Argh.

Okay, never mind. Ignore my entry. Sniffle.

I feel so…unworthy…

Shit. Back to my novella from Hell. Hah, literally…

–

He laughed, high-pitched, child-like. Musical. “No, my Lord. Not that. I speak of the harmonica.”

“And I speak of time.” I kissed his jaw, his neck, stroked him against the rough wool of his clothing. “How much?”

“Enough, Lord,” he panted, rubbing against my hand. “Oh God, how I’ve missed you. How I love you.”

“Show me.”

His tongue attacked me with passion; his lips bruised me with adoration. His fingers, so long and dexterous, able to tease such unearthly melodies from mortal violins, now played over my chest, plucked at the curls nestled there as if they were strings.

As he explored my body, I tangled my hands in his fine hair, touched him far more intimately with a whisper of my power—just a soft push, and soon his body was moving next to mine, undulating in a fluid beat of desire. Legato. Every note of pleasure that rang from the lips of the young maestro was a song, espressione.

“My Lord,” he groaned. “I need more time.”

Ritardando, Lento. “Is this better?”

“No, lord, not that. I…” He stilled. Fermata.

I waited.

A burst of lemon, of orange. He licked his lips. “A few more years. Please.”

She stretched, arms reaching above her head, fingers caressing the soft grass beyond the ancient quilt. She opened her eyes, his face inches away. “Sure.”

He touched that strong, roman nose to hers, briefly, before tracing it down her cheek and stopping under her ear. A hint of a nuzzle. “Why’d you change your mind?”

She reached up, one lazy finger meandering above the neck of his t-shirt. “Curiosity, I suppose.” The finger dipped, outlining his shoulder, running down his bicep. His skin was hot. A little sweaty.

“About what?” He pulled away, met her eyes.

“There’s this rumor…” Her exploring finger traced the edge of his jeans. She paused briefly before allowing the finger to touch the top of his zipper. “I’m usually more interested in style than substance, but I’m mighty…curious.”
He put a hand over hers, pushing the finger—all her fingers—slowly down the front of his pants, pressing the hardness just behind the denim.

“Curiosity’s a dangerous thing. The cat….”

Her fingers moved, found the zipper, pulled. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

Oh, this is SO hard! 196

She gasped beneath him, whispering his name as if she were afraid the pleasure wouuld become unbareable.

His hands slithered down the sides of her body, relishing the smoothness of her skin. Wetness trickled down from her sex. His tongue lapped at her cave, running along every single drop of moisture, his hands curled in her pubic triangle.

Her body undulated at his touch. “Please,” she begged. “Do not stop.” He gladly obliged. Suddenly she was screaming above him, riding a wave of bliss.

He felt it the wave as well, and was only a surfer along this wave. One moment he could be on the crest, the next he could be on the bottom of the ocean. He collapsed above her, breathing hard and deep. He saw her face lit with euphoria. “Let’s do that again!”

185 words.

Bam, I do so love these contests of yours. ;o)

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gray wasn’t there. He’d said he’d be there, but how many nights had she spent sitting and watching the minutes tick by on the clock…alone? Too many to count. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had a wife or a girlfriend stashed somewhere.

Miserable, she rolled onto her belly. She didn’t need to think about him right now. She had come down here to relax—relax and spend a lot of time with her husband. Sun, sand and a private beach. The first night they’d spent playing in the blue-green waters of the Gulf and then they’d made love on a beach blanket.

This vacation should have been paradise…should have…

She drifted off into dreams. There were warm hands on her back, slicking sunwarmed oil on her flesh, kneading the tense the muscles. A kiss brushed over her shoulder and then someone murmured against her ear. “Chelsea…”

Her eyes flew opened and she rolled over. She saw Gray crouched by her side and instantly she tried to shove him back. He caught her hands and used his body to keep her from rolling off the beach chair. “I’m here, baby. I’m so sorry…” his lips covered hers and once more, she was lost to him. Lost in him.

Her hands felt too cold against the glass of ice water. Her thighs too chill against the slick leather where her skirt wasn’t quite long enough.

She squirmed slightly, trying to build some friction, a little heat, distracting herself by glancing to where he stood at the private office bar, back to her, talking into his cell, one hand poised over a glass of bourbon, ice cube in tongs. She silently mourned the loss of its rich, delicious warmth before her very eyes with its splashing release.

Ria looked away and focused on warm thoughts, crossing her legs, wishing she’d worn stockings. Rumor was, this building had an exclusive sauna for upper-level execs and visiting VIPs. God, that would be good right now.

She shivered and finally put aside the ice water, settling back to think on steaming rocks and snug towels, one eye on her boss where he still spoke quietly, sipping his drink, and watching the cold lights winking in the fabulous view. His hands were big, tan from the sun.

She pictured him in a towel, riding low on his sculpted hips and squirmed again. She wondered what he would do if she asked about the sauna.

——–
Jeremy sprawled, taking up half the ice-cream aisle and not really caring. He was enjoying the A/C, the food, and the view. Enjoying it even more as his latest fantasy slid around the corner.

Rene.

He whispered her name, followed her progress. She thought she was alone, meaning that this time she wouldn’t run.

One night stands apparently made her…skittish…despite the fact that Jeremy was looking to extend that one night a little further.

He watched her through his eyelashes, unwrapping another ice-cream and finding reason to praise the A/C again. It was doing…things…wonderful things that weren’t exactly being hidden by her T-shirt.

His lips parted as he drank her in. Damp tendrils of hair. Skin turned pink from the sun. The tan line that led his eyes down. That strip of flesh across her stomach that had his fingers itching…

A gasp jerked his eyes upward. Rene had noticed him. Her eyes were wide, skin blushing beneath her sunburn. Her tongue darted out, wetting dry lips. Her stance shifted as her body tensed.

Jeremy smiled the smile he knew set her on edge. Took a lick of his ice-cream. Her hands clenched as her gaze darted to his lips, dropping downward. Against his better judgment his smile widened.

The frantic echo of Rene’s flip-flops faded as Jeremy sighed, ruefully glancing down at his lap.

It was going to be one long summer…

The scent of vanilla rose like warmth from her skin, and he seemed hyper aware of every goose bump and tiny hair along her cheek and jaw, like pale down on a smooth surface. The pink curves of her ear fascinated him, her wisps of hair a distraction. Unable to fight his racing pulse or the rising heat of his body, he swallowed to moisten a throat gone dry, willed himself to breathe.

Then she rested her cheek and chest against him and stole his breath.

Her hair smelled like strawberries–his last coherent thought before he felt her heart pounding against his, her soft mouth slide along his sensitive neck.

Oh, God.

He forgot to dance.