exposed to the
slight chill of the room.

Once again, Emily followed her instincts and kissed him,
there. And down, down his mid-line to where his taut, flat
stomach quivered under her lips. Keeping her eyes averted, for
now, from the swelling column which nudged her chin impertinently,
she ran her lips around the circle of his waist to his
left side.

It was there she found the scar, puckered, still livid, about
four inches long, though thin, and winding upward towards
his armpit. Emily paused, frowning, remembering how he had
told her he had been in an accident. Gently, she placed her
cheek against the damaged flesh before nibbling her way back
to his navel.

His breathing had quickened now, become more shallow,
but still he did not open his eyes. Emily wondered if he were
truly still asleep, or whether he faked it. Bypassing the more
obvious of his masculine charms, she traced a line up the soles
of his feet, from his heels to his toes. He didn't flinch, though
his closed eyelids flickered.

Emily smiled and trailed her fingers lightly round his ankles,
rolling her thumbs on the bone and walking her nails slowly
up his shins. His large, hair roughened thighs tensed as she
kneaded them, slowly working upwards to his cock which
twitched, once, in anticipation.

He was not asleep now, of that she was certain, yet he kept
his eyes firmly closed against her. The sudden tension in his
muscles told her he was alert, waiting for her next move. Her
hand reached out and hovered, unsure. She held her breath as
her hand lowered and closed around the strong, pale column
which rose from the thick nest of hair between his thighs.

It was warm, the skin unexpectedly soft as she lightly ran
the palm of her hand along its length. Brett appeared to be
holding his breath too, now, and Emily felt an answering pull
deep inside her as he let it out on a jagged sigh and shifted
slightly under her hand.

Growing in confidence, Emily touched the pink, velvety
helmet and ran the tip of her finger round the edge before
following the tiny crease with one fingernail. She squeezed
gently, milking him, before enclosing him in her hand and
running it up and down, moving the skin over the swollen
column.

Tearing her eyes away, she scanned his face. A slight frown
etched a line between his eyebrows, his mouth was drawn into
a thin line, his jaw clenched in concentration. There was a light
film of sweat across his forehead and on his upper lip and
Emily swooped to run her tongue along it, the unexpectedness
of the action making his lips part in a gasp.

Emily took advantage of his surprise and covered his mouth
with her own, kissing him deeply. The inside of his mouth was
hot, his tongue as it met hers, hard and demanding. Emily let
go of his cock and braced both hands either side of his head
against the pillows. Her arms turned to liquid as the kiss went
on and on, so she straddled him, one knee either side of his
waist. Although only their lips touched, Emily could feel the
scorching heat of his skin, it glowed and gave off warmth,
drawing her down to him.

They pulled apart, gasping for breath. His eyes were open
now, boring into hers. Emily could feel the lips of her nether
mouth pout and open in response to the expression in his eyes.
Without so much as a butterfly caress from his fingers, the
moisture gathered there and made her ready to receive him.

Slowly, never breaking eye contact, Emily reached down
between her legs and parted the lips of her sex. The skin felt
hot and slippery under her fingers as she lowered herself onto
him and sheathed the tip of his shaft. They stayed like that,
poised, for several seconds. Then slowly, excruciatingly gradually,
Emily sank down on him.

First the tip disappeared inside her, then, inch by inch, he
was enclosed by her hungry passage. His eyes seemed to glaze
over as she took the last of him in and sat astride him, absolutely
still. His cock seemed to swell even more, filling her up,
his hairy balls tickling at the puckered mouth of her anus.

He reached up for her, but Emily shook her head. She wanted
to watch his face, see his every nuance of expression as she
rode him. She wanted to watch him as he came.

She shifted her weight slightly so that she was leaning back,
her back arched. Brett's eyes were drawn to where her hardening
clitoris thrust forward, clear of the russet curls of her
mons. His eyes were hot on her as he reached down and guided
her own hand down to it, pressing the tip of her middle finger
against it.

Emily flushed hotly and shook her head, resisting.

'No!' she whispered.

Brett smiled gently and moved her finger slightly. Emily
closed her eyes as the small action sent butterflies fluttering
through her stomach. Gradually she forgot he was watching
her, barely noticing when he took his guiding hand away.

