Cooking up a Storm (13 page)

‘Fine,’ he surrendered. ‘Put on the robe and we’ll go back inside.’

‘No. Here.’

‘Marissa, it’s broad daylight.’

‘I like the look of your rowboat,’ she said, and popped his trouser button. The head of his cock immediately poked through the opening, rosy and moist with arousal.

They clambered in carefully.

‘I’m too old for this,’ he muttered, but she knew he wasn’t. He was too eager to be too old.

The tide was low enough that they could shove the boat into the shadows under the pier. Like an echo chamber, the shelter magnified every excited breath, every slap of the dark-green water on the fibreglass hull. Fortunately, it wasn’t too dark to see. The waves threw thread-like ripples of sun on to the weathered underside of the dock, on to her arms, on to Jack’s face. Marissa smelt fish, wet reeds, waterlogged wood, and the faint, intoxicating scent of sex about to happen.

‘Take your clothes off,’ she said. ‘I want to see you naked this time.’

He complied without a word, struggling to get everything off quickly. He had a good body, really good. He was tall and firm and his chest and thighs bore a satisfying silver fuzz. Marissa couldn’t wait to scratch her way all over it.

He reached past her to knock one of the seats off its supports so she could lay back. With the robe spread out beneath her, Marissa lounged back on her elbows and watched his eyes run over her body, from her high, pointy breasts to her concave belly and down her long, wiry legs. She was all bones and angles. Even her breasts thrust from her ribs like little cones, nothing like Abby’s beautiful, rounded handfuls. But Jack seemed to like her looks. He was breathing hard when he finished the survey. His cock was veering even further left than it had the first time they made love. She realised this must be his personal flag of high excitement.

She beckoned him closer with one curled finger. He dropped over her on to his arms. ‘I’ll be on top,’ he warned, as if offering her the chance to change that.

She laughed and scratched his cloud of chest hair. ‘I think you need to be on top today.’

He did. Oh, he did. He took her after a single kiss and a brief two-fingered probe of her dripping pussy. He slid in easily and they both sighed with pleasure. He was wonderfully long and hot. He seemed to reach so, so far inside her. He held there, ten seconds, twenty, and then he began to surge and withdraw, surge and withdraw, like the tide sucking at the sand.

The boat rocked with them, its rebound sharper than a water bed, alternately jarring them closer, then apart. They fought the apart; they revelled in the closer. The water slapped the hull with the rhythm of their fucking, an exaggerated, sexual noise. Listening to it drove Marissa high and fast. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

‘Fuck me,’ she said, using her legs to strengthen her thrusts. ‘Fuck me, Jack.’

He drove harder. ‘I am fucking you. God love you, I am.’

He kept up the pace, driving left, then right, then up against the sweet spot behind her pubic bone. He could tell she liked that from the way she clutched his back and gasped. He kept pumping her there with firm, steady strokes. His balls slapped against her cheeks, the sensation changing as they drew up higher with excitement. They were close, both of them. Marissa’s breath began to whine in her throat. Ooh, it was going to be a good one. She could tell. It was going to be sweet and hard and…

He dropped his head to kiss her, once, hard. Then he sat up, still lodged deep but no longer thrusting. Marissa swallowed back a cry, wondering what was coming now. Her pussy fluttered crazily around his cock, whimpering ‘don’t stop, don’t stop’. But she trusted him; she did.

He reached into his pile of discarded clothes and pulled out his camera, not the Hasselblad — he wouldn’t risk that so near the water — but his second best, a Nikon. He removed the lens cap and pointed it at her with trembling hands. He advanced the film. His cock throbbed inside her, measurably harder than it had been a moment earlier. He pointed the camera at her face.

‘Touch yourself,’ he said, his belly moving in rapid, shallow jerks. ‘Bring yourself off. I want to catch your expression when you come.’

