If Wishes Were Horses (18 page)

The name of the director had not meant  anything to her, but she soon understood

Justin's appreciation.

The first shot was a close up of an orchid. The camera zoomed in, followed the curving line of one petal, lingered on a glistening drop  of dew barely holding onto the delicate edge of the white, veined curve.

A hand came into the  frame, a male fingertip tracing those crevices, gently pushing into the folds to stroke the texture deeper  within. There was a soft woman's sigh, andwind ruffled through the petals. The image  faded and evolved, a seamless  transitionfrom the stroking of the exotic bloom to the  stroking of a woman's clitoris and labia. The shot widened, and her thighs were strewn  with the orchid petals . Drops of dew were still on them. The male finger touched one of  the petals, gathered up the moisture and feathered it across the clitoris. He picked up a  petal, shaped the silken fabric of it over the clit’s shape.

The profile of the man’s face, the long sloping line of his jaw, came into view. Slowly, slowly, his tongue inserted itself into the vaginal folds beneath the hooded clit.  The woman's breath rasped, and the music became all winds,  underlined  by a slow

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drum beat that thrummed in Sarah's chest even as she shifted, aware of  the arousal

growing in  her own cunt, watching the woman's being so beautifully tormented.

The camera  pulled back so the audience  could now see the woman from waist to  mid-thigh, and the full profile  of the man's head. His dark wing of hair, his shaven jaw.  His hand fanned out on her thigh, slid under  it and rolled her to her side, so now they  saw a lovely heart-shaped ass, two petals clinging to  one cheek. He rolled  her all the way over to her stomach, scooped up a handful of ivory and burgundy petals and scattered them so they fluttered down onto  her buttocks, the flesh quivering at the light  contact.

Justin's fingers had begun a slow, idle stroke down the center of Sarah’s palm, and now he made a lazy circle at her wrist, caressing the pulse jumping there. His hand waswarm, his grip gentle but strong, and the yearning between her legs tightened, making her legs twitch.

The man's long fingers  followed the crevice between the woman’s buttocks, guiding the petals so they lay there in a line, teasing the sensitive area. The woman's hips were moving, small circles, her thighs spreading  for him. She whispered to him, the words unintelligible, although the need was not. Sarah swallowed as one finger dipped,guiding a petal deeper between  the cleft, using it to massage her anus hidden withinthat fold.  The other petals tumbled down to  the valley where her thighs  and the curves of her bottom met.

The beat picked up, became more  primitive,  as both his hands entered the scene. He parted her thighs wide, the petals drifting to the ivory  satin sheets beneath her body.  The woman whose face they could not see,  so that she became every woman watching, moaned, and the soundtrack somehow echoed  and enhanced it, vibrating the desire through all the watching bodies.

The hand lifted, that strong hand  with long  fingers, and then came down in a firmslap. Sarah jumped. The blow left a red handprint on milk white  skin. Another blow, then another, and Sarah remembered Justin's  fierce, short spanking, and how it had stirred her in a way she did not anticipate, as this was doing.

She wanted him. Now. This second, or her lower body  was going to utter a vocal scream of need.

Was everyone else as  affected by the film, or just  those who had recently re-discovered their hormones? She stole a glance  around. The audience looked as absorbed in the film as she was. Civilized behavior dictated that they disguise their full response,but she saw enough parted and moistened lips and crossed legs to think that otherswere feeling the same pounding in between  their thighs, matching the rhythm of theerotic music.

The spanking was over, and the hand smoothed over the curve of the rosy buttock.  Using the nail just a bit to leave a light scrape, the man traced the crease between theweight of the cheek and the top of the thigh. The woman sighed, the sound captured and embraced by the wind as part of the  music, and then the camera shot moved back

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in, focusing on the flesh of his hand, examining the beauty of the knuckles, that ability  to curl, bend fingers to touch, press, stroke. When the  view widened again, the scene  had changed. The hand was pressed against  the bare abdomen of  a woman dressed in a sheer tight top sprinkled with sequins, and  harem pants slashed up the side so as she turned, the flank and thigh were exposed, as  well as a hint of the soft pelt of hair  covering her mound.