She felt the perspiration break out on her skin as she grew
warmer. God it was good! To masturbate herself whilst so full
of him. She began to move her hips, gently at first, then more
savagely. Rising up on her knees, she withdrew from him until
only the tip of him was inside her, before sinking back down
again.

The cords on Brett's neck stood out as she repeated the action,
more quickly this time. His eyes were riveted on her circling
finger as it caressed her clitoris and he watched as his own
cock came into view before being swallowed up again.

Emily could feel the pressure building, building, deep within
her. Instinctively, she began to tap rhythmically on her straining
nub. Tap tap tap, harder and harder, faster and faster until she
was thrashing the tiny bud. She cried out as her climax
exploded, bucking her hips and closing her eyes despite
herself.

Brett was close to joining her, she could feel the dam was
about to burst. With an effort, Emily opened her eyes to watch
him. His eyes were fixed on her face, but he did not appear to
be seeing her. Sweat plastered the hair to his forehead, his lips
were dry, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Emily concentrated on keeping to the rhythm she had built
up, quickening her pace as she saw that he was about to come.
His lips moved, wordlessly, as the first, warning spurt of semen
hit the entrance to her womb, then he threw back his head,
arching his neck as he lost control.

Emily pressed her lips against his throat as his seed flooded
her and trickled back out again, squeezing her muscles tightly
to milk every last drop of him. And when at last he slumped,
spent, she collapsed on top of him and smothered his face with
kisses.

'God! You're wonderful!' he whispered hoarsely as his mouth
sought and found hers.

They cuddled up close and held each other as the storm
between them subsided, leaving in its wake a delicious lassitude.
After a few minutes, Emily stretched and yawned. She
could feel Brett's eyes on her.

'What? What is it?' she asked as she saw his expression.

He shrugged and pulled his eyes away, telling her that he
was unhappy. Suddenly her new found confidence rushed
away, leaving her feeling exposed and raw.

'Wasn't it . . . I thought it was good?' she asked, her voice
pitifully small.

Brett sat up and stared down at her in the encroaching dusk.

'It was wonderful, Emily – how can you doubt it?'

He stroked her hair with a tenderness which brought tears
to clog her throat.

'Then why . . .?'

'It's nothing. Just that I wish . . .'

'What? What do you wish?' she pressed him impatiently,
hoping against all hope that his thoughts mirrored her own.

He smiled, self-mocking, glancing away as if marshalling
his thoughts.

'I just wish we had more time. Sorry.'

Emily could not stop the grin which spread across her face
as he spoke aloud the words she had not dared utter.

'Sorry?' she echoed.

'I shouldn't say that, I guess.'

'We have a weekend place, a cottage in Cornwall,' she said,
her words rushing into each other. 'We could go there, just the
two of us, for as long as we wanted . . . Oh! But of course. It's
me who should be apologising, asking such a thing of you.'

'Emily?'

'You've agreed to work here, haven't you? I'm only your first
assignment.'

Reality, like a bucket of ice-cold water, dampened what was
left of her ardour. Emily felt like a fool, allowing herself to get
so carried away. Forgetting that this wonderful night had been
bought for her by her mother. By credit card.

Brett was still smiling softly down at her and she frowned
questioningly at him.

'You're so beautiful, Emily, so very lovely. I think I'm already
half-way in love with you.'

'Brett . . .!' she was half shocked, half exhilarated by his
earnestly spoken words.

'And that after only one night!' he laughed softly. 'With more
time together . . . could we go to this place now? Tonight?'

Emily stared back at him and knew she would do anything,
go anywhere to find out if he was right, if what had flared
between them these past few hours was more than a simple
conflagration of their hormones. And at that moment she knew
that she
wanted
him to be right.

'But . . . don't you have a contract?' she whispered.

Brett smiled slightly.

'I'm my own man, Emily. Any contract can be broken.'

He waited until she nodded before branding her with his
kiss.

'Where is Brett?'

