The Best of Kristina Wright (2 page)

She responded by pressing him up against the wall of the club and kissing him. Hard. She reached down and stroked his cock through his jeans, pleased that it was stiff and thick. He moaned into her when she squeezed him.

Reynolds pulled away. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to my place?”

She unzipped his jeans. “I can’t wait.”

She knelt in front of him, the dress riding up so that she could feel the night air on her ass. She unfastened his jeans and pulled his cock free. It was beautiful and thick. She whimpered in anticipation.

“Please, baby.”

She didn’t move, not even when he wrapped her long hair in his fist and tried to guide her to his cock. She resisted, knowing he was hers.

“Please,” he pleaded again.

She indulged him because she couldn’t stand not having him in her mouth a minute longer, not because he begged. Precome glistened on the tip of his cock like a freshwater pearl and she swirled her tongue around the engorged head, pulling it into her mouth.

He gasped at the contact and thrust his hips forward.

With excruciating slowness that teased them both, she licked his cock from tip to base, cradling his heavy balls with one hand while guiding his cock between her lips with the other. She sucked the head into her mouth and cradled it in the hollow of her tongue, holding it there until he impatiently moved his hips. His hands were slack in her hair, as if he’d forgotten – or didn’t realize – he could have some measure of control. Carrie didn’t want him to have control. She wanted the power to give him pleasure, but only when she was ready.

Despite their risky location, she took her time sucking him. She lowered her mouth over his cock, relaxing her throat until she had taken as much of him as she could handle without gagging. Then she slid back slowly, revealing his slick, shiny cock. Over and over she deep-throated him until they were both panting and she knew he was close to orgasm by the way his cock practically leaked precome in a steady stream.

He protested softly when she released his cock long enough to untie the laces that held the bodice of her dress together. “I want you to fuck my tits,” she said.

His switched his focus from her mouth to her breasts as she pulled them free from the dress. Her skin was ethereally pale against the black PVC, her nipples hard and dark. She cupped her breasts in her hands, presenting them to him like a gift.

He didn’t speak. He took his cock in his hand and laid it in the valley she created by pressing her breasts together. His cock was warm and wet from her mouth. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him against her bare skin.

His hands covered hers and he rolled her nipples between his fingers. She moaned, squeezing her breasts around his cock.

“You feel so good,” he gasped.

She braced her hands on his thighs as he cupped her breasts around his cock. Looking up into his eyes, she said, “Fuck me.”

His expression was primal. Squeezing her breasts around his cock, he fucked her the way she wanted. She rocked back on her heels as he thrust against her harder and harder, fucking her tits as if he were inside her pussy. Her saliva had dried on his cock and the only thing lubricating her breasts was his precome, but it was enough. From his sharp intake of breath, she knew he was going to come.

“Come on my tits.”

He moaned, his cock spurting thick, milky semen – once, twice, three times – across her pale breasts and down the front of her vinyl dress. She kept her breasts pressed together, watching as warm rivulets of come gathered there. Finally, when he seemed to be finished, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock, tasting him.

He released his iron grip on her hair and helped her up. “That was incredible,” he said as he tucked his cock back in his pants and straightened his clothes.

Carrie did the same with her sticky breasts, not bothering to lace the bodice of her dress. “Yes, it was.”

“I feel bad I didn’t do anything for you.”

She smiled. She’d wanted to rub her very wet pussy while he fucked her, but she’d been so mesmerized by watching him, she hadn’t been able to do anything else. Her pussy still felt engorged but, somehow, watching him come had taken the edge off a little bit. “You’d be surprised what that did for me.”

“Oh really?” He started to pull her close, then stopped short. “Oh, man, I am
all
over your dress.”

She looked down and saw that he was right. His come glistened in streaks on the already shiny vinyl, leaving no doubt as to what she’d been doing. She laughed. “It’s all right, it wipes right off.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience.” Rather than disapproving, he sounded aroused by the idea. “You’re a very bad girl.”

