Naughty Or Nice / A Sinful Little Christmas. Rachael Stewart
my fingers beneath the lace. Christ, I’m so wet. My thong is damp against the backs of my fingers. He does this to me. Without a touch he has me primed and ready.
I catch my lower lip in my teeth as I pull my fingers back over my clit, pleasure ripping through me, my hips gyrating into their touch. His eyes flare and I lock onto them, getting off on his reaction as much as the skilful touch of my own fingers.
I could come like this. I know it. Come and leave. Make him suffer. But it’s not enough.
‘Come here,’ I tell him.
He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, his hands reaching to cup my face, but I lean away from him. I don’t want him to kiss me. Not on my lips at any rate. It’s too personal—too close to my teenage dreams.
I press my free hand to his chest and look up into his questioning gaze. ‘Make me come.’
He cocks a grin at me. ‘My pleasure.’ He lowers his hand.
‘No.’
He frowns.
‘With your mouth.’
His eyes widen. ‘You like being in charge now?’
‘Always.’
I slip my hand out of my thong and gather up the skirt of my dress. ‘On your knees.’
As he follows my instructions, surprise floods me. I didn’t expect this swift agreement. And then he’s upon me, his mouth encasing my mound through the lace, the heat of his breath making me shudder, and my knees go weak.
He probes me with his tongue, his teasing through the fabric enough to make my legs buckle completely. He palms my behind. Holding me steady.
‘Why don’t you sit?’ he murmurs against me, encouraging me to the countertop. I go willingly, my dress hitched up to my hips, and the cold surface a shock to the cheeks of my arse. I spasm and he laughs. The sound resonates over my clit.
‘Easy…’
I fork my hand over his head and draw him against me. My other hand clutches the edge of the countertop. ‘I don’t want easy.’
This time his laugh is tight, and his eyes are now black with his own need. He catches the lace of my thong in his teeth and tugs. ‘These need to go’
I am captivated by him. For all I want to be in charge, I would actually let him do anything to me in this moment. I nod my head, my hand releasing him to grip the countertop.
He takes hold of the waistband just as the sound of people approaching reaches us—the unmistakable click of stilettos, women talking. The door opens and I tense. My eyes widen on to his, but he merely smiles as he continues with his task.
A stall door opens, a tap runs. The women are still talking, but I’m not listening. I’m focused entirely on not giving us away, my knuckles white with the effort of holding everything in as well as keeping my perch upon the vanity.
He shimmies down my thong, the thin cord stinging against my skin as he pulls it from underneath me. He brings it to my calves but doesn’t take it off. Instead he bends forward and lifts my ankles, ducking to position himself between my legs. The sharp points of my heels dig into his tailored jacket and for a split second I worry about damaging it—but then his eyes lock with mine and my brain empties.
I am spread open and bare before his hungry gaze. Outside our stall the women talk and talk, but all I care about is him and the crazy tumultuous heat swirling through my limbs.
His eyes lower as his fingers part me and I whimper. It’s a small choked sound that I cannot help and the women pause in their chatter. I have no idea if we’re discovered, but in that moment all I want is his mouth on me, drinking up the need I feel slipping from me.
Yes, Lucas, now, I beg silently.
And slowly he leans in.
His breath reaches me first, warm and teasing, and then the probe of his tongue. Its very tip flicks against my clit. I buck wildly, the whimper becoming a strangled squeal, and he breaks away, his eyes flashing in warning.
I bite into my lip so hard I fear I may draw blood. But the women continue with their chatter, and whether they’ve heard or not I don’t care.
He leans back in and this time I’m ready for it, my body set rigid as I anticipate the spasm, the pleasure, the—
Oh, my fucking God.
She ripples beneath me, her muscles straining to keep still, and I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips. How I’ve wanted this. Dreamt of it, even. Working her is a pleasure like none other.
Working her? My body mocks me. I am drowning in her. Her taste, her essence, her every reaction. She’s working me. And I don’t care.
I surround her perfect pussy, my nose nudging, my tongue dipping into the place I so want to plunge, and my cock swells harder, thicker, in the confines of my trousers.
She pants above me, her hands clawing at the counter. Everything about her urges me for more, to go faster, but I’m in my element…exploring, tasting, probing.
She shivers as I run my tongue over her clit, her breath a hiss between her teeth. I repeat the move, slow and hard at first, lapping at her. Jesus, I could stay like this for as long as she would let me. And then she writhes and I sense her climax building. I change my tempo, make quick flicks of my tongue in tune with her movements, then faster as she tenses.
I can’t wait to tip her over and start anew. To feel her lose it and then go again and again.
I break away just enough to watch as I slip two fingers inside her, plunging deep and bringing them out wet and slick. She is so ready, so hot and needy, all for me.
I hear her pant my name. The sound mingles with the noise of my fingers inside her and with the muttering taking place outside the cubicle door and my smile grows. I want her to scream my name. I want her to forget her place, the perfect persona that she presents to the world, and break…for me.
I grow hungry…two fingers become three…and then her frenzied hands freeze, her knuckles flashing white at the counter-edge. I look up into her face, feasting on the desperate heat of her gaze, the fierce pinch of her teeth as she draws back her lower lip. I drop to her clit, sucking over her hard, and she cries out. The room stills but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not until she shatters under my hand, my mouth…
‘Lucas… Lucas…’
I keep going, and then her thighs close around my head and her entire body convulses with wave after wave. She’s coming hard and my body is at bursting point, living it with her. For a split second I worry I might lose it too—and then a cough breaks the air from the other side of the door. A prim, what-do-you-think-you’re-doing? type of cough.
I look up at her, my grin as reckless as I feel, but something in her eyes holds me still, robbing me of breath. It’s not their satiated blaze. There’s something almost vulnerable—something that takes me back ten years.
And then she blinks. It’s gone. Did I imagine it?
She releases the counter to comb her fingers through my hair. Her touch is like fire upon my skin and I shoot the thought down.
The heels outside retreat, the restroom door opens and shuts. We’re alone, and I’m not wasting the opportunity. I throw my focus back to her, leaning into her warmth, her wetness, and I drink her down, cleaning up every last drop.
She quivers around me, gives a small whimper. ‘I’m…sensitive.’
I know she means in her body, the orgasm having left her raw, but I think of that look. I need to replace it with the wild heat of seconds before, so I soften my touch upon her, I tease… I can feel her shifting away