Maggie looked up in surprise as the line of men in front of
her stirred. Not one met her eye as she passed her gaze over
each of them, which was unusual in itself. Normally there was
a continuous, easy banter during roll-call and no one had ever
failed to answer any question she cared to ask them. Something
was up. Maggie frowned as she realised that since she had,
reluctantly, left Brett with Emily the night before, she hadn't
caught a glimpse of him.

Dismissing the line up, she made her way to her office where
she was met by a very agitated Hilary.

'Hilary! Whatever are you doing here this time in the
morning?'

'You might well ask!'

Maggie glanced at her in surprise as she opened the door.
Two hectic spots of colour stood out on the woman's normally
pale cheeks and she could not seem to stand still. A burning
cigarette was clamped between her fingers in defiance of the
club's no-smoking rule.

'You'd better come in.'

Once inside, Hilary paced to the window and back again
before confronting Maggie. She waved her cigarette around as
she spoke, as if to emphasise every word.

'I entrusted my daughter into your care!' Hilary launched
into speech, clearly upset.

'I didn't see Emily when she left, I—'

'I don't suppose she wanted you to see her!' Hilary interrupted.
No doubt she thought you would have tried to stop her
leaving if you had.'

'Didn't it go well?' Maggie asked, worried that her instincts
in choosing Brett for Emily had been wrong.

'Go well?' Hilary's voice rose an octave. 'Go well? Yes, it went
all right. Too bloody well!' She broke off, as if she had explained
enough.

Maggie felt completely bewildered. Frowning, she said, 'I'm
sorry, Hilary, but I'm not following you.'

'Emily telephoned me this morning, early. She's in Cornwall
at our weekend cottage with this . . . this man you introduced
her to!'

Maggie went hot, then cold as the implications of what
Hilary was saying sank in.

'With Brett? But they can't be. Brett's under contract to the
club.'

'So much for that!' Hilary snorted, her normally musical
voice flat with agitation. 'This Brett character clearly has no
sense of responsibility. And you've let him run off with my
daughter!'

'Now Hilary,' Maggie said soothingly, 'let's have a cup of
coffee together and talk this through. Believe me, I'm just as
stunned as you are.'

Hilary allowed herself to be steered towards the lemon
chintz sofa, crossing her legs elegantly as Maggie rang for
coffee to be brought up. She seemed a little calmer as they
sipped in silence. By the time she placed the little cup and
saucer back on the coffee table, she had regained much of her
usual poise.

'I owe you an apology,' she said unexpectedly, waving away
Maggie's polite protest. 'No, I do. Emily is quite old enough to
be responsible for her own actions. It was ridiculous of me
to accuse you of negligence! And if the man had been holding
her against her will, she would have hardly phoned to tell
me, would she?'

Maggie smiled slightly at the thoroughly unlikely idea of
Brett kidnapping Emily. The smile was wiped off her face as
Hilary continued.

'I think it was all this talk of being in love which panicked
me. I mean, she's spent one night with this man, and already
she's hinting at wedding bells and happily ever after!'

'What?'

Maggie thought of Brett, naked, dripping wet and half-drowned
in bubbles in the Jacuzzi. Anger, regret, jealousy – all
shot through her in quick succession. She closed her eyes,
briefly. When she opened them again, she saw that Hilary had
dropped her elegant, cropped head into her hands and was
crying softly.

'Hilary?'

Maggie instinctively went to sit beside her on the sofa, laying
one hand on her shoulder in an awkward gesture of comfort.

'I'm sorry. It's just that I was so worried. Emily's all I've got,
she's my baby. She's never done anything like this before!'

She began to sob quietly and Maggie put her arms around
her shoulders, drawing her head under her chin. Patting her
back comfortingly, she waited until the worst was over,
wrapped up in her own thoughts. Gradually, she became aware
that Hilary's head had dropped to her breast and rested
there.

Maggie stroked the short, red-gold hair. It crackled with life
under her fingers, picking up the sunlight which streamed
through the window so that it looked as if it had caught fire.
Fascinated, Maggie touched her lips against the top of Hilary's
head. Her hair felt like silk against the soft skin of her lips,
lightly fragranced like fresh peaches.

