SinfullyYours (3 page)

“No,” he said. “On all fours. I want your ass in the air.”

Her eyes followed his hand as he stroked himself, leisurely
pumping his cock in his fist. The taste of him was still fresh in her mouth and
she was hungry for so much more. She got on her hands and knees and wiggled her
ass, smirking at him over her shoulder.

He smiled as he approached the bed and her pussy hummed when
he ran his hand up the back of her thigh. He followed the line of her
hamstring, running his hand up the back of her leg, and then up over her ass.
Chills raced down her spine when his fingers brushed her cleft, climbed higher,
tracing the arch of her spine. His hand closed on the back of her neck, and
Bailey gasped as he pushed her facedown into the mattress. He leaned over her,
caging her beneath him, and whispered, “I said, I wanted your ass in the air.”

She was trapped, held in place, his grip around her neck
firm and unyielding. She supposed she could break free if she wanted to—her
hands were not restrained after all—but where was the fun in that? She turned
her head to look at him, the bedspread cool and soft against her cheek. His
face was close to hers, a sexy smile on his lips. “You could have just asked.”

“I did ask,” he said, with exaggerated patience.

“I guess you did.” She smiled back at him, so wet for him it
was ridiculous. “Sometimes I’m a very bad girl.”

“I see that,” he said, his other hand gently caressing her
entrance. His fingers were instantly coated in her juices and she writhed
beneath him, trying to urge him to quell the ache within her. He pressed her
clit, and Bailey arched her back, opening herself up to him. Wet kisses on her
throat melted her insides and the slow trace of his tongue over the inner folds
of her ear made her wild. She squirmed and a sharp sting zapped her body when
he spanked her pussy.

She yelped from the pain as much as from surprise. He spanked
her again and her pussy went white hot. Another slap had her moaning into the
mattress.

He nuzzled her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “Do you want
me to fuck you?”

“Yes.” The word was a moan, a groan, a sigh.

He slid two fingers inside her and her thighs relaxed,
spreading for him, wanting him deeper. “Say please.”

His fingers curled and she lost the ability to speak, the
blinding pleasure a complete and total sensory overload. She squeezed her eyes
shut and rode his fingers, needing him deeper, needing him to relieve some of
the mounting tension.

And just when she was almost there, so close she was
shaking, he pulled away, leaving her empty and unfulfilled. She groaned,
mindlessly rocking her hips, needing him back and then his mouth was there, the
flick of his hot tongue against her clit making her legs tremble. His tongue
pushed inside her, licking her deep, and she panted out inarticulate moans of
pleasure and longing. When his thumb pressed against her clit, her hips bucked.

“Oh, Rick, please.
Please
.” She was on fire, out of
control, driven insane by the unrelenting need for release.

The texture of his tongue against her sensitive folds was
driving her mad, the steady massage of his finger on her clit almost painful.
He took her over the edge, and she shook, screaming out her orgasm through
clenched teeth. He licked her as she thrashed and only moved away after the
last wave had passed. She fell forward on the bed, sweating, gasping, wrung
out.

He smacked her bottom, a loud, sharp slap. “Get that ass
back in the air.”

She obeyed immediately. Anything to get more of him.

He chuckled. “Eager?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. “Please,
Rick, may I have some more?”

His eyes twinkled with amusement. “So, you can be good when
you want to be.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I can be
very
good.”

“I don’t doubt that at all.” He got up off the bed and went
to the nightstand. There was a box of condoms in the top draw, right next to the
hotel information binder. He took one out of the box and ripped the package
open with his teeth.

Bailey smiled. It seemed he also set out with an agenda for
the night. “Confident, huh?”

He flashed her that smug grin of his that she was coming to
really, really like. “I try to always be prepared.”

“Is that an army motto?”

He laughed. “Close—it’s the Boy Scouts.” He rolled the
condom on. “I’m a Marine however.”

There was some kind of Marine base on the other side of the
river. Maybe he was local. For the second time that night, she banished the
dangerous thoughts. Instead, shedeliberately focused on his cock, on
how much she wanted it, on how much she wanted him. “Ooooh?” she asked, drawing
out the word, teasing him. “Does that mean you’re the best?”

“Yes, it does.” The bed creaked as he knelt behind her. He
gripped his cock and traced it up and down the length of her entrance, coating
himself with her wetness. “Spread your legs for me.”