An unsmiling sheik, his face indiscernible  in shadows, let her go. She began to dance for him, a sensual belly dance where each leg turn and undulation brought a gift, the swell of her breast against the binding of  the top, the sheen of sweat on the bare  small of her back, the fluttering of the diaphanous cloth over her ass as she turned.

The shadows shifted, and the  audience could see the intense dark eyes of the man  who watched her every move. He lounged back  on  a  pile  of  cushions  now.  As  he  wore nothing but an open silk robe over loose pants, it was possible to see the increased rate of his breathing from the rise and fall of his  smooth chest, and the growth of his erection  against the pants as she danced.

She loosed her hair, and it spun around her like a velvet cape, then out. Her arms  did a dance of their own as she came to stand between his knees and dance for him, her eyes large, round, liquid, her lips  parted, tongue touching her teeth.

He reached up, tore the sheer gauze of her top away so her breasts were loose. She did not break the rhythm of the dance, continuing her  rolls and twists and shimmies.  Her pert nipples grew erect from the movement  of her full round breasts, responding to  her own sensual display of them.

It was Valentino's Arabian Nights, only technology and movie effects made it real, with the music score and the fluttering of the tent cloth. They captured the bead of sweat at her jawline, closed in on it, followed  its slide down her throat, its trickle to thetop of her breast. The  sheik’s hand came into the screen to cover that drop, cup her breast and weigh it in his palm. His thumb  rubbed the perspiration into the areole. Soft  Arabic whispers joined the music, and Sarah did not need to know the words to knowthey were murmurs of  passion, heated promises, oaths of devotion.

The film was supposed to be ninety minutes, and each subsequent scene started with that male hand  and finished  with it.

Sarah was a disciplined person, so she made herself sit through every image, her heart racing or slowing with the mood of each  scene as Justin's hand continued to caress hers. He stroked the  delicate veins of her wrists, traced and captured each finger,

dipped into each curve between. At forty-five minutes, halfway  through the film, her body was damp, coated with a light sheen  of perspiration like the harem dancer, and  her pussy throbbed so hard it was painful.  She had  never wanted to touch herself so  much, or have a man touch her. She became  more and more still throughout the movie,  except for intense, spasmodic vibrations in  her limbs she could not control, a trembling  that she knew Justin must feel through his  contact with her hand. She felt his eyes on  her, watching her, and when his hand slid down her arm, just an inch or two further than her wrist, she gasped at  the new ripple of sensation.

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She didn't want a quick mechanical rush of  release, a simple application of friction.  She wanted to be joined with him again, filled  by him, feel that rush stroking her tissues within and without, feel the weight of his body in her arms.  She wanted all of it, the whole experience, and she wanted it now. And forever.

She was losing control. Was she losing her heart  to  this  man  or  was  it  just  lust?  Shefelt bound to him in a  way she did not understand at all. It was physical desire, but itwas also pure, bone deep attraction. He interested her on a tremendous number of levels.

She needed…oh, hell, she
 
needed
, period, and she wasn't  going to analyze  the hell out of it. Sarah bolted out of the seat, tripping  over his  long legs to get past him. “I've got to go,” she murmured, and fled up the aisle.

She burst out the exit door, into the  side alleyway where movie patrons were funneled at the end of the movie. The detail-oriented owners had not missed an

opportunity, mounting a display of movie  posters out along the facing brick building  and arranging the alleyway into a courtyard  of sorts,  with cobblestones and a wish  fountain into which patrons could throw their change and play with the Japanese koi swimming there. An old bicycle had been turned into a decoration,  petunias spilling out  of its basket and impatiens gathered in pots  around the wheels. It leaned against an oldfashioned street lamp, wrought iron with a trio of glass globes. Chimes hung from the decorative curls beneath the globes and toned softly in the warm evening breeze  funneling down the isolated alleyway.