Slowly, without a word passing between them, Hilary's head
turned so that her face was buried in the warm valley between
Maggie's generous breasts. Maggie was wearing a soft cream
silk blouse over a lacy camisole which laced with ribbons up
the front. Her breasts swelled as Hilary's mouth brushed across
them, the nipples thrusting wantonly against the flimsy confines
of the inadequate camisole.

Beneath the tight red skirt and lace panties, Maggie felt a
familiar stirring. She hadn't expected this, not from Hilary, yet
she welcomed it, eager for another taste of a woman's softness.
This time there would be no coercion, no casually inflicted
pain, just a slaking of the lust which was quickly gaining hold
of her. Reaching under Hilary's head, she cupped her chin in
her palm and raised her head.

Hilary's face was very pale, her usually immaculate make-up
streaked with tears. Her mascara had smudged slightly and
Maggie wiped away the black stain with the pad of her thumb.
A few fine lines around her eyes was the only clue that she
was past the first flush of youth, and the years sat lightly on
her. The wide blue eyes sparkled with her recent tears, the
small, soft mouth tremulous as Maggie's eyes rested on her
lips.

'Undress for me, Hilary,' she whispered.

Hilary stood immediately and began to unfasten the buttons
on the jacket of her soft lilac suit, her eyes never leaving
Maggie's face. The jacket slipped off her shoulders and she
threw it carelessly at the coffee table where it slithered to the
floor. The short, tight skirt eased over her slender hips and was
kicked aside.

Underneath, Hilary wore an oyster coloured, full-length bra
slip in silk satin. Beneath that, nothing. Maggie's eyes were
drawn to the shadow between her thighs which was tantalisingly
visible through the thin fabric.

Hilary's long legs were bare, disappearing into plain, high-heeled
courts dyed the same pale lilac as her suit. She wore a
heavy perfume which Maggie vaguely recognised. It reached
out to her, enveloping her in its heady scent.

Without a word, Maggie stood and shed her own blouse and
skirt, facing Hilary dressed in nothing but her lacy white camisole
and matching briefs, black hold-ups and strappy high-heels.
Both women smiled before stepping forward.

Hilary felt light in her arms as they kissed, their tongues
already parrying hotly. Running her hands down the other
woman's arms, Maggie admired the taut flesh, kept young by
exercise and careful diet. She knew the rest of her body would
be in the same condition and felt a thrill of delicious anticipation
as she imagined the exploration to come.

They broke apart to shed what remained of their clothes
until they were both naked, apart from Hilary's shoes and
Maggie's hold-ups and sandals. Each pair of hungry eyes raked
the opposite body. Hilary's breasts were small, almost conical
in shape, crowned by nipples of the palest pink, hardened like
two small buttons. Beneath her breasts, her stomach was gently
rounded, the skin perfect but for a fine tracery of stretch marks
which did nothing to detract from her beauty.

The soft, curling hair between her legs was the same bright
gold as that on her head. They were of a similar height in their
high heels and as they each stepped forward again, as if of
one accord, Maggie's full, softly rounded breasts swayed against
Hilary's.

Maggie gasped as their nipples touched and Hilary's slim
arms came about her waist.

'Oh yes!' the older woman murmured, increasing the pressure so that Maggie's breasts were flattened against her, the
hard tips grinding against the smooth buttons of her own.

Maggie felt the rasp of Hilary's fiery pubic curls against the
more mundane black of her own and she thrust her hips
forward, increasing the contact. They kissed, slowly, taking
their time, tasting and savouring each other. Hilary's mouth
tasted slightly of peppermint and something sweeter, like
honey. Maggie sighed into her mouth.

When they broke apart, they stared, wonderingly, into each
other's eyes. Then Hilary turned and led Maggie by the hand
to the couch. Smiling slightly, she lay back on the pillows, her
legs hooked at the knee over the arm and a cushion pulled
beneath her bottom so that her smooth-skinned buttocks were
raised for Maggie's pleasure.

Maggie's eyes felt heavy as she ran them over the supine
figure of the woman in front of her. Her lips tingled from their
kiss, her tongue eager for a richer honey.

'Open up for me, darling,' she whispered.