She did as he asked, opening her legs wide so that he could fit
between her thighs. The cool air kissed her hot, sensitive folds, adding a
tingling chill to her blistering arousal. The head of his cock touched her
entrance and her stomach fluttered in anticipation. They moaned together when
he slid inside. Doggy-style was always one of her favorite positions, it let
her lover get real deep. The single strand of beads bounced against her breasts
as he took her, teasing her nipples. He gripped her hips, pumping into her, and
she pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. He increased the
tempo, taking her harder, faster.

“Lie down.” He pressed down on her lower back. “I want to go
deeper.”

She dropped her hips onto the bed, and he angled down into
her. She gulped when he thrust into her again, filled to the point of pleasurable
pain. Every time he plunged in, she gasped. He was so big, he stroked her in
spots she never even knew she had. His weight pressed down on her and she was
trapped beneath him, smothered by his body. He laced her fingers through hers,
brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. They connected,
moving together in luscious harmony, giving and taking all the pleasure their
bodies had to offer. Each stroke swept Bailey closer to the edge, taking her
higher.

Her release built up again and he licked her throat as she
began to convulse. “Yes, baby,” he murmured. “Come all over my cock.”

He reached between them and pressed her clit. Her whole
world exploded in violent light. She cried out as the orgasm washed over her, milking
him as he thrust deeper. And then suddenly, he pulled out, leaving her open,
exposed, her body shaking from the force of her climax.

He stripped off the condom, took a fistful of her hair, and
brought her face to his cock. “Suck.”

She was helpless not to. He rammed himself into her mouth,
and her lips closed over him, his flavor making her moan. A few strong thrusts
and then he was coming, plunging deep into her throat, spilling himself into
her eager mouth. His gasping growls were wonderfully erotic music, and she
sucked him until he was fully spent.

He fell back on the bed beside her, flinging his arm
dramatically over his eyes. She turned over and lightly stroked the hair on his
abdomen while he recovered.

He exhaled a long breath and sat up, his abs flexing as he
rolled over to take her into his arms. She lay there with him, perfectly
content in his embrace, breathing in his scent. Safe and warm, she snuggled
into his arms and closed her eyes.

He stirred, getting more comfortable, and from the deep
resonance of his breath, she guessed that he was getting ready to fall asleep.
The night was fun, but there was no reason for it to extend into the next day.
It was probably better for her if it didn’t.

She tried to gently push his arms aside, but instead of
releasing her, his grip tightened around her. He opened one eye. “What’re you
doing?”

She touched his face, his stubble tickling the pads of her
fingers. “I should go.”

“No, you don’t.” His hand glided down her torso to cup her
mound. “I’m nowhere near done with you.”

He slid a finger inside her and she went instantly liquid
once again. She smiled even as he made her gasp. Perhaps she should stay—for
just a little while longer.

* * * * *

The sound of the air conditioner cycling on startled Bailey
awake. She looked around the unfamiliar room, trying to orient herself. She
blinked and everything came back in a rush—Bourbon Street, Rick, the night.
With a contented sigh, she sat up in bed and stretched, her muscles languid and
fully worked out. He had taken her in positions she hadn’t even know existed
and the deep ache in her core was well earned. She glanced over at him, his
lean, athletic body half uncovered and stretched out beside her. His naked ass
was a tempting sight, and taking a big bite out of it would be a magnificent
way to start the day, but she refrained. It was well past time to go.

She gathered her things as quietly as possible, hoping that
he would wake up, dreading that he would. He didn’t stir while she dressed.
Disappointment almost outweighed her relief, but it was best not to complicate
things with long goodbyes. She left the room without a backward glance.

She walked home through the Quarter, enjoying the early
morning serenity after the Mardi Gras storm. Flashes of the night came back to
her, the texture of Rick’s tongue, his rough caress, the way his cock filled
her up inside. She smiled, heat returning to her cheeks, the hollow ache in her
pussy thrumming with renewed desire. It would have been nice to have him one
more time before she left, be able to lie in his arms a little while longer.

A young couple exited a coffee shop a little father ahead of
her, giggling as they set off down the street. The boy wrapped his arm around
his girl’s shoulders, pulling her close to whisper something in her ear. The
girl laughed at whatever her boyfriend said, her happy face radiant in the
morning sunlight. Bailey smiled, even though her heart hurt a little bit.
One-night stands were nice, but they could never compete with breakfast and a
morning stroll.

