If Wishes Were Horses (14 page)

“How about you say 'please' for once?”

“Please, Sarah. Lie down upon the cushions for me.”

She nodded, unfolded her legs. His hand went to her  shoulder, easing her back. Hisfirm grip reassured her, and the luxurious  pile of cushions he  arranged beneath her

65

Joey W. Hill

supported her back, shoulders, neck and legs  so she felt she could lie forever in that  position without discomfort.

“Good?” he asked, kneeling beside her, his face just above hers, the planes etched by light and shadow  like the still perfection  of a  Greek Adonis. Or perhaps Osiris.  Hades. Adonis seemed too innocent for what  she saw in those dark eyes. She reached  up and slid her fingers over his jaw, startling herself. He sat still for a moment, letting  her touch him, then he turned his head. He pressed his  cheek into her  palm so her  fingers covered his eye and touched his brow,  as if he was drawing absolution from her  touch. When  he moved back, he took her hand, closing his fingers on her wrist. He took  hold of her other wrist and slowly pulled both arms over her head and left them to drape decadently over  the pillows. The position raised her upper body, tilted the angle  of her breasts and pressed her hips  more deeply into the pillows.

“He said I was a dead fish,” she said abruptly. “In…in bed.”

Justin paused, his body  hovered over hers  like the shelter of a dangerous guardian angel. When  their eyes  met, Sarah set her jaw.  “I know he was mad when he said it. He wasn't cruel, normally.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He had been mad, but  his words had scarred.  She had learned that it took less than two seconds to spit out something that could never be taken back, like bullets ejecting from a gun. A life forever altered by the discharge.

“I guess,” she said, thinking she was insane, bringing up something she had  never talked about with anyone, “I wondered if it  was true. No.” She grimaced. “That’s a lie. I believed it. Believe it. I guess I’m just thinking…maybe this was all just the spontaneity,the newness. But your class, it got me to thinking.”

He folded his legs and sat  next  to her hip,  bracketing  her body with his own bybracing one arm across her. With his other hand  he  took  the  edge  of  her  robe  hem  andbegan to draw it up.

“Justin—”

“Just to mid-thigh, Sarah.”

He slid back and folded the soft cloth to  where he said he would, though a high

mid-thigh, so she felt certain he was looking at her dampening pussy. Something in her  stomach trembled, a knot of emotions and  physical reaction that  ached. Though she knew it was a warning she should heed, she lay still beneath his attentions.

“You have beautiful legs.” He traced a path  from inside the back of her knee up the inner slope of her right thigh. She swallowed hard as he went up, and up, to just beneath the hem, perhaps five inches from  the area between her leg and the soft outer  lips of her cunt. His fingers trailed down her leg to her knee again, an erratic path.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her question a bit breathless.

“Touching your leg.” He tilted his head to  fix one glittering  eye upon her flushed  face. “Just touching your leg.”

66

If Wishes  Were  Horses

“But it feels…” She caught her lip on a moan  as he took  the same path back up, the  light pressure of his touch awakening nerves in places he was not even close to  touching, like an erotic  form of acupuncture.

“Surprisingly intense?” His lips curved, not in a smile, but something more potent, something that made  her think of those lips on her flesh. “You’re a very sensual  woman, Sarah. But you don’t believe that.”

She managed to shake her head, and then  her fingers gripped the pillows  as his caress, now at the back of her other knee,  shot a shudder through her body. Her leg  lifted to give him better access, and her opposite knee  shifted, widening the  spread of her thighs. His eyes grew darker, but still he  did not move to touch her in a manner she considered intimate.

“As a cop, I’m sure you paid attention to  the details tonight. And one thing you

wouldn’t have missed is how often I emphasized a woman’s most important erogenous

zone. Her mind.”

He bent, pressed his lips to her thigh, the  soft skin inside, but a full foot from the part of her that screamed for that moist touch. Sarah arched, gasping as he kept hismouth in that one spot, his tongue creating tiny spirals on the small area.

