Stolen Moments (5 page)

Martine smiled and her eyes flashed a welcome from under heavy eyelashes when I climbed onto the bar stool in front of her. She was a total sex bomb, with thickly fringed, dark brown eyes and blue-black hair clipped up at the back of the head. The occasional glossy coil escaped to hang tantalizingly over her eyes, giving her subtle cover as she glanced around. There were signs of an alternative edge beneath her smart uniform. She had an electric blue streak in her hair; both her ears were fully studded, and there was evidence of a nose piercing. I liked that. I also had a streak of die-hard glam-punk that refused to conform, despite my career. Through the thin white sleeves of her shirt, I could make out her tattoos flexing as she went about her business behind the bar, rapidly shaking a cocktail mixer in such a physical way that her figure was shown off to perfection. I imagined what it would feel like to be pressed hard against her, to rub against her naked breasts and touch her between those strong thighs. Maybe we would exchange contact details. Maybe we could meet, later on. My sex was heavy with the idea of it, the sensitive flesh crushed inside my G-string plump and swollen.

Martine set up a tall glass in front of me, gave the cocktail mixer a final dramatic shake, and poured me out a long, tall drink over crackling ice, popping in a smart black swizzle stick. She rested two provocatively speared cherries on the edge of the glass at the last moment, then pushed it over.

“A new recipe, please have some…and tell me what you think. Compliments of the bar.” She gave me another wink. Her accent was heavy, either French or Italian.

I sipped the vibrant red-orange drink, looking at the waitress over the two plump cherries. Martine watched, her lips slightly open, a devilish look in her eyes. The cocktail hit the back of my throat; it was ice-cold and zappy, exhilarating, instantly making me wow. I could taste cranberry juice and other fruits, grenadine, vodka, and something else, a mystery ingredient I could not identify.

“Mmm…what is it?”

“It is Martine’s version of Sex On The Beach,” she replied, putting one hand on her hip and the other elbow on the bar, resting her chin on her hand as she looked directly into my eyes. “Shall we call it…Sex In My Bedroom?”

She is definitely coming on to me.
I felt a rush of heat traversing my body, from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. Was it the effect of the cocktail or the provocative woman who had made it for me?

“Do you think you’d like that—sex in my bedroom?” she added, her voice low.

Wow,
direct
wasn’t the word!
My heart was racing. I breathed deep, trying to order my thoughts. I had never had such a direct come-on. This was one express lady. What would she be like in bed?

“I think I’d like to try it,” I replied.

Martine’s mouth slid into another wide grin. “I’m due my lunch break.”

I almost dropped the glass on the bar.
She means now?
I glanced at my watch. I was due back at the office in just over an hour. I had promised to catch Jack, my boss, before he left for a board meeting. Martine toyed with a swizzle stick, eyeing my cleavage. My body thundered out its response.

“Okay,” I managed. “Let’s do it.”

She turned to the barman working the other end of the bar and called out some instructions to him in French. He nodded and waved. She turned back to me, her eyes smoldering. God, she was hot. I wanted to find out exactly how hot.

“Come to room fourteen, lower ground floor, in three minutes.” She pulled a key chain from her hip, put a key into the register, and logged herself off. “I have only forty minutes for lunch break, though,” she added, lifting her eyebrows suggestively.

Perfect.
I could be back at work in time.

The three minutes seemed to drag, but gave me enough time to consider taking flight. I stayed put. Just a few minutes earlier, I had been reflecting on my business meeting. Now, well, now I was on Martine’s lunch break with her. I glanced at my watch and swore low under my breath. It was time. I threw back the rest of the drink and stood up.

I clutched my jacket and portfolio against my chest and hurried down the stairs marked “Staff Only.” I couldn’t quite believe I was doing it, lurking in the hidden corridors of a premier London hotel, heading to an illicit meeting with a sex bomb with whom I had exchanged only a handful of words. A deviant thrill fired my veins.

Perhaps I would wake up.

And then there it was, room fourteen. From inside I could hear the distinct and powerful drum-and-bass sound of industrial dance music. I took a deep breath.

