Naughty Bits: Too Hot to Print (2 page)

‘How you love it—’ she grunted as her orgasm hit her hard, ‘getting fucked in the ass by me – ugh—’

His dick was still enormous inside her. She spasmed around it, one orgasm hitting her after the next, grinding herself down on him to prolong the sensation, her eyes squeezed closed to savour
the intensity even more.

‘I’m going to buy a strap-on for you,’ she groaned. ‘Just a small one at first. God, you’re going to come so hard – it’ll take you to a whole different
place, you’ll see—’

Her eyes opened, and she caught Rico staring down at her, still braced in position. He caught himself and ducked his head, reaching down between their legs to pull himself out, careful to keep
the condom on.

But in that stare, she had read everything. Satisfied lust; resentment, for the way she dictated how and when he could fuck her; hate, because she did things to him that violated his entire
concept of what it meant to be a man.

And furious, dark, burning desire. Because somewhere inside him, that humiliation was what he craved. Carin would buy that strap-on, and fuck him with it, and she’d make him come so hard
he’d shatter into little pieces.

God, it’ll be so much fun
, she thought lazily, in the aftermath of her own orgasms.
A whole new game to play with him. I can hardly wait.

The glass of the windows was smoky-dark, the panel between the seating section and the chauffeur in front was shut tight. Niels and Lola found themselves once again sealed
together in a dimly-lit, leather-upholstered limo, with the world shut out. Gruffly, he said:

‘Champagne?’ and leant forward to reach for a bottle of Veuve Cliquot propped in a gleaming ice-bucket.

‘Afterwards,’ Lola said, putting one small hand out to push him back in his seat as she kneeled up and climbed on top of him, swinging one leg over to straddle his thighs, hearing
the slit in the back of her skirt rip as her legs stretched wide.

She didn’t even bother to read Niels’s expression. She just grabbed his face with both hands and pulled it towards her as she kissed him deeply, her tongue sliding past his lips,
grinding herself into him with all the pent-up frustration and excitement and relief of the past few weeks, the stress of her trial, the misery of Niels’s apparent disappearance. As soon as
she had chosen him, Lola had felt as light as a feather, and not just because he had swept her up in his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing at all.

This is how it feels when you make a decision that’s a hundred per-cent right for you
, Lola realised.
Absolutely, totally, completely right for you. I feel as if I drank a whole
bottle of champagne already. I feel like I’m floating on Cloud Nine. I feel like—

And then Niels grabbed her round the waist and shifted her so that his erection was wedged firmly between her legs, just where he wanted it, pressing up insistently, so big and hard that she
moaned into his mouth, suddenly desperate for him, not wanting to wait another moment, writhing down on his cock, rubbing herself against it, working herself so lithely that she could feel its tip
pressing into her through the layers of fabric that separated them, trying to enter her despite the obstacles, feeling so good that she heard herself moaning in pleasure as it made contact with her
most sensitive parts.

Niels lifted her up and pushed her back, and she cried out in frustration even as she reached forward, wrestling with his belt buckle and zip, pulling out his cock, but she barely managed to
touch it before he picked her up, put one hand between her legs and ripped at the crotch of her tights so hard that she heard the nylon rending apart, the slit of her skirt ripping still further,
and Niels shoved aside her thong, the sensation of his fingers on her naked damp skin so intense that she screamed in delight, raised her still further and, one hand guiding his cock, the other on
her waist, slid himself into her and right up inside her in one deep thrust.