Justin came out the door behind  her, but  she backed away from him, circling the fountain to keep something between them.  “No, don't touch me. I'm going out of my mind.” She paced. “I'm not like this. What are you doing to me?”

“I could ask the same of you. Do you think it's ever been like this for me, Sarah?  Maybe you just like me. Maybe I just like you.  Why is our attraction so difficult for you  to accept? Haven't you ever been drawn to someone?”

“Not like this. Not this all consuming,
 
everything
 
feeling. I don't know what I feel for you, because you've got me all revved up all the time, with your movies, and your Tantra, and your shop. I'm out of my depth,  and you're taking advantage of it. I'm  confused— ”

“Now look.” He closed the distance between them and swung her around, his eyes and mouth hard. “I haven't taken advantage of  you. I told you. It's never been like this for me, either.”

“I don't know that. I can only speak for  me.  You've got me all confused, and I can't  think past the lust right now to know how I feel for you.”

“Then let's take care of that,  get the lust out of the way.”

He caught her wrists and yanked  her into the shadows at the back of the courtyard  where a small container garden was clustered  in the corner. She caught the fragrance of lilies before he had her  up against the brick.

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She expected violence and roughness, the  release of the storm of energy vibrating from him. However, instead of crashing it over her like  a wave, he  stopped. Simply held her body against the wall, making her stare  into his face, feel her own need bouncingagainst his  like electrons in too close a space, as he had said. She whimpered as he leaned in at last and pressed against her from chest to knee. He cupped her jaw in his hand, rubbed his thumb down her jugular, and  his knee pressed against the seam of her thighs.

“Open for me, Sarah,” he said, a soft command she could not deny.

She parted her thighs  and moaned as his  hard cock pressed against her clit. Hishand worked under  her skirt  as he studied her face, his own intent and a little

frightening in its determination. He caught  the crotch of her panties in his fingers and  Sarah gasped as he tore them with one  yank, making her stumble forward into his body. He caught her by the waist and turned her so the controlled fall continued. He  took her down to the  soft patch of edged turf grass they had put in around the small

garden.

There, at last, she got what  she had wanted to feel, his body covering hers, his hips between her legs, the weight of his chest on hers. He captured her face in both hands. “If you want me, Sarah, unfasten my trousers. Put my cock in you. Make us one.”

Her fingers moved, and he lifted just enough so she could slide his belt free and  make her fumbling fingers do as they both wanted. She opened his clothing and  reached for him. He filled the curl of her hand with an impressive solidity that increased the reaction between her thighs, her pussy preparing for him.

There he was, powerful and full in her hand, hot, pulsing, alive and rigid with  wanting her.
 
Her.
 
Linda Egret's words flashed through her mind.
 
Lovers are those who share heart, mind and soul, outside  the circle as well as inside it.
 
What she held in her hand was part of the evidence, but even stronger  was what she saw in his eyes as she touched him, and felt in his heart, thundering against hers.

“Now, Sarah,” he whispered, his teeth showing, his hands clutched hard in her  hair. “Please. Take me in.”

She lifted her thighs higher and  guided  him to her warm and slick gateway. Hepassed from the grip of her fingers into the grip of her pussy, that fist of muscle that he had to push through, heightening the sensations  for them both at the  tight fit. He thrust all the way home, seating himself deep inside her, two sacred elements of a temple joining to form something that  might last thousands of years.

She shuddered, moving her hands to his shoulders as he began  to pump into her. Once, twice, and the images of the screen, the heat of his skin and the  friction of his cock against her aroused flesh conflagrated and  erupted. Unbelievably, she was climaxing, sinking her  teeth into his shoulder, feeling his grip on her waist and hip as he  pounded into her, moving them backward on the grass.