Simply delighted that it worked out so well for Jerry, Morgan returned to his suite, her hands full of packages and bags. She never realized how cathartic spending money to pamper herself was.
The suite seemed empty, or maybe he was just resting. She went to her room to spread the purchases upon the bed. A cream bikini and matching sarong. A black bikini and matching sarong. A one piece, French cut, black lycra that completely covered her chest, banded around her throat and plunged to the crack of her ass in back. And matching sarong.
How long had it been since she felt the heated desire of a woman trained on her? Ten years since she let herself feel it. And what would be easiest to wiggle out of? The bikini obviously but that would be begging for it.
All morning she had wondered what that would say about her professionalism? Playing with her client’s daughter. But it had been a long time. And the truth was, Kitty was pretty, but Kitty wasn’t aggressive at all. Since she couldn’t stand the sight of Brian with other women, she had foregone that pleasure herself. Selfish, stupid bitch, she thought of herself.
“Would you like my opinion?” she heard from behind her.
Quickly, she spun to see him propped in the doorway, watching and smiling, feeling her face flush with the embarrassment of being found like this.
“Your opinion?”
“Black, darling. I like my Mistresses in black.”
Amused, she smiled. “Your Mistress is supposed to make the decisions. You and your Mistress does what feels good for her.”
Refusing to hang his head in shame, he whispered, “Forgive me. But if you’re as turned on as much as she is, the black bikini will work out best.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Take it easy, honey. It’s every man’s fantasy. You should know that by now.”
Huffy, she fell to the bed. “This is highly irregular, you know. That I’m even here with you much less contemplating your daughter.”
“If the review board should ask about it, I’ll just…lie.”
“No really,” she said. “It’s my job to keep you on track. Not jump over the deep end with you.”
“No really,” he said surely. “I’m not a psych patient impotent in the presence of women. I’m waiting patiently for you to learn to trust me so you can make my distorted, startling and vivid fantasies come true.”
“Right,” she whispered softly. Those very fantasies that she had luxuriated in. But what if I fall in love with you? she wondered. “So if I fall over the deep end with your daughter tonight…?”
“I’ll lay alone in my bed with my dick in my hand…if you permit…and dream up another fantasy…that I can at least watch.”
Trying to resist a smile, she rose and moved closer. “And you’re saving it for me because I demand it of you?”
His expression darkened a little. “I can’t think of a whole hell of a lot I wouldn’t sacrifice for you.”
The sureness in his tone frightened her. It wasn’t long ago Brian mentioned sacrifice. But the way Jerry peered into her, as if he could read her, knew her somehow, frightened her suddenly and she backed away.
He felt her reticence like a brick wall. To disarm it, he offered, “Let’s go get one of those ridiculous drinks with ten names in it, walk through the surf and kill some time before dinner.”
“Good.” A slow grin spread into a smile. “In that case, your Mistress gives you her permission to dress her.” She threw the black lycra suit in his face.
His hand clutched at the suit and held it over his face a moment as the penis lurched uncontrollably to life. Only slowly, he let it fall and he peered over it see her staring haughtily, the particular tilt to her furrowed eyebrows feeling like absolution. Quickly, he descended to his knees, let his hands dust over her trousers and settle gently on the buckle of the belt. Only a moment more and the zipper was down, the soft cream thong staring back at him.
As if he opened the reliquary on the altar, his fingers threaded under the thong and gently tugged it down. The scent was fresh, full of musk, a perfume so natural it beckoned him near.
What he could get away with here he couldn’t know. But he drew closer still, rubbed his cheek over the flaming amber of her mound. It wasn’t a decision, only a reaction and he turned his head and drove his tongue between those moist lips. No reaction in her was evident, not the slightest flinch to remove him or compel him to continue. Of its own accord, his tongue drove deeper still, in desperation for what tasted like ambrosia, deeper still until he felt that tiny bit of hardness aching for him as he was for her.