The couple turned off down Conti, and Bailey continued on
her journey. Another woman, obviously doing the walk of shame, approached from
the opposite direction. As they got closer to one another, Bailey could see
that the woman’s clothes were in disarray, her makeup smeared. Her
stumble-shuffle walk made the multitude of beads around her neck clank loudly.
The woman smiled at her as they passed and then tittered as her gaze focused on
Bailey’s chest. “Honey,” she said as she lurched by, “you got gypped!”

Bailey’s hand went automatically to her throat, finding the
single strand of plastic pearls still around her neck. She hadn’t even realized
she was still wearing them. She smiled as she fingered the little white hearts,
the memory of Rick’s kiss warming her insides. They were a silly token, but she
was glad she had them. And though it was grossly sentimental—and probably very
wrong—she was going to keep them as a reminder of the night.

She arrived home and reached into her pocket for her key. As
she pulled it out, a small piece of paper came with it, fluttering to the
ground on her doormat. It looked blank, but when she picked it up, she
discovered it was a torn piece of hotel stationary. Written on one side were
the words, “Call Me—Chief Warrant Officer Richard Young,” and a phone number
with a local area code.

For two weeks, the little piece of paper with Rick’s number
sat on top of Bailey’s dresser. Two weeks, and she still couldn’t decide what
she wanted to do. Mardi Gras was supposed to have been one night of hot,
anonymous sex, and nothing more. If she called him, it would be something more,
and she wasn’t sure she wanted that.

She fingered the paper for probably the hundredth time and
glanced over her shoulder at her phone. Being with him had been tremendously
fun. He’d made her laugh even as he made her come. That was a rare occurrence.
When she was in the mood to allow the occasional tourist to seduce her, she was
only ever after one thing. Sometimes they did that thing well, sometimes not,
but whatever was supposed to happen next never mattered. There was no next.

She shivered as a tongue of heat licked her pussy, the
memory of his touch fresh in her mind. He had been amazing in bed, a heady
combination of gentle and rough, playful and demanding. It was a game, a
challenge, a mind-blowing, straight-up awesome, dirty, fucking
sex
. And
she wanted him again—at least for tonight. She crossed the room, picked up the
phone, and dialed.

He answered on the third ring. “Chief Warrant Officer Young
speaking.”

Her heart sped up at the sound of his voice. She’d forgotten
how deep and sexy it was. “Hi, this is Bailey.” She wiped her suddenly clammy
palm against her jeans. When was the last time she had been this nervous about
calling a guy? High school, maybe. “We met on Mardi Gras night.”

“Well hello, Bailey.” Was he smiling? It sounded like he
was. She recalled that smile, his devilishly cocky grin, and heat rose to her
cheeks. “I didn’t think you were ever going to tell me your name.”

“You never asked.”

“You could have offered.”

He had wanted to know after all. She had to forcibly swallow
back the lump that wanted to form in her throat. “That wouldn’t have been any
fun.”

“And we did have fun.” There was some background noise on
his end, male voices. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Are you doing anything tonight?”
Because I really want
you to be doing me
.

“I’m not doing anything, actually.” He paused and this time
she knew without a doubt that he was grinning. “Why?”

She smiled into the phone, her pussy already slick for him.
“Well, I was thinking maybe we could meet for—” hot, raunchy sex—”coffee.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled, and she held the phone tightly against
her ear to catch the vibration of his voice. “I’m not much of a coffee drinker.
How about a beer instead?”

Score!
“I like beer. Why don’t you meet me at
Dominion?” It was the first place that popped into her head, but it was great
choice. It was close to home, dark, and didn’t attract many tourists. An
excellent place for an illicit rendezvous. “It’s on Rampart.”

There was sound of shuffling of paper, more noise in the
background. “I won’t be able to get there for a few hours. Does nine work for
you?”

“Perfect.”

“And, Bailey? Don’t wear any underwear.”

She laughed, completely enamored with his boldness. “I can’t
leave my house without a bra.”

He lowered his voice. “That wasn’t the underwear I meant.”

“I don’t know. I might get chilly.”

“I’ll make sure you’re warm.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.” She knew from his tone that he expected her
to be pantyless tonight. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

She held on to the phone a long time after he had hung up.
It was going to be a good night.

* * * * *

The night was hot, heavy with the scent of night-blooming
jasmine. She’d chosen to wear a scandalously short skirt, loose silk cami and
strappy sandals, and the damp air coated her skin, kissing the tender folds of
her bare pussy as she walked up St. Ann. When she entered the bar, it wasn’t
just the blast of air conditioning that made her nipples hard. It was the sight
of him.