“Come on in,” a voice shouted out when I rapped on the door. I turned the handle and pushed open the door. The room was filled with clutter—a metal-framed bed surrounded with stacks of clothes and teetering piles of books; lamps, bric-a-brac, and cushions littering the spaces between. Even the walls were covered with posters, photographs, mirrors, and other paraphernalia. A scarlet sarong was draped across the metal head of the bed, a vivid dash of color in the gloom. Over the bed, a poster of Annie Lennox at her most androgynous grinned cheekily down from the wall. In the center of it all was Martine, sitting on the bed with her legs coiled under her. She chuckled, leapt up, and walked over. She rested one hand on my bare upper arm, stroking me, sending wild threads of electricity between us. I caught a breath of her perfume, something musky and wild.

“What do they call you, Red?” She nodded up to my hair.

“Kim,” I replied, smiling.

“Kim, huh? Well, Kim, I like a woman who goes after what she wants.” Her tone was admiring. Martine growled in her throat, eyeing my body. The atmosphere positively crackled between us.

“Thank you for your invitation. It made me very…hot.”

Martine grinned, proudly, and pulled me into the room by one arm, closing in on my mouth for an urgent kiss as the door slammed shut. Her mouth was lush and hot, damp and inviting. My portfolio clattered to the floor. She backed me toward the bed, her eyes sparkling.

“You have to do it when it happens like this, yes, or you will have a regret, and life, it is too short for regrets, huh?”

She flickered her eyebrows at me. Before I had a chance to reply, she pushed me and I landed on my back on the bed. She moved like lightning, her hands homing in on the heat of my sex, to the wetness that she knew awaited her. I opened my legs, my skirt riding up.

“Take your clothes off, quickly!”

I stripped off my skirt and started to pull my top up and over my head while Martine pulled my silk G-string down my legs. The shelves behind us rattled and something fell; the stereo jumped to the CD’s next track. My blood surged with a dangerous, dizzy rush of exhilaration when Martine stroked my legs and moved straight into my heat, taking my clit in her mouth, nursing its fullness and sucking deeply
.
She moved her mouth over my flesh in deliberate sweeps, ending back on my clitoris, with the tip of her tongue circling it closely, firmly.
Oh, she is good.
I felt as if a bomb was about to go off inside me.

That’s when I noticed the mirror that stood close to the bed, and the scene reflected there transfixed me. Martine kneeling between my legs, and as her skirt rode up, I saw she wore stockings but no panties, her pussy naughtily peeping out as she bent between my legs. I could just make out the tip of her tongue, darting out and rolling over my sticky sex folds. It looked so strange, seeing myself like that, with her on me, and it sent me flying toward meltdown.

“Oh fuuuuuck…”

Martine lifted her head. Her fingers replaced her mouth, and she plowed them inside me. Her free hand crept up to my bra, and she bent its cups down, setting my breasts free.

“You want it, don’t you?” she asked, as her fingers tweaked at my nipples, bringing it nearer. She kicked off her shoes and slid her body down with her pussy pressed up against my bare thigh.

“Oh fuck,” I murmured again when I felt the beautiful wet slide of Martine’s heat on my leg. A wave of pleasure rushed up, the first ebbs of my orgasm.

“You’re so hot,” she said and her eyes were aflame. She began to move her hips, pressing her sex along my thigh, rubbing frantically. “I’m going to come too!”

We exchanged a look of total mutual appreciation, both moving desperately, climbing over the threshold. I let my hands close tightly on Martine’s shoulders and pressed my leg up into the hot wet valley of flesh that rode me. Martine’s lips parted and her eyes closed. She ground her hips down and pressed home. With a sudden cry, she came. My core pounded with release, my clit a buzz of sensation.

After a few moments of labored breathing, I turned my head to look at the mirror. Did Martine put it there on purpose to entertain her lovers? I suddenly wanted mirrors everywhere; I wanted to see sex from every angle. Turning back, I saw Martine unzip her skirt and quickly drop it on the floor. She threw off her bra as she went over to the wardrobe that stood in the gloomiest corner of the room, and rustled around inside. When she turned back, I didn’t know where to look first: at the bright silver barbells that pierced her nipples or at the enormous strap-on cock hanging from one hand.