A sense of absolution he’d never before felt was bestowed in the feel of her fingers as they threaded through his hair. His body folded the better to get lower as her fingernails dug into his scalp. Her fingers tightened drawing him ever nearer, and then a miracle occurred. She lifted her leg, her foot to rest on the edge of the bed and she opened herself for his pleasure.
The ringing in his ears might have been the Alleluia, the moist soft satin on his tongue the life-giving sustenance of Holy Water. He curled tighter still, his head thrown back even further so that his nose could nuzzle her clit as his tongue found that mystery he desired the moment he looked upon her.
The torment of her nails drove him deeper. They followed the curve of his shoulder down his arm. They pinched together on a few hairs and then they tapped at him. Instinctively, he raised his hand into hers. A woman filled with nothing but compassion for the misery in Man directed that hand toward the heat he luxuriated in.
“One finger,” she said softly.
Ahhh…a most gracious God in the Universe. But she didn’t say which finger or where.
Without hesitation, he slowly stroked that satin, moist with his affections. More slowly, it slid into her. But that’s not what he wanted, rarely what he wanted. What he wanted, would endure hellfire for beckoned him. What he wanted was apparently available as his finger nudged at the tightness behind her, and that finger breached the muscle.
Her reaction was physical as her abdomen tightened a little. There was no rejection in it, rather a welcoming of pleasure. Painfully slowly he entered further, the softness inside warmer than he thought any woman would be. She liked it that way, quite obviously enjoyed it because one hand stroked harder at his head while the other pushed his face away that she might stroke herself.
Still on his knees, he laid against the tight musculature of her abdomen, his finger embedded in her body as far as the length of it would allow. He could feel her energy rise, the tension collect. His remaining fingers clasped the flesh of her bottom to hold her tightly, to be with her for this. He hadn’t known that women like her exist and the luxury of her generosity to share herself was overwhelming.
Only the change of her breathing belied her pleasure, only the violent contractions deep inside. She barely moved other than to let her head fall back, and still supported him even as a trickle of Holy Water puddled in his hand and dripped down his arm. Even as her nails dug deeper into his scalp forcing him against her.
Only when her weight shifted on her hips did he ever so slowly and respectfully remove himself from her. Tender kisses he left shimmering on her mound. So much more he wanted, in a hell of desperation, yet she replaced her foot to the floor. When he dared peer up at her, she was watching intently, a hint of her smile on her perfectly painted lips.
“Go wash your face,” she said sternly.
He wanted to laugh, could only grin. Wicked fucking women, he thought, this almost unbearable to endure. But endure it he would, await only the moment she would surrender to him that she would become his. Slowly, he rose as he licked her essence from his lips and stood over her now.
What he would give to throw her on the bed now and ravish her! But he could only grin, contain himself as she expected, save himself for that moment in time.
“My precious…” staring deep into her vivid green eyes sparkling like stars in the night skies, “…Lady Morgan,” he whispered. He bowed a little and then left her.
She fell on the bed with the shimmering contractions of orgasm, wholly undone. “Shit,” she whispered. Angrily, she kicked her clothes away. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, virile, passionate, experienced, self-contained and wealthy. “Fuck.” She stepped into the suit and pulled it up only to rip off the blouse and bra. Quickly, she closed it behind her neck and went to the mirror to do something distractingly feminine with her hair.
Why Brian? She studied the sullen reflection in the mirror a moment. Why, baby, did you have to leave me? Why is he making it to easy to replace you!
She touched up her make-up and tied the sarong loosely around her hips. Rather than dwell on what quite possibly was past, she opened the door to see him standing there, awaiting only her. His gaze fixated by a starkness she hadn’t seen in him as his vision traveled the length of her body.
Silently she questioned him with a seductive arch of her brows.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered reverently. “You remind me of someone I once knew.” And then he shook his head as if to clear cobwebs. “Rather, someone I invented and she lives with me still.”
“Ah, imaginary friends,” she whispered. “I have a few of those myself.”
Easily, he laughed. Never in his life had he laughed or cried so much since Morgan kicked down his door. Rather than fear the moment she would depart from his life, he held out his hand for hers to live in the moment.
by JJ Gilles