He stood up as she arrived at his side. That sexy grin was
on his lips, and her insides heated, recalling the force of his kiss. He took
her hand and drew her into his arms. “Do you have something to show me?” he
whispered and tapped her lightly on the ass.

He was so delightfully depraved. She was almost tempted to
flash him his reward. “Maybe.”

He lifted her chin with his thumb and brought her mouth to
his. Heat exploded in her veins when their lips met. He gathered her closer,
and she gasped when his hand dipped beneath her skirt. It was a quick grope,
nothing too exploratory, but enough for him to feel the outer curve of her
naked folds, to ignite a pulsing ache deep in her core. He flicked her tongue
with his and then pulled back, his eyes alight with boyish glee. “You are a
very naughty girl.”

She smiled. “And here I thought I was being good by doing
what I was told.”

“I’m glad to see that Ash Wednesday didn’t cure you of your
sinning.” He held out a barstool for her.

“Of course it did. I’m no heathen.” She sat down and crossed
her legs, her short skirt riding up even higher on her thigh. “But Ash
Wednesday is over now.”

Seven, Dominion’s tall, tattooed, hard rocking, heavy metal
guitarist and part-time bartender, appeared before them. “Hey, Bailey,” he
said, brushing a lock of his dark hair off his forehead. He cut a glance toward
Rick and then back to her. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking her if she was
all right, if she needed him to intervene.

“Hey, Seven.” She gave him a quick nod, letting him know
everything was fine. She pointed at the bottle of beer in front of Rick. “I’ll
have one of those.”

Seven walked away to fetch her drink and Rick looked over at
her. “Friend of yours?”

She shrugged. “The French Quarter isn’t all that big. You
get to know the people in your neighborhood.”

“And some neighbors are exceptionally friendly?”

“Some are,” she said, deciding to be touched rather annoyed
by his jealous tone. “It’s just nice to have someone watch your back every once
in a while.”

Rick nodded, taking her point. Seven retuned to deposit the
beer in front of Bailey. He gave Rick one last warning frown and then walked
away. “Is his name really Seven? Like the number?”

“Yup,” she said and took a sip of beer. It was delightfully
cold and it perfectly complemented the lingering taste of his kiss. She
grinned. “The luckiest number.”

He ran his knuckled down her arm. “I know I’m feeling
lucky.”

Her cheeks heated, and she was surprised by just how taken
she was with his silly flattery.

He caressed her forearm, his fingers trailing over the
inside of her wrist, leaving behind a delightful tingling in their wake. “Tell
me something about yourself, Bailey. One random thing.”

“One random thing?” she repeated trying to think of
something to tell him. “I once crashed for a little while in a basement
apartment in the Tenderloin—in San Francisco. There were five of us jammed into
this four hundred-square foot space and for about six weeks, we all lived
exclusively on cheese.” Not the best story, but it was the first that that came
to mind.

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Why cheese?”

She shook her head, sipped her beer. “It was the only thing
in the house. One of the guys worked at a fondue restaurant, and he would bring
it home every night. The rest of us were too lazy or too poor to buy anything
else.”

He smiled. “What were you doing in San Francisco?”

She wagged her finger at him. “You said one thing.” She
touched his pec, loving the feel of all that hard muscle under her fingertips.
“It’s your turn. Tell me one thing about you.”

He took a sip of beer, thinking it over. “I’ve eaten
crickets, lizards, scorpions, snakes. I’ve even drunk a cobra’s blood.”

Bailey’s stomach twisted a little bit. “On purpose?”

He nodded.

“Were they any good?”

He shook his head.

She laughed. “Then why did you do it?”

“Training exercises, dares, curiosity.” He grinned. “You
know.”

“No, I don’t know,” she said, grimacing. “But I respect it.
Have you done many crazy things on a dare?”

“One thing, remember?” He moved his stool closer to her and
propped his elbow up in the bar. “Your turn.”

She caught the whiff of his cologne and was consumed by the
sudden urge to bury her face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in. It
was time to redirect this conversation to better topics. “I made out with one
of Lady Gaga’s backup dancers at a beat-down, roadhouse bar right outside of
Memphis a couple of years ago.”

“How did you know he was one of her backup dancers?”

Bailey smirked. “
She
was very vocal about it.”

