Under His Spell. Kathy Lyons
had the use of her hands, she would have stopped him. It was too much for her, too vulnerable.
But he had said she couldn’t let go and so she tightened her thighs. The idea was to ease some of the weight off her arms, but it ended up bringing his mouth right to her center. This wasn’t part of her fantasy, but it was fabulous nonetheless. Besides, she wasn’t in control here. He was, and she trusted him absolutely. In this place, he was the god who made everything safe and wonderful.
Then he began to lick. Long, thick strokes. Narrow pointy thrusts. Swirling combinations of both. Another flash fire hit with his first stroke. Then came another as he flattened his tongue and pushed against her clit. Another swirl and a shudder hit her spine. Her chest lifted as a wave of volcanic heat rolled over her belly, creating a pocket of fire under her skin.
She was gasping, her back undulating against the wall. Her arms were beginning to ache, her fingers slick on the posts, but she didn’t let go. The pain in her palms was nothing compared to the wonderful wet slide of his tongue.
She wanted to move her hips, to push her groin deeper and harder against his mouth. But her hands had no strength left in them. All of her weight rested on his arms and mouth. She couldn’t do anything. Her only participation was to experience, and that was more than enough.
He fluttered his tongue against her clit. A rapid flip-flip-flip that pushed her violently over the edge into orgasm. The volcanic fire from before was nothing compared to this. A supernova exploded across her skin. She screamed. She bucked. She lost herself to absolute pleasure.
Ahhhh!
She tried to stay there. She tried to hold on, but eventually the nova burst faded, leaving behind a warm glow. Her hands gave out and she sank bonelessly to the floor. He went with her, still holding her as she lay there dazed and happy. She felt him shift her around so that her head pillowed against his chest, and his arms cradled her sideways against his body.
She meant to open her eyes. She meant to say something. After all, she had broken the rules by releasing hold of the railing. But there was a second fantasy, more compelling right now. It was the dream of falling asleep in his arms.
She tucked her head tight to his chest, inhaled deeply of his rich male scent and succumbed to this other fantasy.
She slept.
JIM LOOKED DOWN at the sleeping woman, surprised that he didn’t feel more frustration. He could still smell her with every breath, and her taste lingered on his tongue. He was harder than a rock and could barely think for the need to bury himself to the hilt inside her.
And yet, he was holding her as she slept. This close, he could see the lines of fatigue in her face, the dark smudges beneath her eyes, only partially covered by her long eyelashes. The girl of his adolescent fantasies was asleep in his arms. The thought warmed his heart.
He settled her more deeply in his embrace, then stood up. He staggered, more from drunkenness than her weight. It wasn’t easy climbing the stairs. If he hadn’t spent a ridiculous number of evenings at the gym, he never would have managed it.
Fortunately, she didn’t notice their near-tumbles but slept on, completely undisturbed. He made it into the bedroom and settled her on his pillow. She made the shift easily enough, sighing deeply as he pulled the sheet over her. There wasn’t anything he could do about her skirt, which was twisted awkwardly beneath her, but at least she’d lost her shoes somewhere along the way.
Looking down at her, he rubbed a hand blearily over his face. He was still hard, his erection stretching for her even now. But hot as he was for her, he couldn’t stomach waking her. So he did the next best thing. He stripped and readied for bed. Then he climbed in behind her and wormed his arm beneath her shoulders before spooning her tight against him.
In one way, it was absolute torture. Here she was, with her sweet behind pressed against his swollen cock. It wouldn’t take much to do what he wanted.
On the other hand, this was his own dream come true. Nicky, his high school fantasy, was asleep in his bed. There was a mint scent to her hair and the hot reminder of her still in his mind. He closed his eyes and let himself drift into his own fantasies.
Sometime later he, too, slept.
4
NICKY SMILED IN HER SLEEP. She knew she was sleeping because nowhere else felt so wonderful except, of course, that fabulous island paradise. Wait … Island paradise and the god who created it. Oh yes, the god. She shifted her legs restlessly. She liked her island god.
There was something important for her to remember about that. About him. Perhaps she should get up and look for him. Was she still on her island? She felt warm enough to be, but in this fuzzy half-awake state, she couldn’t remember. Didn’t really want to know. She drifted back to sleep.
She had to pee. Mentally, she sighed. She would open her eyes—just a crack—and find the bathroom. After that, she could go back to bed and keep dreaming. Reluctantly, she blinked her eyes open. She frowned. She didn’t see anything familiar. That wasn’t her bedside table. This wasn’t her room. It didn’t even smell like her house!
She tried to hold on to her blissful state. But reality became too insistent. Panic clutched her chest and pressure built. Awareness burst painful and heavy across her consciousness, and she crumpled beneath the weight. What had she done? What had she done?
“OH, NO. OH, NO.”
Jim’s eyes popped open at the odd sound of a woman having hysterics in his bed. Light stabbed his eyeballs, and he immediately slammed them shut again, but the woman would not be quiet.
“Oh, no.”
Memory returned with a rush. Nicky in the audience. Nicky in his hallway. Nicky on his mouth and tongue. He would have smiled if she weren’t at that very moment jostling the mattress as she scrambled out of bed. He did manage to moan as the sudden cold air hit his body.
“Oh. Oh!”
This was not the morning he had envisioned last night. He cracked an eye. “Nicky?”
A door slammed nearby and the sound jolted him completely—miserably—awake. He clutched his head. How much had he drunk? It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was that Nicky was obviously panicking in his bathroom.
“Nicky,” he tried again, wincing at the sound. “It’s okay. I know this is weird, but really, it’s okay.”
The only response he got was the sound of a flushing toilet. It was a really loud sound, and he clenched his shoulders as if that could hold back the pounding in his head. He thought longingly of the medicine cabinet inside his bathroom, but kept the bulk of his attention on listening for Nicky. She was running the sink tap now. Why wouldn’t she speak to him?
“Come on, Nicky.” He tried again as he pushed to his feet and stumbled over to the dresser. Fumbling around, he managed to find a pair of sweats and pull them on. “We’ve known each other forever. This doesn’t have to be weird.”
It was a lie, of course. Being neighborhood pals back when they were twelve made everything more surreal, not less. Especially since they hadn’t really been pals. More like, oh-there’s-that-kid-who-lives-down-the-street acquaintances. And yet, because of that wonderful prom night, she was so much more important to him than just that. He scrubbed a hand over his face and went to lean against the bathroom door. “You have to come out of there sometime, you know.”
It took a few moments more before he heard the tap shut off. And then a soft voice wavered through the door. “Um … do you … um … know where my clothes are?”
Okay, that did not sound good. Her voice was high and tight, but he tapped down his nervousness and made sure his voice sounded calm. Stay casual, he told himself. It’s no big deal. And wasn’t that the lie of the century?
“Sure. I’ll go grab them.” He made quick work of it, though it took him a