Dance of the Crystal (17 page)

With the lather gone, his cock glistened. Droplets beaded on his slick skin. She couldn’t wait another minute to feel all that manhood in her mouth. This time it wasn’t tentative. Heedless of the water spraying the back of her head, she opened her mouth and closed it around the head of his glorious cock.

Directives be damned, Soren thought. No way could he stand still with paradise right before him. He grabbed handfuls of her wet curly hair and held her tight against him. Dear God, he’d never had a sensation like the feel of her warm, wet mouth enclosing him, squeezing him, milking him. He threw his head back and did what she’d ordered—he didn’t think, didn’t argue, didn’t rationalize. He just—

“Jesus Christ!” It felt as though she’d siphoned his cum all the way from the bottom of his feet, zapping it like lightning up through his legs and into his cock, exploding into her mouth in a series of hot, pulsing jets that buckled his knees and forced all the air out of his lungs until he was reduced to making primitive, incoherent noises and fighting to stay upright.

It seemed an eternity later that he was able to put two words together into a lucid sentence. “Crystal.”

Make that
one
word.

“Soren? Are you okay?” To his sensitized ear, her voice sounded like the soft breath of a spring breeze after a tornado had ripped through his brain. “Was it…all right?”

The cobwebs floated away. Jesus! Did she think that because he didn’t say anything, that he didn’t like it? He flashed on the scene in the cabana, when she thought she’d somehow done it wrong, that she’d hurt him.

Hell, no! It was as right as thunder following lightning. Whispering her name, he bent forward and tucked his hands under her arms, gently lifting her to her feet. She slithered so that her breasts rubbed against him all the way up, especially as it pertained to his cock. Somehow she’d managed to capture it between those soft, full tits, stroking it already into semi-hardness.

Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his throat, his jaw. “Okay. Now that we’ve gotten the easy one out of the way—”

“What?”

“—let me wash your hair and we’ll go on to Part Two. Sit down.”

Dumbly he sat on the shower ledge. What did she— “Crystal. What did you mean, the easy one?”

Humming as she squirted a generic brand of shampoo onto his hair, she replied, “This one was for you.”

“But you didn’t have to—”

“Yes I did,” she ran right over his protest. “The first time we made love, remember? On the kitchen counter? You had to pull out because you didn’t have a condom? The second time, after you bathed me in the Jacuzzi and we did all kinds of things on the bathroom floor and in my bed, you got interrupted by glass breaking. Then in the cabana you were afraid to come in case someone heard. And let’s not forget that little session in the liquor closet tonight. So much
coitus interruptus
can’t be healthy for a man.”

She began making finger circles on his scalp, working the shampoo into a lather. He’d never felt anything so good. Well, so good on his head. Because she’d sure given his cock a doozy of a good feeling a few minutes ago.

“This time, I wanted to make sure we got your orgasm out of the way so you could concentrate on giving me mine. That is, mine, plural.”

A surprised laugh erupted from deep within Soren. “You’re too much. Come here.”

He moved her to stand between his outspread knees and tongued her nipple. “Look how ripe it is. Like a raspberry.” He sucked on it, gently. “There’s such a contrast. Your breast is so white, so soft. And the nipple is hard as an acorn. Then there’s all those little pebbles surrounding it.”

“The areola.” Her voice hitched. Crystal stopped massaging his scalp.

“Hey, if it makes you stop what you’re doing, I’ll have to stop sucking on your tits.”

In response, she lifted one heavy breast with her soapy hand and offered it to his mouth. “We have all night,” she said, a little breathlessly. “We can take turns.”

And so they did.

* * * * *

Last night he’d watched from his special vantage point as a late-model convertible holding two women stopped in front of Crystal’s home and drove off with her inside. He’d scurried around to follow them at a discreet distance—the creamy color stood out easily in the darkness—until they pulled into a parking lot on a main street two towns down. He’d driven past then made a U-turn in time to see them enter the bar.

When he deemed it safe, he pulled into the lot to reconnoiter. A door near the back marked “Employee Entrance” would bear watching. He returned to the street and parked where he could see both the entrances.