His excitement was infectious. Marissa touched her breasts, drawing out the nipples in long, pulling strokes. Jack licked his lips and snapped a shot. She ran her hands down her belly, circled her navel, then combed through her thick, black pubic hair. She parted her lips to bare the sharp pink triangle of her clit. The shutter snapped twice.

‘Touch yourself,’ Jack rasped. He shifted his thighs so that his knees slid under her bottom, tipping her higher. The root of his cock slid into view, cranberry red and roped with vigorous, pulsing veins. His skin gleamed with her juices. His lens was pointed at her cunt.

‘This isn’t for the book,’ she said, hesitating a moment longer.

He shook his head, his eyes hidden by the camera, his jaw tight. ‘This is just for me.’

‘Then take a picture of that.’ She touched the swath of glistening cock. ‘Just for me.’

He took two shots of his half-buried cock, then three, and then she touched herself. She closed her eyes, both forgetting he was there and thrilled that he watched. She brought herself up as slowly as she could but she was so excited she couldn’t draw it out very long. She rubbed her clit from side to side over her slippery flesh. She slid her fingers around the column of his sex. She groaned for him. She twitched for him. She pinched her nipples and said
soon, soon
and then finally she shattered to the music of the shutter going wild.

She opened her eyes, stretching languorously around his rigid cock. Sweat shone on his lean, wind-roughened cheeks. The knuckles that held his camera were white. He screwed the lens cap back on and set it back in its nest of clothes. He rolled forward over her, driving himself to the bone. His body shook like a beech in a storm.

Marissa grabbed the back of his neck and brought her lips to his ear. ‘Don’t come right away,’ she whispered. He groaned and she dug her fingers into the knotted muscles of his shoulders — half threat, half caress. ‘I want to feel you suffer.’

‘I’m about to blow, Marissa, no matter what I do.’

‘Go slowly,’ she insisted. ‘I want to feel you come.’

He pulled back, slowly, slowly, with a strangled grunt of effort.

‘Fuck,’ he said, pausing on trembling arms to catch his breath. Then he pushed back. Marissa hummed with pleasure, feeling her flesh give way for his cock, feeling her sheath twitch in little tremors of after-orgasm. He felt them, too.

‘Yes, suck me,’ he said, reaching the limit of his thrust. ‘Suck me with your cunt. Bring me off, Marissa. Bring me off like that.’

She pulled at him, trying to roll the contraction from root to tip. She was strong inside. She’d felt the pull on her own fingers. She knew he must like it. His cock pressed the walls of her vagina, swelling, stiffening.

‘Yes,’ he said. His head went back. His eyes drifted shut. ‘Again.’

She rippled over him one more time. The tension left his face, years falling away in a surge of intense, sexual pleasure. Waves lapped the boat. His mouth fell open. He drew a deep, deep breath.

Then he came. It was a slow pulse, sleepy heartbeats of orgasm from which all the violence had been removed. He sighed and it almost sounded like he was singing. Marissa smiled, her eyes stinging with unexpected tears. As they spilt from the corners, he sank down on her and kissed them away.

‘That was good,’ he said, rolling them both on to their sides. ‘That was very, very good.’

Yes, she thought, but not good enough to erase the dream of Abby.

Abby was waiting in his sitting room when he returned from Provincetown. She sat in one of the big plaid chairs with her feet tucked under her rump. Her outfit consisted of a baby-blue tank top and the virginal white panties he was beginning to develop a fetish for. The shutters were closed.

‘Well, hello.’ He smiled as he set down his packages. ‘I didn’t expect to find you here.’

She immediately sprang to her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed–’

‘Hush.’ He crossed to her and took her by the shoulders. ‘You’re welcome here anytime.’ He kissed her. ‘Very welcome.’

‘Oh, I thought–’ she tilted her head for another kiss, endearingly distracted ‘–I thought I might make up for missing breakfast yesterday.’

‘Really? What did you have in mind?’

His question took her aback. She crossed her arms over her breasts as if that were where her secret wishes lived. ‘I thought you might have something you wanted to do,’ she said.