Lola’s eyes rolled back in her head so far that she could barely see. But she didn’t need to. All she needed to do was feel. Niels’s hands were both on her waist now, lifting
her up, pulling her down as he thrust up inside her in long jerking strokes. But Lola was doing most of the work, her slim legs and core so toned from Pilates and yogacise that she had excellent
control over her movements, splayed out as she was to accommodate Niels’s wide, sprawled thighs. She rode him, grinding herself against him, utterly concentrated on the purely selfish goal of
bringing herself to the hardest, fastest orgasm she could achieve; there was no time for subtleties, for teasing, for slowing down for some soft delicate strokes where they kissed and moaned into
each other’s mouths. All Lola wanted was to get off like an out-of-control train slamming into buffers. She was mad for him, mad for his cock, mad to explode in a release that would wipe her
brain clean of all the tension and misery of the previous weeks, and she bit her lip and forced herself down on him, her hands on his shoulders for extra leverage, whimpering every time her
clitoris ground against the hair at the base of his cock, single-mindedly taking herself towards fulfilment.

Niels reached his hands between her legs and ripped her tights still further, the sound of the fabric splitting so erotic that Lola moaned even louder and pounded at him even faster, his hands
raising to pull open her jacket, rip at the buttons of her demure blouse, tear at it so he could cover her breasts with his hands, rolling her small pink nipples between his fingers, pinching at
them lightly. He pulled her forward, sinking his head into the soft skin, biting at her neck, her breasts, his whole chest pressed against hers, and she grabbed at his hair, so unexpectedly soft
and silky, trying to find a lock long enough to wrap through her fingers and pull so she could drag him even closer to her, wind herself even tighter against him.

And then she heard him groaning against her neck, felt the wide thigh muscles below her begin to thrust up uncontrollably, and she knew he was very close. His hands began to slide down her, to
her waist, getting ready to lift her off him just before he started to come.

Oh no you don’t
! Lola thought furiously.
Not this time!

Her brain racing, her body on the verge of orgasm, she pulled one hand off Niels’s shoulder, sliding her fingers into her mouth, licking them to get them damp, simultaneously tilting her
pelvis forward just enough so that she could reach her hand between her legs and caress herself, leaning back a fraction to watch Niels’s face as she did so. His pupils dilated till his eyes
were near-black, his hips pumping up inside her frantically. It took her a bare few seconds to reach orgasm, and Niels was right there with her, the sight of her touching herself sending him
completely over the edge.

Any effort to pull her off him collapsed as the shudders raced through him, his hands convulsing on her waist, digging in tightly as the hot come flooded up inside her, his cock throbbing
convulsively. Lola held on for dear life, thrusting herself against him, coming again and again as she felt him twitch and spasm, the exquisite sensation of him losing control inside her so
powerful that she felt like she could have come forever just riding that wave.

It was the best high she had ever had.

And then there was no sound but their panting breath as she collapsed against him, her head buried in the crook of his neck, and felt his arms close around her back, holding her tightly, his
lips against the crown of her head.

There’s nowhere else in the world I want to be
, she thought.

‘I hope you got what you wanted,’ Niels said gruffly into her hair.

‘Always,’ Lola mumbled into his skin, breathing in the heady mixture of his dark apple-wood aftershave and the intoxicating scent of his sweat.

‘Watch it, Princess,’ Niels said. ‘Don’t get cocky.’

‘No, that’s your job,’ Lola said smugly.

And she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung on to him tightly as the limo powered up the West Side Highway and turned onto the massive span of the George Washington Bridge, heading for
Teterboro airport, the waiting LearJet, and the private Thai island.

When the darkness slowly began to lift, a single rosy spotlight, growing gradually stronger, illuminated the centre of the stage. On it was a coil of rope, six feet high, wider
than a barrel at its base, narrowing in a cone shape to barely a foot in diameter at the top. The audience hushed, chatter dying away, the curiosity of the spectators piqued by their inability to
imagine what this act could possibly be.

And then the rope began to unwind, from the top of the cone. Evie couldn’t see how it was being done, and that impressed her. A cord from above, probably, but the motion was very smooth
and even, which couldn’t be easy to manage. Gold flashed behind the rope as it unwound. The gold of a woman’s hair, piled up high on her head, resembling the shape of the coiled rope.
More rope uncoiled, beginning to fall now down the cone as it unwrapped itself, and more and more of the woman’s very curvaceous shape was revealed. She was naked, her skin very pale, her
nipples gilded, and as the cone of rope slowly undid its shape, exposing more and more skin, a man whooped at the back of the room.