He straightened, his hand sliding down  her calf, then reversing his track, his knuckles trailing back up the other leg.

“That's the part you had to close down to do  your job, Sarah. He couldn’t figure outhow to make it open back up and you didn’t know how to help him. So you both triedto make do by just stimulating your body.”

Herne’s voice was a murmur, so quiet amid  the cacophony of sensations pounding her she could not rouse a defense  against the analytical intrusion.

“I can do  just this,” he continued, “and it  will bring you to climax. A woman's cunt  responds to forces the woman herself does  not understand, not consciously. That's why  a man has to explore below the surface—”  his finger dipped below the hem of her  robe  again, “—to pleasure her properly.”

Sarah pressed her cheek into the pillows, bit down.

He spread out his fingers, used his palm and all his fingers to increase the strength  behind his  touch sliding up her leg, his thumb leading the way, a probing guide that  stopped in the crease between  pussy and hip. His other fingers curled, tightening on the  flesh of her thigh, his smallest finger resting at the shallow valley between buttock and  leg, a possessive grip.

He stopped there and Sarah lifted her cheek from the pillow. Justin took his time  studying her, starting at her  throat and working his way  down,  sliding his attention  over her breasts, her stomach, still covered by the robe.

“What are you doing?”

“Sshhh,” he said gently. “I don't need you to talk or worry about anything.” He lifted his palm from her body, brought his hands to her  face. He pressed fingers against

67

Joey W. Hill

her lips, teased them open, let her suck on  his thumb, stroking her nose, cheek and jaw with his other digits. He slid his  thumb  from her mouth down her throat,  down the  neckline of  the robe, and kept going when he reached the vee of it so the satin slid open  in front of his path. When he reached the tie at the waist, he freed it and spread the  garment open, so she lay naked under his gaze.

“All I could think about during the class  was that you were naked under this, and how much I wanted  to  touch you.  No.” He pressed his fingers on her lips again. “Don't say anything. Let me just make love to you with words.”

Phone sex in person, she thought, and wanted  to say it, to ward  herself with humor,  but she didn’t. She endured the cadre of butterflies moving about madly in her chest  and stomach.

She nearly screamed in  frustrated desire as  he went back down to her legs  again, and even further down, to the portion of the  limb below the knee. His touch slid up hercalf, starting at her ankle, just a slow, slow  glide up her skin to the back of her knee, caressing the base of  her thigh. He crossed over to her other knee, started down toward her other ankle, a triangle of sensation that  seemed to focus the reaction of her entire body.

“My lightest touch here, this caress, makes  your cunt get even wetter. Your breasts are aching.  I can see the nipples  getting longer, stiffer. Your thighs are open to me, without conscious thought, showing me your tender pink pussy, offering it to  me. Yet itwill be my simple touch here, no higher  than  your knee, that will make you come.”

“Sure of yourself, are you,” she said, but her voice could have been just the whisper of curtains at an open window, barely moving in a humid summer breeze.

“Sure of you, Sarah. Sure that despite your  practical, trained mind, you can imaginewhat it would be like  if I took off my clothes and lay down full  upon you, my fleshagainst yours, my body between your thighs. You can imagine me holding you, you wrapped tightly in my arms, close to my thundering heart, as I slowly, slowly, push the head of my cock into your cunt. You’re a  tight fit, Sarah.” He leaned in as his hand continued its idle glide from ankle to knee  and back down again, another caress to theback of her knee, the arch of  her foot. “Your pussy is so wet now, I can see the candlelight glisten off your moisture. I want  to kiss you there, lick that arousal, take you into my mouth.”

She sank further into  the pillows, her body heavy with the weight of desire. Her breath was ragged, her hips and legs moving in a sinuous rhythm that matched thetidal flow of his fingertips against her skin.