One look at how the tall redhead walked—or rather, swaggered—told him she was a real troublemaker, like she thought she had every man at her beck and call.
That
kind of woman could destroy Crystal’s innocence. The other one, a longtime friend of hers, he’d seen many times. Her moral qualities had seemed a match for Crystal.

Except maybe not.

Because some time during the evening, Crystal had apparently left the bar with someone—and it was neither of the women she came with. The driver went home alone in her convertible. The redhead left with a hulk of a man who looked like he could bench press a truck, probably the owner or manager, since they left through the employee entrance long after closing time. He’d waited an extra half hour after that to be sure Crystal hadn’t lingered then furtively walked around back to look for another exit.

Two cars, a midsize truck and a huge SUV still occupied the lot. All the result of drivers having too much to drink? He glanced at the dormer windows on the second floor. Did someone live there?

Probably not. No curtains or draperies covered the windows, just blinds closed up tight, although light seeped through the edges in the front window. Security lights, no doubt. Probably a storage area for liquor.

He leaned over the fence to check out whatever part of the back wall he could see behind the dumpster.

Then swore. A fire exit. Had someone who worked there allowed her to slip out that way? With whom?

To do what?

Thinking about it drove him crazy.

He stalked downstairs to the special place he’d set up for his beloved and pulled the key off the hidden nail hanging high on a floor joist. Was she with the man who’d been in her bedroom that night, when he’d had to distract them by tossing the rock through her window? He’d hated to inconvenience her that way, but dire situations called for dire solutions.

And it had worked. The usurper had not been back.

He unlocked the door to the special room now, stepped in and turned on the light. With its white-painted walls and ceiling, deep-pile white carpet, white velvet loveseat, the room glowed. One corner held a white-painted iron bedstead with a white satin coverlet. The only color in the room came from the painting holding pride of place on a side wall, highlighted under a spotlight. Almost life-size, the Madonna on canvas radiated purity, with her white robes and pale skin against a backdrop of deep blue sky. Three drops of vivid red blood from the pierced heart of her dripped down her virgin breast. Her pale, delicate feet stood triumphantly atop the head of a fat green snake whose red tongue flicked impotently at nothing.

Unlike most paintings of the sort, instead of raising her arms to the heavens, she stretched them out to the viewer—to him alone.

But it was the face that interested him. The face of his beloved that he’d had the artist superimpose on the Madonna, perfectly capturing her heart-shaped face, those fathomless dark brown eyes that looked directly at him, the untamed curls cascading down her slender shoulders. Her full, ripe mouth was as red as the drops of blood.

He stared at her for a long time, stared at the picture of innocence that should have been his, praying for her forgiveness. Then he raised the arm with the knife again and again, viciously slashing at the face of his heart.

Crystal raised her arms over her head and stretched like a lazy, satisfied cat who’d had her fill of cream.

Scarlett O’Hara,
she thought,
I bet I look as smug as she did the morning after Rhett Butler carried
her up that sweeping staircase.
The smile on her face could only be called decadent. The ache between her legs felt like a badge of…oh, maybe an Eagle Scout badge for trying out a half-dozen Kama Sutra positions—and succeeding with each of them.

Kat had strongly advised her to take a nap yesterday afternoon. She was glad she’d listened. With a lassitude engendered by terrific sex and multiple orgasms, Crystal let her gaze wander around the bedroom. It too was a vast, loftlike space. Its only furnishings were a nightstand and a comfortable king-size bed, its navy blue duvet pulled haphazardly around her. Built-in drawers were tucked under the eaves. Early morning light filtered in through the dormer blinds, illuminating bare walls. No tchotchkes strewn about, no family photos, no artwork. No personal touches.

Soren Thorvald must be a lonely man.

Not anymore, she vowed silently. She fingered the ever-present crystal around her neck. He was hurting, deep down inside the soul that he closed off to the world. She wondered how far his brothers had been able to penetrate. She hoped she could help him heal.

The bedroom door opened. Soren strolled in, wearing blue boxer shorts and carrying two mugs.

“Coffee.” She fairly drooled at the delicious smell. “You’re my hero.”

“It’s black and strong and hot. Do you use additives?”

She gave him a thorough, teasing scrutiny, lingering over the bulge in his shorts. “Are you carrying any sugar in that pocket?”