The loud, raucous noise fell into silence, and was absorbed almost immediately by the dark. This striptease had nothing titillating about it, in the sense that the performer needed to be egged
on with yells and salacious cheers. The woman, gazing straight ahead, seemed not to be aware even of her audience: she kept her position, arms gently curved at her sides, feet together, until the
rope was almost completely undone. When she did eventually move, it was a shock: more than one person gasped. She raised her arms, and started to undo her hair. Evie couldn’t tell what had
been fastening it up, but it must have been something very simple, because with one motion, curls of golden hair – it had to be a wig – cascaded over her shoulders, partially concealing
the slope of her breasts.

And something was revealed, something resting on the crown of her head, which had been concealed by the hair. Unbelievably, it was a vase of water, narrow, fluted at the top. The audience gasped
as they realised what it was.

She took it in both hands, raising it and holding it high above her head, like a goddess on a Grecian vase holding an amphora. And then she tilted her head back and poured the water over
herself, opening her mouth as it flowed down over her body. There was a moment’s pause, everyone staring at her, amazed, as the water poured down her breasts and her rounded stomach, the
empty vase still held over her head.

Then, completely unexpectedly, her head still angled back, a miniature cascade of water arched out of her mouth, as if she were a statue at the centre of a fountain. It was a bright curve of
liquid that splashed through the air, sparkling in the rose-coloured light, tiny beads of water spinning off and dancing to the ground, a spectacle that was both beautiful and strangely erotic;
people at the front of the cabaret stage pushed forward, eager to be splashed by the stream of water that was issuing from between her full red lips. Squeals and groans of excitement rose as the
drops of water landed on the willing victims.

The jet of water ended; the woman straightened up. Immediately, the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness; only the little candles burning on each table provided the tiniest gleams of
illumination. The act was over.

The audience broke out into cheers, applause that was long and prolonged. The house lights went up, and Evie spotted a man at the front dabbing his head with a napkin, red-faced and smirking
with pleasure at having caught most of the fountain of water.

‘You don’t sit down at the front if you don’t wanna get up close and personal, right?’ the bartender said, leaning on the bar and grinning at Evie. ‘Another mineral
water?’

‘Please.’

‘I can’t talk you into a cocktail? I make a damn good Cosmo. Not that sugary shit they call a Cosmo now – mine’s the real deal.’

She shook her head, explaining:

‘I got to be at work in an hour.’

‘No prob,’ he said, pouring her another glass of water.

New York wasn’t quite the city that never slept, but you wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow at someone being due in for-work at one in the morning. Evie’s heavy makeup –
she’d done part of a shift at the Lounge already, talked Paulie into giving her a couple of hours off – indicated that she wasn’t heading to proof-read at a law office, or pull a
late shift at an open-all-hours pharmacy. It was probably pretty obvious that she was an exotic dancer. But, like Natalie and Jeremy’s circus troupe, the burlesque crowd were nothing if not
open-minded.

She liked all of them. A lot.

‘Staying for Carrie On?’ he asked, momentarily ignoring a hipster down the bar holding out a folded twenty.

Evie nodded.

‘Great! You don’t want to miss her, she’s always a blast. Jeez, I’m coming, okay? Hold your horses.’

The hipster got his designer beers just as the lights dipped again. A trapeze descended from the ceiling, a double trapeze hung from ropes on each side and one at the centre. A brief round of
clapping greeted Natalie and Laura, each hanging from it in a single knee lock, something that Evie, from brief experimental trials over the last few days, had found incredibly painful to hold.
Wearing shimmering leotards and white leather boots, Natalie and Laura performed a routine that consisted of them mirroring each other perfectly: even when they dropped to an ankle hang, swung in
two huge beats and pulled themselves, amazingly, up to sitting and then to standing so fast it took your breath away, they moved in absolute unison.