“I like how your pussy pulls me in, Sarah.  There’s a moment of resistance when I think you’re going to be too tight for me, then all of a sudden I am sliding in, like asword into a tight scabbard, oiled only for my  blade. You haven't had anyone since youleft your husband, that’s why you’re so snug. I like it. It's torture to pull almost all the way out, but the agony is worth it, something that feels so damn good I just have to do

68

If Wishes  Were  Horses

it over and over, feel those pussy lips suck  on the head of my cock, like a long kiss.  Before I know it, I’m slamming into you, seeing how much of me you can take.”

She was gasping now, her hips rising to his words, no touch upon them but the heated air. The fingers stroking her legs  felt like they were on her clit. The same movements he was making on  the skin of her leg expertly manipulated that small inch  of flesh that no man on earth seemed to know how to do exactly right. Or at  least she hadn't thought so until this man did it without even touching the part in question.  Justin Herne would make Eric Clapton
 
and
 
Jeff Beck stop  to hear his air guitar.

She felt every press, pinch and scrape against her legs deep in her pussy, and in her  clit. Her breasts strained upward in sensual response.

“Ah, God, Sarah. You  make my cock so  hard. You make me want you so much.”  The hand drifted down her calf again, caressed her ankle, molded her foot. “I want to  watch your pussy when you come. It ripples like the edge of a mermaid's tail, that  graceful shimmering among the  liquid…your  liquid, Sarah. This time I'll clean your  come with my tongue instead of giving a towel that pleasure.”

“Justin—”

The orgasm roared over her and through her, bowing her up against the pillows. Justin's hand never let up on its slow glide  on her right leg, dipping into the sensitive  curve of knee and tracing the fragile bones, and it was the same as a relentless and  perfect masturbation of her pussy, the  heavy  waves of climax pounding her  though  he touched nothing but her leg below the knee. Her fingers dug into  the pillows, and she  rode the sensation, her body rocking and her ears full of his passionate  whispers,  driving her on.

“That's it. Come for me. Come harder.”

Her body at last slumped back, her limbs as weak as  her first week of Academy training. She felt his hands still on her, touching quivering flesh,  stroking,  and then  she gave a soft,  keening cry. His lips pressed between her folds and he sucked the moisture away from shuddering flesh. He licked delicately as she jerked and convulsed in tiny movements under his relentless hold, crying  out with every contact he made with her

rippling cunt. He took his time cleaning her, putting his tongue deep in her, then  polishing the swollen lips on the outside with sucking kisses and long strokes of his  tongue. He did not neglect her  thighs, washing the  insides, that fragile  network of bones between thigh and labia to remove the  pool of perspiration and arousal that had  gathered there.

“Now,” he murmured, “until you bathe, you will feel that faint stickiness there, and remember my mouth on you, as well as  your own climax. Dead fish, my ass.”

He tied her robe, arranged it over her sensitive flesh, and then his face was there  above hers, his dark eyes like rich  fire. “Come home with me, Sarah. Please don’t make me beg.”

69

Joey W. Hill

She never said yes, but she could not bring herself to say no. After a moment of silence, she murmured  in surprise as she felt his arms slide beneath her and lift her up.  She had apparently dozed off.

“Okay,” she said, her face against his neck, and then she didn't remember  much else for awhile. The world narrowed to the flickering light of candles, and his dark, mysterious eyes. “I can walk, Justin,” she said as an afterthought.

“I know. Just let me take care of you.”

Those seven words, every woman's dream,  almost never translated into reality. For this floating moment, she decided to let it be true, to believe it wouldn't become a nightmare. She was vaguely aware of him carrying her outside, shifting her as he locked the store, sitting her  in the plush seat of the BMW.

“My clothes—”

“I've got them. Don't worry.”

70

If Wishes  Were  Horses

Chapter 10

The old Victorian home he lived in was in the small historic district of Lilesville, his

aunt's home. She had driven by it yesterday once or twice, musing  about the man who