There was no reason to tell him she wasn’t as bad a bad girl he thought her to be. No reason to ruin his fantasy – or her own. “I don’t suck and tell,” she said with a wink.

A burst of laughter startled them both and Carrie decided she’d pushed her luck far enough for one night. She let Reynolds escort her to her car.

“Thanks, really.”

“Thank
you
,” she said, and meant it sincerely. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d spend many long morning commutes thinking about her escapade with Reynolds. But first, she’d spend a long, leisurely bath masturbating until her pussy was raw while she thought about his thick cock coming between her breasts.

“So, do you think I can see you again or was this a one time thing?”

“What’s your name?”

“Derrick Reynolds,” he said.

Right. Derrick. She didn’t know why she hadn’t remembered. “Well, Derrick, I have no doubt I’ll see you again, but I don’t know if this is a one time thing or not.”

She left him then, with a furrow between his brow and a limp cock between his legs. The dress had made her do it, and she had no doubt she’d do it again. Maybe even with Derrick Reynolds.

He came in one evening shortly before the library closed, looking for information on nautical knots. I pushed my glasses up on my nose and searched the data base. Four titles, all about knots. He smiled, this quirky little smile that hinted at some secret I couldn’t begin to fathom, thanked me and left with three of the books. The fourth didn’t have enough pictures, he said. He liked pictures.

I forgot about him. You tend to forget the ones that only come in occasionally, that ask one question and never come back. But he came back. I don’t remember how long it was. A month, maybe two? But he came back and something about that little smile reminded me of the knots.

He wasn’t handsome in the classical sense. He was average looks, average height. The kind of guy who could be really cute if you liked him or nondescript if you’d only met him once or twice. But the smile, that made him stand out. It would be awhile before I’d notice that his eyes held the same secretive amusement as his smile.

The next time he came to the reference desk he asked about the Marquis de Sade. Not his fiction, a biography. Not a usual request for a small town library in the heart of Virginia. I checked the database. Just two biographies on the Marquis. He took them both. I felt a little strange leading him back toward the biography section, deep in the shadows of the nonfiction stacks. Maybe it was the smile.

I pulled the books and handed them to him.

“Ever read him?” he asked, tapping the cover of the top book.

I could feel myself blush as I shook my head. “Uh, no.”

That smile again. Amused, knowing. “But you know who he is.”

Not a question, but I nodded. Then I hurried out of the stacks and back to the refuge of my desk with a muttered, “I have patrons waiting.” I didn’t and he knew it. I think I heard him laugh.

After he left, I looked him up. It’s against the rules, but I needed to know. His name was Justin Brant and he was forty-one years old. I knew the neighborhood he lived in, it wasn’t far from my own townhouse. I also knew the types of books he liked – historical biographies of questionable characters and action-adventure. Harmless enough. Yet something about him stayed with me long after he left.

I’m embarrassed to say I checked the status on the de Sade biographies for the next couple of weeks. He renewed them both once. I found that interesting. Either he didn’t have time to read them or he was being very thorough in his research.

He came in one night just before closing. I didn’t see him at first; I was reading over some paperwork when I felt his gaze like a weight on my shoulders. I glanced up to see him staring intently at me.

“May I help you?” I asked, sounding colder than I felt. My palms were already beginning to sweat and he hadn’t said anything to me.

He smirked. “No, I found what I was looking for this time.” He gestured at the stack of books in his hand. The title of the top one mentioned nude photography.

“Oh.”

The smirk deepened. “I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee sometime, maybe one night after work?”

“I don’t think so,” I said quickly, glancing around to see if anyone had heard him. “I mean – thank you, but I don’t think we really have much in common.”

The smirk never faltered. “No? What a pity. I thought I turned you on.”

He was gone before I could pick my jaw off the floor.

I was curious, I admit it. So when I pulled out of the parking lot half an hour later, I turned left instead of turning right. I drove the five miles to the street where he lived. I turned on the street in a very nice subdivision and I drove along the main road that circled the hundred or so houses. I found his house, tucked in a cul-de-sac. I was so intent on making sure I had the right house number, I didn’t realize someone was getting out of the Mercedes in the driveway. It was him!

