Peppermint Creek Inn (50 page)

She shivered from the carnal position, the wild sensations ripping through her as he tied the ropes around her wrists. Yanking at them, he made sure they were secure then he crawled behind her.

“I dreamed of tying you down the last time we were here when I inserted the plug.”

She turned her head and caught him grinning wickedly at her, his gorgeous eyes twinkling with arousal.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“You could never scare me. I trust you. And I want you to play out your sexual fantasies with me just as I want to play out mine with you.”

She frowned as she caught him untying the strings around the cake box.

Suddenly anxious to have his attention back on her, she wiggled her ass at him.

He ignored her. “Do you by any chance have some whipped cream on this cake?”

“Oh, my God! Matt! Don’t make me wait.”

“You look so cute when you’re desperate to get fucked.”

She inhaled sharply as his hot fingers ran a feather-light trail of fire over her right ass cheek. With his other hand, he lifted the cake out of the box.

“Ah perfect, whipping cream and peppermint sauce.”

Was he nuts? Was she nuts for putting up with this delay? If she didn’t have her wrists tied she’d be straddling him right now.

“Why are you hungry now?” she blurted out, impatience making her hornier. She watched as his fingers dipped a long swath over the peppermint syrup as he effectively destroyed the pretty decoration swirls of whipping cream she’d placed on top.

She should be upset that he was ruining her cake so casually. Strangely enough, she wasn’t. Her gaze riveted to his engorged cock. It was flushing an angry red, the thick veins pulsing wickedly. His cockhead looked absolutely delicious with the dot of pre-come at the slit. Whatever he was thinking of doing was turning him on big time. She didn’t have too long to find out what he was up to.

“This isn’t for me, sweetness. It’s for you. Lubrication.”

Oh, my gosh! If she wasn’t so hot for him right now she’d be laughing at the thought of using her peppermint cheesecake for
that
purpose.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, his long pink tongue licking off the cream as he watched her.

“Tastes damn good.”

His tongue scooped another swath off his fingers. This time he didn’t eat it. Her pulse quickened as his head lowered to her ass. His breath caressed her flesh and his fingers and tongue massaged cool whipping cream and gooey syrup over her hot ass cheeks. He scraped more of the thick cream and she groaned as a slippery finger, hot as a flame, slid over her throbbing clitoris with smooth firm strokes.

Pleasure enveloped her at his touch. It came so quickly, so wantonly, it made her tummy clench. Made erotic heat flush inside her vagina. Lusty sensations consumed her, made her tremble.

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But I always say a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and his cock. And you and your cake, sweetness, are extremely good for my cock.”

A moan escaped her lips as his flaming finger left her swelling clitoris. She turned her head in protest and watched in awe as he began spreading the whipped cream up and down the massive length of his solid erection, covering the web of veins weaving through his cock from her view. She found herself tugging at the restraints, wanting to do the smearing herself. Wanting to touch his thick flesh, aching to lick the cream from his shaft. But devouring her lubrication wouldn’t be such a good thing. A big, thick cock like his going up her ass was going to need all the lube it could get.

“So, what you are effectively saying is if I wasn’t a good cook, I’d be in trouble?” she teased, deciding to talk her way through her mounting pleasure.

“That’s what I’m saying, sweetness.”

“Do all men feel that way?”

“I won’t answer for them,” he chuckled.

“Why not?”

“It’s just like me asking you if all women cook damn good peppermint cheesecakes like you do.”

She laughed and found herself thinking about her sister Jo—about how she didn’t like to cook and how she should have a man like Matthew in her life. A man who made her feel special, and wanted and safe. And brought such exquisite pleasure to her like Matt did to her.

“Does your brother want a woman who cooks?” The words popped out of her mouth before she’d even realized what she was saying.

That erotic blazing finger of his once again slid across her throbbing clit with another healthy dose of cream, the coolness of it doing nothing to vanquish the heated sensations he’d already created.

“He’d be a perfect match for your sister Jo,” he admitted.

“We’d have to think of a way to get them together. Does he have the same requirements as you do about wanting a good cook and good sex?”

She trembled when she felt a peppermint-syruped finger pierce her anal opening.

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him that yourself.”

His long finger stretched her muscles as he explored, and she welcomed the erotic sensations of his intimate touches. He withdrew, then a moment later inserted two syrup-laced fingers. He slid in easily—his heat-seeking probes sparking off a lustful heat.

“Would it bother him if she didn’t cook at all?”

“I think it’s safe to say if she cooks in the bedroom as good as she cooks with her temper when she’s angry, they’ll connect in ways we’ve probably never dreamed of.”

