Page 51 of Never Say Never

“As my lady commands,” he whispers. Then he’s up on his knees, pulling open his robe to reveal a very impressive erection. My mouth is watering, I want it so bad, but he teases me, probing my entrance with his cock then pulling back to rub the wet knob over my clit. I return the favor by clenching my cunt muscles then pushing them open so quickly his cockhead is sucked into the hole. He gasps, then yields, sliding all the way in to the root.

We rest for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Stroke the stockings,” I say. “Stroke the stockings while you fuck me.”

With a grunt of assent, he pushes my knee up so my slippered foot dangles in midair. At the same time he begins to thrust slowly, deliberately. My inner walls are so inflamed from the extended foreplay, they thrill in the steady friction, up and down, up and down. I grip the pillow and point my toe, readying myself for arrival at our final destination.

When his fingers brush the top of my stocking, I cry out. Sparks shoot straight to my pussy, and my belly pulses with white heat. I thrust back, grinding my mons into his coarse pubic hair. Now we’re struggling together, up a tall mountain, both of us lathered with sweat and female juice. Somehow he manages to keep caressing my thigh through the silk, tickling, teasing, taunting the sensitive nerves that are linked, by some mysterious sorcery, to my grasping cunt. Still we climb and climb, higher with each stroke, until suddenly my body is lifted into the air as if by a huge hand. And then just as suddenly I’m falling, hurtling through space, jerking and thrashing as I come. Julian rides my climax with me. With a few more deep strokes, he shoots inside me with a full-body shudder.

The trip isn’t quite over yet, although the last part is easy, like floating on a river through a golden mist. I kick off the high heels and twine my silken legs around him while we glide with the current back to our ordinary life. There the landscape is gentle, even and pleasantly predictable—at least until our next adventure.

Because our passage to the Silk Road lies just inside my dresser drawer.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MORE THE MERRIER—

MÉNAGE

If two wrongs don’t make a right, try three.

—LAURENCE J. PETER

Ménages have managed to make their way into popular culture. Mainstream ads for everything from liquor to margarine to plumbing devices feature potential ménage à trois. The idea of being sandwiched between two partners is a fantasy I’ve heard many times—and experienced, as well. (This is why I was thrilled to edit the book Three-Way!) What I adore about ménages is the constantly changing points of view. One person is the focal point, and then another, and then…yes, another. There is no back and forth. There’s only round and round. And what’s sexier than a circle?

Well, figuring out the logistics. That can be seriously sexy, as well.

In “Mercury in Retrograde,” I write about an F/F/M situation:

I couldn’t believe how matter-of-fact the couple was acting. I’d just been tongued and finger-fucked by Cynthia, had gone down on her in the shower, and now her man was stripping down and joining us beneath the spray. Was I the only one who found the situation unusual?

I stood, in a pathetic attempt to be a gracious hostess. Hello, Joe. Welcome to my shower. The thought made me giggle nervously, and Cynthia put her arms around my waist, as if to calm me down.

Joe had other plans. He slid in between us and got his mouth against my neck. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he said, before gently biting my skin. I could feel the arousal building inside me once more—or maybe it never had completely died down since my oily orgasm on the kitchen floor. “Cynthia and I both have.”

“Why’d you wait so long?” I asked, turning to face him. The spray from the showerhead made us all wet, all over. The water droplets lingered on Joe’s long dark eyelashes.

“You never want to overstep your boundaries,” he said.

Kat Watson describes a couple on the make in her sexy story, “They Should Have Sent a Poet”:

I’d spotted her in a bar, all rich brown hair, curvy legs and pouty red lips; who could’ve overlooked her?

When I asked Derrick if we could take her home and he agreed, I almost let out a squeal. We’d talked for weeks about inviting another woman to our bed, but we didn’t seem to fit in with the swinging crowd in our area.

Her name was Lily, and watching Derrick between her thighs made me want to write poetry to her cunt.

“See right here?” he asked, his pointed tongue skimming over her clit. “Gentle.”

I mimicked what he’d done and was startled when she bucked into my mouth, needing more. I sucked and licked, taking her lips between mine and finally focusing my attention back on her clit.

“You’re doing so good, baby. She’s going to come any second.”

Lily’s hands tugged painfully at my hair, holding me to her pulsing pussy as she did, indeed, come.

In a move they’d seemingly silently planned, they maneuvered me onto my back. One of Lily’s hands flicking and teasing a nipple, the other with several fingers buried deep before I could take a deep breath. From above my slit, she winked at my husband then moved faster.

Unlike my tentative licks and touches, hers were certain, sure. Practiced.

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