I sped away, heart hammering in my chest. He couldn’t have seen me, he wasn’t looking in my direction. Still, I could feel my cheeks flush hotly as I drove the few miles to my house. Whatever his charm, I wouldn’t do that again.

I almost dreaded seeing him at the library again. Almost. Here I was, thirty-seven and hopelessly single, mooning over some pervert who used the library as his dirty bookstore.

Still, there was something about him that suggested he’d be able to tell me all the secrets I’d been wanting to know. Questions I wasn’t even sure how to ask. Maybe he was a pervert, but if he was, so was I. Because he had my mind going down a road it had never been, and my willing cunt followed.

By the time I saw him again, I was debating calling him. It would have been highly inappropriate and I could have lost my job for it, but desperate times call for desperate measures, to my way of thinking. Who am I kidding? I wasn’t thinking, I was only feeling. And it felt good.

Strangely enough, it wasn’t the library where I saw him next, but the grocery store. I was standing at the bakery counter, choosing a loaf of bread, when I heard a familiar laugh. I jerked my head around just in time to catch his smile as he turned and walked away. My cheeks flushed hotly, but instead of ignoring him, I followed him, bread forgotten.

“Wait. Hey! Mr Brant, Justin – wait.”

He turned and looked at me. We were standing alone in the wine aisle. It was after ten o’clock and there were few people in the store.

“Yes?”

I stopped in front of him, suddenly speechless. “I was just – I mean—”

He arched an eyebrow. “How did you know my name?”

My face felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t think of a good lie quick enough. “I looked you up,” I blurted.

“I like that.”

That made me feel warm for an entirely different reason. “Can we go some place?” I asked, emboldened. “To talk?”

“Talk?”

I felt like he was teasing me. “Yes, talk,” I said, suddenly angry. Not at him, at myself for being so foolish. “Never mind, forget I asked.”

He grabbed my wrist with a gentle, but insistent pressure that was impossible to ignore. “I don’t forget anything,” he said. “Ask me again.”

Part of me screamed to get out of there and away from him. Part of me never wanted him to let go of my wrist. “Would you like to go somewhere and talk?” My voice was soft, I could barely hear myself, but he didn’t seem to have a problem.

“Good. You’re learning.”

There was a condescension in his voice I wouldn’t have tolerated from anyone else. So why was I taking it from him? Something about his confidence, maybe. Or maybe I was just ready for someone like him. In any case, his approval sent a little thrill through me that I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.

We each paid for our groceries, waiting in line silently. Then he told me to follow him. I liked that better than going with him. I was curious, but I wasn’t stupid.

He drove to a coffee shop about a mile from the library. I’d passed the place a thousand times, but I’d never been there. I parked next to him and followed him inside.

The waitress nodded to him as if he was a regular. We sat in a booth near the back, the only other patron an elderly man sitting at the counter. Justin sat across from me, studying me with dark, unblinking eyes.

“What?” I said, fidgeting nervously.

“Sit still.”

Like an obedient dog, I immediately quieted. Then I frowned.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Tell me.”

I started to say I really didn’t know, but I could feel my frown deepening. “I don’t like you.”

He chuckled and it was a soft, seductive sound that washed over my skin like a touch. “No. What you don’t like is how you respond to me.”

I opened my mouth to deny it and he held his hand up.

“Don’t. Don’t lie to me and don’t lie to yourself. You respond to me and it confuses you.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Yes,” I said, though it hadn’t been a question.

The waitress came over and took our order – a black coffee for him and a hot chocolate for me. When she was gone, he stared at me once more.

“Why do you think that is?” he asked.

I’d lost track of our conversation for a moment, so caught up in his steady gaze. “What?”

His lips thinned to a straight line. “Pay attention. Why do you think it bothers you to respond to me?”