‘I think it’s your turn to decide, don’t you? Although–’ he gestured to the brown-paper parcel he’d set on the lamp table ‘–I do have a little present that might put you in the mood.’

‘You bought me a present?’ Her eyes alight, she crawled back into the chair and held out her hands.

His mouth turned up on one side as he handed it to her. ‘I guess this means I won’t have to bully you into accepting it.’

‘Certainly not.’ She burrowed through the tissue paper. ‘I love presents. Oh!’ She’d found the first of his gifts, a sugar-pink chemise and panty set. She held the top to her chest and stroked the silk over the swell of her breast.

He crouched in front of the chair. ‘That’s for everyday wear.’ He pulled another tissue-wrapped bundle from beneath the first. ‘And this is for special.’

She was quieter now, her eyes big. From the second package she lifted out an emerald-green cami-knicker cut high in the legs and decorated with exquisite Belgian lace.

‘Ooh,’ was all she said.

‘And this–’ he tapped the last, largest package ‘–is for fun. But only if you think it’s fun.’

Her lashes slid down to her cheeks. She folded her hands on top of the tissue. ‘You said this was a “little” present.’

He laid his hands over the cool, smooth skin of her knees. ‘I hope it’s a present for both of us. But, if you don’t like it, I can return it to the shop.’

He couldn’t actually, since he’d had everything custom-made to her measurements, but she didn’t have to know that.

She took a breath for courage and opened the last package. The sheer white paper parted to reveal a midnight-blue basque with lacy push-up cups and a light, mostly ornamental boning. A matching thong panty completed the ensemble.

‘Oh,’ she said, and this ‘oh’ was different — shocked, but the sort of shock that sends heat flooding to a person’s groin. She squirmed in the chair and pressed her hand over her belly. ‘It’s…it’s beautiful.’

Storm cleared everything off her lap except for the basque. Then he slid his hands up her thighs. Abby looked at him. He ran his fingers around the legs of her pristine white panties. ‘I want you to know I’m very fond of these. But I thought you might enjoy seeing yourself in something fancy.’

A brief silence fell. When she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. ‘I never wanted to dress up for, well, before. But you–’ she cradled the basque against her chest ‘–you make me feel differently about everything. I don’t know if it’s because you’re the one who’s asking, or because you’ve changed me.’

‘You’ve changed you,’ he said, pleased by the compliment in spite of his demur. But perhaps ‘pleased’ was too pale a word. She was giving him a kind of virginity, the virginity of adventure. Gratification coursed through his veins like brandy. A woman never forgot the man who introduced her to herself.

She trailed her finger down a line of boning. ‘May I wear it now?’

In an instant, his gratification turned carnal. His cock rose so swiftly his clothes could scarcely make way fast enough. ‘You don’t need my permission,’ he said, his voice as heavy as his sex.

Still clutching the basque, Abby climbed sideways out of the chair and headed for the bathroom. Storm had to shake his head at her continued reserve. To his surprise, she stopped at the entrance to the bedroom. She turned to face him and set the lingerie on the floor, then grasped the hem of her tank top in both hands. She bit her lip.

‘Go ahead,’ he said as reassuringly as he could. He still crouched before the chair. He didn’t dare move. His cock was pounding in his shorts like a twelve-piece band.

Just as he was about to lose hope, she peeled the shirt over her head and shimmied out of her panties, quickly, as if she feared losing her nerve. Her breasts jiggled with the energy of her movements. God, she was beautiful. He almost told her to leave the basque alone, but this was her moment of courage. He had to let her finish.

She pulled the thong on first, then the top. It took a bit of wriggling but she soon had everything straight. The boning cinched her waist and the push-up cups did indeed make the most of her pretty breasts. She pressed both hands to the unaccustomed swell and gaped at her cleavage.

‘Goodness,’ she said.

He smiled and rose to take her hands in his. He held them out from her sides. ‘You look very pretty. Do you feel sexy?’

