Under His Spell. Kathy Lyons
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his lock. And why the hell had he decided to get drunk tonight of all nights?
He shoved open the door and pulled her inside, kicking her purse in with one foot. She had stripped out of her blouse and dropped it on the railing outside. He stared at it with a frown. Something was definitely not right here. But when he turned around, he saw her pull off her bra and drop it on the floor. White lace lying on dark brown carpet.
“Nicky …” he began, doing his best to make his brain work. “Is this really your fantasy?”
“Oh, yes,” she answered as she lifted her breasts in her own hands. “Your mouth on my nipples.” Then she flicked herself with her thumbs, her eyes drifting shut in delight.
He couldn’t have stopped if his life depended on it. He had to touch her breasts. She was offering them to him, holding them out. He had to touch. But before he could connect with her flesh, his mind made one last valiant attempt at reason. He jerked his eyes up to her face, searching her eyes for the truth.
“Do you remember me, Nicky?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Of course I do.”
“Have you wanted this as long as I have?”
She smiled and arched her back, simultaneously lifting her chest closer to him. “Forever.”
It was all his brain needed to surrender. Nicky, his high school dream girl, was finally here offering him her breasts. No way in hell was he going to say no to that! His gaze was back on her chest, but her hands were in the way.
“Let go,” he instructed. He didn’t want anything between himself and those luscious mounds.
She let her arms drop to her sides.
He reached out, his tan fingers a dark contrast to her nearly luminescent flesh. He paused. “Do you want to go to my bedroom?”
She arched her back, lifting her hands above her head. “In my fantasy, I am stretched tall.”
“Standing?”
“Yes.”
Good thing he had a two-story. He walked her backward to the side of his staircase. Then he took her hands and wrapped her fingers around the posts. She obeyed without resistance, and her soft pants told him she was as excited as he.
“Don’t let go,” he said as his gaze slid down her long arms, past her wet lips, down to the lifted expanse of her breasts. At last! He took her breasts in his hands and began to play.
NICKY CLOSED HER EYES and smiled into the darkness. At last she would feel his hands like hot oil on her skin. Finally, she would know his mouth on her breasts. She remembered intensity, she recalled gentle, tentative caresses, but she had no idea from where that memory came. She only knew it was true. It was him. And now she could feel more.
Somewhere off in the distance, she felt a nagging shock, an overwhelming pressure just waiting to crush her. But she didn’t have to be crushed if she didn’t want to be. She could stay right here on her island of pleasure. She was safe here because her island god decreed it so, and the ugly weight would never strike.
Besides, he was here with her now. And he was tonguing her breasts just as she’d fantasized so long ago. She didn’t need to remember when. She just needed to be here, now, with him.
He began as men always do—too fast and too hard. Odd, but she found she liked it. He lifted her breasts in both hands, squeezing them just short of pain before rolling his hands forward to tweak her nipples. Since her arms were stretched over her head, her breasts were thrust forward to give him total access, total control. She couldn’t even move backward away from him, which meant he could do whatever he wanted to her breasts, and she had absolutely no say in the matter.
She took a deep breath, feeling her lungs expand. His hands moved with her as he kneaded her flesh. He had gentled his touch now, so there wasn’t even the threat of pain until he abruptly bit her nipple. She gasped in surprise, but her legs trembled in delight.
“Is this part of your fantasy?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered without thought, because he was right. This was exactly what she wanted. “Both breasts,” she said. “Whatever and however until I come.” It had been a part of her fantasy landscape since she first began dreaming of men.
He narrowed his hands until he had hold of just her nipples, tugging them both. Then he put his mouth to one breast and sucked her in, rolling her nipple around and around with his tongue. She squirmed but couldn’t go far with her hands gripping the posts.
He released one nipple to work on the other. The abandoned one felt cold and wet, but soon she felt his fingers on it, rubbing the liquid in and twisting the nub. Meanwhile, his mouth went to work on the right breast, nibbling the skin around and underneath her nipple. Her breast felt full and achy, but his every abrasion heated a fire in her belly. Her knees went weak, and her legs separated of their own accord.
Part of her wanted to stop this madness. Part of her thought her behavior was very odd, but she squelched it. Those thoughts belonged to the part of her that stumbled under the weight of her world. She would not go there. She would not think those things. She would not even acknowledge the oppressive burden that waited just at the edge of her consciousness.
Sweaty pleasure was all she wanted. He was sucking her breast rhythmically now, tonguing her nipple as he worked. Heat built from inside her belly. It rushed like a wave outward, like flash fire on her skin. Her hands tightened on the railing as she gasped in reaction. Not an orgasm, but thrilling nonetheless.
She moaned and thrust her belly against his groin. He was thick and hard, a hot brand even through his clothes. Why was he wearing clothes? She wanted to lift her skirt and wrap her legs around him—naked him—but she couldn’t manage it without letting go of the posts. So she just stood there and whimpered.
He must have heard the sound because he pulled back. His hair was mussed, his mouth wet, but it was his eyes that she saw the most. Dark brown like molten gold mixed with chocolate. In this place, the analogy made sense and she willingly submerged herself in his power.
“Do you want more?” he rasped. “Yes,” she answered.
He grinned, but didn’t speak. Without moving his eyes, he reached down and pulled her narrow skirt up to her waist.
Finally! She spread her legs to ease the heat. It didn’t help, especially as his hands roved over her thighs.
“Thigh-high panty hose,” he murmured. Then his hands stroked higher. “And a thong!” He smiled at her even as he hooked his thumbs under the strings and pushed them down. Then his grin widened as he bent his knees, kissing his way down her chest and belly.
He had to stop where her skirt was bunched at her stomach. His mouth left her skin with a swirling tongue motion that could only be described as a flourish. Then he glanced up at her.
“I’m going take this off,” he said as he tugged at her thong. “But the thigh-highs stay on.” Then he glanced down. “And those heels. Love the heels. They’re so very corporate.”
He peeled the thong down and she felt the slow pull as the wet fabric separated from her skin. He used his fingers to maneuver the strings, but his thumbs slid in and around her mound. Then he groaned in delight.
“God, Nicky, you are a fantasy come true!”
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. He was looking at her again, and she was lost in the swirling colors of his eyes. Or at least her mind was; the rest of her was absorbed in the sensation of her thong dropping down past her knees to be caught around her ankles.
She wanted to reach down and unhook it from the straps of her black pumps, but her hands would not release. He had told her not to let go, so she didn’t. She couldn’t, not without switching her brain on, and that was something she never intended to do again. Then he relieved her discomfort by lifting her left knee. The fabric stretched. His fingers caressed her calf and popped the cotton