She walked back and held it out. I took it in my hand, my eyes on stalks as I examined the huge contraption. It was molded with distended veins and the head was huge, engorged, as if it were about to explode. I ran my fingers around the edge of the head, imaging that rubbing against me, inside. My sex clenched.

“Wow,” I murmured, looking up at Martine.

“You like it, huh?”

“It’s, um, amazing!”

“You must put it on.”

“Me?” I blurted.

“Yes, I need more,” she demanded impatiently.

The last round was obviously just for openers. I glanced at the clock; there was still time. Martine was already laid out on the bed, her knees pulled up and her legs open. She had two fingers up to the hilt inside her sex, thrusting vigorously. Her breasts had rolled out to the sides. The piercings made her nipples look loaded, like twin torpedoes about to be launched. Between her legs, her fingers were slick with wetness.

I stood over her, filled with a sudden sense of longing and something else: power, raw power ebbing up from deep inside me. I hadn’t worn a cock before. What would it be like? I felt a surge of vitality roar up inside me. I was going to fuck this woman, really fuck her.
Hard
. I stepped back and quickly stepped into the harness, pulling it tight against my pussy and between my buttocks. The phallus felt heavy against my intimate parts, and outrageously large. I turned to glance at myself in the mirror, gasping when I saw it in profile. It looked totally strange and perverse in its size, brazen.

“I look obscene,” I whispered to myself, a dart of sheer depravity flying around my veins.

Martine moaned from the bed, reaching out for me, her gaze on the cock. Christ, this was so hot! I knelt down between Martine’s open legs and took a taste of her. She was so wet, and tasted so good, her nectar creamy and warm. She shuddered against my face when my tongue explored her. I had one hand on the cock, the other over one of her breasts. I captured the knotted skin between thumb and forefinger, rolling the steel barbell between my fingers. I was gratified to hear her moans growing louder. I lifted my head to suck on the other nipple, toying with the barbell with my tongue, moving my hips between hers. Martine looked down when I whispered her name. I guided her hand over the huge head, lubricating it with her wet fingers.

“Oh yes, now,” Martine urged. I edged the massive head of the cock into the slippery entrance to her sex, angling my hips to accommodate the movement.

“Oh, mon Dieu,” Martine cried out.

I groaned. “Can you take more of it?”

“Yes!” As if to confirm it, she grabbed the cock and hit a switch at its base. I gasped with shock when it started to vibrate, reverberating between us and sending a little jagged riff that went straight up into my clit.

Oh my!

I was wired, hugely aroused, and totally empowered. I looked down at the woman spread in front of me, all wet with sex and wanting. She was like a pool of liquid lust on the bed, bubbling up, ready to be brought off. A sense of sheer and absolute power filled my body. I pulled the base of the cock up against my clit, enjoying the weight and the vibrations there, where I was taut and pounding. The molded thing in my hands felt like a weapon and I jutted my hips forward, reaching and testing the tender succulent flesh of Martine’s hole. I worked my hips slowly, edging it inside. Martine’s hands flew up to the metal bed frame to brace her. She began to rock in time with my thrusts.

“Oh yes, push hard,” she said. I raised up onto my arms, pushing the strap-on firmly against the resistance it met. She suddenly grabbed at my arms. Her hips bucked wildly. I leaned forward watching the reflection of our bodies in the mirror, the line of my breasts heaving as I moved back and forth between her thighs. It looked so hot. I was fucking her; I was fucking this hot glam-bitch with an enormous strap-on cock. My sex was on fire with arousal, the threat of another climax trembling right down into my hardworking thighs.

“Oh, Kim, I like you lots!” she cried out, gasps of pleasure and laughter escaping her. Her neck arched up, her eyelids lowering. She was so close.

“I like you lots too,” I replied, grinning, loving her foreign tongue, and thrust hard. She reached down to the juncture of our bodies, rubbing her clit. The fingers of her free hand fastened over my nipple, pinching me while she bucked up. The pinch shot through my body, wiring itself into the heat between my thighs, and I had to fight the urge to shout my pleasure aloud. I looked down at the bucking woman beneath me and grabbed the base of the cock, crushing my clit hard against it and sending us both right over the edge.