“Sounds promising.”

“So does your ass. Sweetness, you are so beautifully tight. Absolutely perfect.”

She felt the first bite of pleasure-pain as a moment later he sunk three syrupy fingers into her ass. He prepared her slower now. His fingers pressing into her, caressing her muscles, building erotic pressure against her rapidly dazed senses.

An untamed eagerness zipped along her nerves. A carnal need she’d never imagined began to take hold of her. An intense need to have him burying his cock inside her ass. To feel him plunging into her.

She could literally feel her vagina dripping with her desire as he continued to stroke her plump clit. An odd emptiness gripped her pussy. There was a need to be filled there, too. But it wasn’t as powerful as what was happening inside her ass.

A moment later, he pulled his fingers out and she felt the head of his cock poised at her back entrance.

Her skin flushed hot. Her body hummed. She could smell her arousal.

“Ready, sweet stuff?”

Her fingers gripped the sleeping bag, fear of the unknown mingled with the excitement of having him making love to her needy ass.

She nodded.

He didn’t waste any time powering into her.

He was big. Unbelievably big.

Muscles stretched wickedly as the hot, hard intrusion quickly and confidently penetrated her, burned her.

Oh, my gosh, that felt quite different. Quite good.

Silently she thanked the inflated butt plug for preparing her so nicely for him.

Matt groaned, a strangled cry of arousal that sent sharp shockwaves of desire rippling through her pussy drawing her closer to the edge of bliss. She found herself wondering how in the world a sound could bring her so close to the edge of a climax?

As if sensing her impending pleasure, his finger backed off the pressure on her whipped cream soaked clit, making her cry out her frustration.

Thankfully his finger remained, stroking, massaging, seducing.

“Not yet,” he ground out. “I want us coming together.”

He stuffed his gorgeous cock deeper. The thickness burned.

She closed her eyes melting into the eroticism, her muscles eagerly opening to his length.

Sweat popped over her flesh. Her breasts felt swollen as they dangled—her nipples ached as she continued to rasp them against the sleeping bag.

His breath grew just as labored as hers and he began a tender thrust. He stroked into her tight ass with deep, confident plunges, each impalement lessening the pleasure-pain and increasing the pleasure.

She found herself widening her legs, steadying herself, as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, fiercer.

The flaming finger at her clit became desperate, his touch more insistent. She found herself pulling at her restraints, bucking her hips backwards, eagerly accepting his flesh—allowing a deeper penetration.

Pleasure flared, burst, tore into her with wickedly delicious spirals. Gritting her teeth, she tried not to cry out, tried hard to wait for him to come with her.

His plunges grew harder, faster. Her cunt muscles spasmed, gripped an imaginary cock. The slippery finger at her engorged clit quickened. Her anal muscles tightened.

He groaned. His cock surged harder. In and out. Long powerful thrusts.

He came hard, his cries of arousal ripping through her every fiber, unleashing her, throwing her into her own orgasm.

She jerked as spasms splintered around her, roared through her with fevered lightning. Tore her apart. Made her cry out shamelessly.

So beautiful!

“Oh, yes!” he shouted. She could feel his release gushing deep inside her, seeping out of her, dripping along her inner thighs.

Instinctively she knew these would be moments they would cherish. Moments they would use to lose themselves in a world of immense pleasure.

A world that would help them forget all the troubles they were sure to encounter in their dangerous future together.

The rustically romantic ghost town of Jackfish actually exists. Located in Northern Ontario, Canada, it was once a booming railroad town. Now abandoned, it gives a wonderful glimpse into our past.

As a matter of fact, Northern Ontario as well as other parts of Canada and the United States are drenched in abandoned villages or “ghost towns”.

For the adventurous, many of these towns are physically accessible. All you need is to do a little bit of research in recent “ghost town” books, do an Internet search, grab a dependable map—topographical map of the area in question—and your imagination and go ghost town hunting.

For pictures and information on the ghost town of Jackfish, please visit:

http://thewritinghermit.crosswinds.net/jackfish.html

or
http://www.janspringer.com

Happy Ghost Town Hunting!

Jan

Jan Springer is the pseudonym for an award winning best selling author who writes erotic romance and romantic suspense at a secluded cabin nestled in the Haliburton Highlands, Ontario, Canada.

She has enjoyed careers in hairstyling and accounting, but her first love is always writing. Hobbies include kayaking, gardening, hiking, traveling, reading and writing.

Jan welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow, Ohio 44224.

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