“Was she?” His eyebrows rose with obvious interest. “Was she
hot?”

Not as hot as you
. “I only make out with hot people.”

“Understandable.” He leaned a little closer to her, lowered
his voice. “How far did this make out session go?”

“Oh, no,” she said with a smile. “I believe it’s your turn.”

He nodded, his gaze slowly traveling over her. “I once got
an incredible woman to flash me on Bourbon Street.”

Again, his flattery touched her deeper than it probably
should have. “Well, I once met a hot guy on Bourbon Street and went back to his
hotel room with him.”

“Yeah?” he asked, and she could hear the huskiness in his
voice. “What happened?”

She leaned forward and his gaze flicked to her cleavage. “He
fucked me really hard.”

He put his hand on her leg. “Was it good?”

She held his gaze and smiled. “It was so good, I get wet every
time I think about it.”

His hand inched a little higher. “And when you think about
it, do you touch yourself?”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Yes.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt. “Are you wet
right now?”

“Oh, yes.” Her throat went dry when his caressed her inner
thigh. “But that’s a lot of things. It’s your turn.”

“I want to come in your mouth.” He cupped her face with his
other hand. “Tonight.” He dragged his thumb over her lower lip. “Will you suck
me again?”

She wondered if he would feel the shivers racing over her
skin. “I live just around the corner. Care to walk me home, Chief Warrant
Officer Young?”

He rose from the barstool and held out his elbow to her. “It
would be my pleasure.”

She slipped her arm through his, and they exited the bar.
They walked down Rampart Street, passing the Voodoo Spiritual Temple, a man
standing outside a bar dressed as a cockatoo. Someone was playing the saxophone
nearby, wailing out the blues, and a herd of young boys with bottle caps stuck
on the bottom of their discount store sneakers ran past them in a thundering clamor
of noise and laughter.

“I love this city,” he said, with a laugh.

“It does have its quirks.” She looked over at him, her heart
taken with just how handsome he was under the streetlights. “Have you been a
lot of places?”

“A few. I’m from Ohio, and I’ve been stationed in Texas,
Hawaii, Thailand, Iraq.”

“You were in Iraq?”

“Just about everyone’s been in Iraq at one time or another.”

“What was it like?”

He shook his head. “Nothing worth talking about tonight.” He
looked over her and squeezed her hand. “Maybe another time.”

She let the words stand between them. Would there be another
time? She really did like him. They turned off Rampart. “This is me,” she said,
pointing across the street to the shotgun house she rented.

He followed her inside, stopping to admire her framed print
of an old
NY Talk
newspaper cover, two women fighting with the caption,
Le
Romantique et le Sauvage
. She dropped her purse on the coffee table and
tilted her head toward the back of the house. He followed her with a grin.

“Hey,” he said when they entered her bedroom. He touched the
single strand of Mardi Gras beads sitting on top of her dresser. “You kept
them.”

She blushed, embarrassed by her own sentimentality. She should
have thought ahead and put them away. Too late now. “I worked hard for those. I
wasn’t about to get rid of them.”

He put the beads aside and took her into his arms. “I should
have brought you more.”

“Beads only work as currency on Mardi Gras.” She ran her
fingers over his chest. It was even more fantastic then she remembered it
being. “You’re going to have to think of something else to give me.”

He nuzzled her throat, licked the sensitive skin right
behind her ear. “I think I’ve got something you might like.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked, her heart rate instantly
accelerating.

“Yeah.” He brought her hand to his cock. “How about this?”

“Hmm,” she said, fondling him over his jeans. “That is
nice.”

He reached around and unzipped her skirt, pushing it to the
floor. His lips met hers for a long, slow kiss, his hand snaking down to cup
her pussy. Liquid heat rushed to her center when he dipped his fingers into her
hot folds. “You are wet.”

“I told you.” She lifted his shirt off over his head to rake
her fingernails over his abs.

He stripped off her shirt and bra, cupped the back of her
head, and thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. She moaned into him, curling
her fingers in his hair. Fire scorched her blood as he teased her folds, his
clever fingers making her writhe.

“You want my cock?” He pushed two fingers inside her.
“Here?”

Her legs went weak and she gripped his arms to keep from
falling. “Yes.”

She cried out when his palm pressed against her swollen
clit. “You’re gonna have to suck it first. Get it nice and hard.”

She reached between them, found the bulge in his jeans,
squeezed. “Feels pretty hard to me already.”