Hilary slowly spread her legs and displayed herself. Beneath
the vibrant curls her flesh was paler than any Maggie had ever
seen. The outer lips pouted invitingly, the flower-like labia
opening before her eyes. She was very aroused, the petal-soft
skin glistened wetly in the sunlight.

Lower down, the skin puckered to a darker pink at the
forbidden orifice which stretched open as if, like her vagina, it
yearned to be loved. Maggie sank to her knees at the end of
the couch and delicately dabbed her tongue against the moist
crease of Hilary's exposed sex.

Hilary sighed jaggedly and reached down to touch her clitoris.
Maggie watched with lust-drugged eyes as it peeked from
beneath its protective hood, responding to the knowing caress
of Hilary's expensively manicured fingers. She imagined those
long, lilac-painted fingernails scoring lightly along her own
yearning flesh leaves and stood up.

Smiling at Hilary's inquisitive expression, Maggie straddled
her on the couch, her back to her face. Slowly, she spread her
legs and lowered herself down so that they were sixty-nined.
Hilary's nether lips closed about her tongue as she made the
first long, luxurious sweep from her bud to her opening and
back up the other side.

As she had expected, Hilary tasted like the sweetest, most
fragrant honey and Maggie closed her eyes, the better to enjoy
the feast. Meanwhile, Hilary's tongue was far from idle: it
probed and plunged, licked and sucked. Her small white teeth
nibbled at Maggie's outer labia, coaxing the lips wider apart
so that Maggie felt she must be able to see right into her
womb.

Bringing her forefinger into Hilary's sex, Maggie wetted it
before lubricating the tight anal opening. Hilary groaned, the
sound muffled by Maggie's body as Maggie slowly inserted
the tip of her finger. Hilary's sucking grew more intense as
Maggie worked her finger in and out, gently at first, then more
boldly as the sphincter of muscle yielded and relaxed.

Hilary's pleasure bud quivered against her chin as she used
her tongue like a miniature cock, thrusting into her succulent
sheath until she cried out her release. The suddenness of her
climax interfered with the rhythm of her tongue so Maggie
sat up and, before the spasms had reached their peak, she
straddled Hilary's upturned jewel, placing one foot firmly on
the floor at the end of the couch, the other lightly on Hilary's
belly. Squatting, she reached down and opened her own labia,
slick from the juices which had mingled with Hilary's
saliva.

Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps which were
almost painful to her as she covered Hilary's sex with her own.
The other woman's flesh was hot and slippery against hers
and Maggie ground herself against Hilary's pulsating love bud
so that the waves of pleasure coursing through it transmitted
themselves to hers. Within seconds, Maggie was coming too
and their hot, feminine juices combined, running into one
another as they rubbed against each other in a frenzy of lewd
delight.

It was many minutes before either Maggie or Hilary regained
some semblance of normality. Hilary stirred beneath her,
alerting Maggie to the fact that her weight was probably
becoming too much for her. She moved, reluctantly, though
her own muscles were beginning to cramp.

Hilary shifted on the sofa to make room for her and Maggie
slid along so that they were lying, hip to hip, breast to breast
on the narrow couch. They kissed, languidly, their foreheads
pressed together. It was Hilary who first realised they were
not alone.

Alerted by her sharp intake of breath, Maggie sat up to face
the intruder. Or rather, intruders. She relaxed, a slow smile
spreading across her face as she saw Jason and Con in the open
doorway.

'How long have you two been there?' she asked, absently
caressing Hilary's small breast.

Jason reddened and dropped his eyes while Con grinned
broadly. A glance at the two pairs of regulation sports shorts
told her that they had been watching for some time – long
enough for the black lycra to have become stretched to its very
limit.

Glancing at Hilary, Maggie saw that she was eyeing Con
speculatively and she remembered that the other woman
would not have met two of her newest recruits.

'Come closer,' she invited, 'let me introduce you to Hilary.
Hilary – this is Jason,' she smiled, encouragingly, at the younger
of the two men, before announcing grandly, 'and this is
Constantine G. Winchester the Third.'

Hilary's eyes barely passed over Jason, her attention was
rivetted on Con as he towered over them.