‘I felt sexy the minute you walked in the door,’ she blurted, then blushed bright pink.

He laughed and kissed her. ‘I’m glad.’ He kissed her again, with his tongue this time, and began backing her through the door.

‘Wait.’ She put her little hand in the centre of his chest. ‘I thought it was my turn to decide what we do.’

Stopping was harder than he expected. ‘It is.’

She looked back over her shoulder towards the bed. His thumbs rested at the base of her throat and he registered a sudden jump in her pulse. ‘I was wondering if you had any more toys?’ she asked.

Storm closed his eyes, his own heart beginning to thunder. He hadn’t expected her to be so adventurous so soon. ‘They’re in the bedside table.’

She pulled gently away from him. He heard her open the door to the cabinet and kneel down. He wished he’d known she was going to do this. He’d have moved his bondage paraphernalia somewhere else. Those toys were in the bottom, though, in the back and bagged. She might not find them.

Or did he secretly want her to?

‘I think I need to take everything out,’ she said. ‘There’s too much stuff in here.’

‘Fine,’ he said. Too nervous to watch, he turned his back and began removing the clothes in which he’d met the inn’s supplier. He pulled his tie off first, then his crisp white shirt, draping both carefully over the bentwood chair. He heard her removing objects from the cabinet. His belt buckle fought his shaky hands and against his will he remembered all the uses a long strip of leather could serve. He pulled the belt free with a muffled curse. Abby was too engrossed to hear.

‘My goodness,’ she said over something — one of the dildos, most likely.

Storm heard the ben wa balls clank in their velvet box as he shoved his trousers and briefs down his legs. He’d forgotten his shoes. He almost tripped getting them off. But his anxiety hadn’t done his erection any harm. It thrust from his body in a long upwards slope, bobbing ecstatically in anticipation. He squeezed his hands into fists as tightly as he could, then ordered himself to relax.

When he turned, he saw she’d laid his toys in three neat rows across his mattress, including the bondage accessories, which she’d taken from their black velvet sacks. One bag contained leather cuffs for binding wrists and ankles. The leather was worn and soft, like an old saddle, though the Velcro fastenings were fresh. The contents of the second bag were more unusual, but equally suitable for solo use, consisting of a dozen long black latex straps. An inch or so wide, the latex was stretchy and tended to cling to the skin, especially damp skin. Abby had coiled the straps together on top of the bag like a nest of shiny snakes. It was hard to look away from them, but he forced himself. She was waiting.

‘Do you have any questions?’ he asked, praying she wouldn’t ask about the straps.

She pointed to a small ivory-coloured dildo, his favourite, though she couldn’t have known that. The silicone cock had a smooth, velvety surface, a slender diameter, and just enough flex to make it ideal for anal play. Unfortunately, the dildo was almost as big a threat to his self-control as the latex ties. He noticed Abby’s blush had spread all the way down her chest.

‘Um,’ she said. ‘I was wondering. Is that too big to use on you?’

‘No.’ Struggling for his usual paternal amusement, he unconsciously clenched his bottom cheeks. ‘But you’ll need some lubricant.’

‘Oh.’ She pressed one knuckle to her lips and said in a very small voice, ‘Do you have any?’

His anus quivered violently. He could hardly get the words out to answer her. ‘There should be some in the drawer.’

Abby reached for the knob, then paused. ‘Do you mind my doing this?’

Her question restored his sense of humour. ‘What do you think?’

Her eyes travelled down his body, stopping at the bold outward jut of his cock. Her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breath, pressing against the navy lace in delightful pink and white swells. ‘I think you like the idea,’ she said. ‘I think it arouses you.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘All right. I know what I want to do now. Go into the sitting room and wait for me.’

Did she know — could she know — what her order did to him? To wait, to wonder, to feel as if he might explode with the force of his lust while she remained in the bedroom, deciding his erotic fate? He could scarcely bear the suspense.