Under the soft cotton his cock jumped as though she’d caressed him. And in a way, she had. With her eyes. Because just seeing him made her want him again.

She sat up and let the sheet drop down around her waist. The bulge grew a bit as his eyes caressed her naked breasts. And yes, she felt the zing of it, from his eyes to her nipples and down to her suddenly damp pussy.

Soren rounded the bed and set both mugs on the nightstand then opened the blinds to slits to gaze out the window. “I rarely see morning,” he mused.

On impulse, she scrambled out of bed, sidled up next to him and slid an arm around his waist. “I love sunrises. Sometimes the colors beat anything an artist tries to put on canvas.”

To her surprise and delight, Soren slung an arm across her shoulder. It felt so right to be next to him this way, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, their night of phenomenal sex and morning coffee perfuming the bedroom air, as they watched a few small clouds turn pink then gold.

“Sugar,” she said.

“Yeah?” he responded absently.

Crystal’s laugh tinkled like glass chimes. “Yes, you’re like sugar, Soren, but what I really wanted to do was remind you that I take sugar in my coffee. Two packets.”

He dipped his head and gave her a soft kiss.

“Hey! You’ve already had your coffee! I can taste it.” She set her hands on her hips in mock outrage.

“You don’t play fair.”

“I don’t? Just wait.”

Turning, he lifted her by her waist, walked to the bed, tossed her onto the mattress and followed her down. He covered her with his warm, muscular body and began kissing his way down her neck, her shoulder, her—

“Stop!” Around a giggle, she managed, “Please, sir, may I have my coffee?”

He scuttled down further and captured a rosy nipple in his mouth. “Woman, you have a one-track mind.”

“The pot calling the kettle black,” she retorted.

Undaunted, he grasped her other nipple between thumb and forefinger and tweaked it. She arched her back. “Soren!”

“Hmm?” His teeth lightly scraped the first nipple as he pulled on the other. He bunched them together and laved both nipples with his tongue, tried to stuff both of them in his mouth at the same time. “I need to taste you. All of you.”

His name on her lips came out like a sigh. Coffee could wait.

Slowly, thoroughly, Soren proceeded to taste her skin with his tongue, taking little nips with his teeth as he inexorably marked a path to her pussy. “This is what I want,” he murmured as he pulled her engorged lips apart. “I want to taste that hard little bud right—” he swiped her clit with his tongue, “here.”

Her hips shot off the mattress and she cried out. She grasped handfuls of his hair and tried to pull him up.

She wanted—needed—his cock inside her
right now
!

“Please,” she begged.

“Please, what?” He paid single-minded devotion to her slit, now lapping his tongue from back to front, now stabbing that hot weapon as deep inside her pussy as a tongue could go.

“I want you, Soren. Inside me. Please!”

He stuck his tongue a millimeter deeper into her pussy. “Like that?”

“Your cock, Soren, I want your cock inside me!”

“Can’t. Not hard enough. Besides, you taste too good.” He substituted two fingers for his tongue and gently thrust them in and out of her weeping pussy then turned his tongue, his teeth, to her clit.

As turned on as she was at this unexpected, playful side of Soren, Crystal couldn’t stand being without his cock a single minute longer. If he wasn’t hard enough, by golly, she could do something about it. She wormed a leg under his chest, and with all her strength, shoved up with her knee to overturn him onto the mattress.

Then pounced on him. Or, more specifically, on the magnificent cock that thrust out thick and proud through the opening of his boxers as he landed on his back. She latched onto him with her mouth, drawing her cheeks inward to milk him, to taste him, to feel him throb with the power of his untamed hunger.

As if to one-up her, Soren grabbed her hips, pivoted her so her pussy was positioned directly over his face, and pulled her down to meet his mouth.

Crystal felt an unbelievable jolt of pleasure, of triumph. This was the sixty-nine position she’d been hoping they’d try. How
right
it felt! Her mouth filled with the swollen length of his rock-hard cock, while his mouth sucked and lapped at her labia, his tongue intermittently thrusting deep inside. Her breasts flattened against his hard lower torso. His chest hair tickled her belly. She half-rose on her elbows and knees to allow her hips to move in faster and faster counterpoint to his rhythm.