She returned with the dildo
and
the cuffs
and
the shiny latex straps. With that triple threat, he’d be lucky if he didn’t come before she started. Oh, God, he thought, don’t let me humiliate myself.

She set her booty down in the overstuffed chair, then took him by the wrist and led him to stand before it, facing the seat. A homey braided rug covered the wide floorboards here, soft under his bare feet. She knelt down behind him. Without a word, she nudged his feet farther apart and used the leather cuffs to attach his ankles to the chair’s front legs. Her silence intensified his response more than any amount of play-acting could. Tonight, they would not pretend to be anyone but themselves. Each sigh would be true, each cry sincere. His knees trembled. He stiffened them and set his jaw.

She ran her hands down his arms and pulled them gently behind his back. Removing a single black tie from the tangle on the chair, she lashed his wrists together. She had good instincts for this. The binding was neither too tight nor too loose. Another wave of lust pooled in his groin. The tip of his cock felt strangely cool, as though its inner heat caused the air to chill in comparison.

She put her hand on the centre of his spine and slid it upward, exerting a slight forward pressure as she did so. When she reached the nape of his neck, he understood the message. He bent at the waist and braced his head on the back of the chair. A single drop of sweat rolled off the tip of his nose. It plopped on to the cushion, darkening a single navy check. She slid her hand the other way, stroking it over the curve of his buttock.

‘
Mon Dieu
,’ he said, because he couldn’t help himself.

She had defeated his strength with the force of his own desire. He wanted what she was doing so badly he could not resist. But he had never been more aware of his own power than when she wrapped the whole of it round her delicate finger.

She lifted the dildo from the chair, then the lubricant. He felt her go to her knees behind him, between his spread legs. She blew lightly on the back of his scrotum, stirring the silky hairs, cooling the heated skin. He shivered violently, and then she did as well, as if the involuntary response were communicable. She took one cheek in each hand and spread them. He braced for the entry of the dildo, but instead she kissed him.

At first he thought he’d imagined it, but she did it again and this time her tongue drew a circle round the pucker of his anus. He couldn’t believe it. She was too shy, too inexperienced, but — ah — there it was again, the sweep of hot-cool wetness.

Then it was gone, as if he had dreamt it.

He heard her open the lubricant and oil the dildo. She stood to press it into him, bit by bit, kneading his hip as she did it and dropping soft kisses to his sweating back. His body opened and he knew she must be thinking of the way her body had opened for him. When she kissed his shoulder blade, her heartbeat thudded through her breasts, through the prickly lace of the bra cups. Her breath was hot and uneven. He was glad she liked doing this, so glad.

A sound escaped the back of his throat as the bulbous head of the dildo brushed his prostate. She stopped.

‘No,’ he said, the word squeezed between ragged breaths. ‘I’m all right. It feels good.’

She hesitated a moment, then continued pushing until the flared base of the dildo snugged up against his anus. The silicone quickly soaked up his body heat and, as it did, its velvet-smooth surface began to feel like human flesh. Would he like that? he wondered. Would he like having a man take him back there? Would he like having her watch?

The hard throb of his cock said ‘maybe’. If she were watching, maybe yes. He clenched tight inside, loving the hard intrusion, moving himself subtly around it. She patted his cheek, in encouragement or satisfaction; which, he didn’t know or care, especially when she took hold of the base and rocked it.

Sensation exploded through his bowels, hot, tingling sparks. His breath huffed out in a rush. His bound hands clenched into fists in the small of his back. The quick little rocking motion knocked the firm, velvety head against his sweet spot. He was so sensitive there, too sensitive. The skin of his cock tightened to the point of pain. No, he tried to say, but all that came out was a moan. He was going to come. He couldn’t stop it.

She saved him from immediate ignominy by drawing the dildo halfway out. Then she pushed it in again, rocking it all the way. He grunted as she repeated the trick. How could she know how incredible that felt? How could she guess? He locked his knees. It was so good. He had to last a little longer, just a little.