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Authors: Delphine Dryden

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BOOK: Art of the Lie
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He shifted his grip and resumed his agonizingly slow exploration of the sensitive skin that lay between his hands and their ultimate goal. “I know. It’s a cute look for you, I like it when you blush. So, do you masturbate or anything like that? Toys or anything? Just sizing up the job before I start the real work.”

“Sizing up the job? I am not construction,” she said primly. “Yes, of course I masturbate. Everybody does. And whether I use toys or not is none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business,” he insisted with a polite but firm smile. And then he cut to the chase, running one finger all the way up Lindy’s quivering inner thigh and straight to the source of her current frustration. He slid his fingertip over her slick folds, teasing at the opening. “Toys—yes or no?”

She bit her lip, not sure which was more embarrassing. To lie and say she had used toys, or to tell the truth and admit she never had. And for that matter, why hadn’t she? She was a grown woman. She had needs. If she wanted to buy a vibrator, whose business was it but her own anyway? Then her thoughts trailed away again, all her focus on Richard’s fingers, trailing through her heat, finding and stroking her clitoris.

“No,” she confessed, and caught an almost gleeful look on Richard’s face before he returned his attention to the matter at hand. Finally,
pressing his finger into her channel, slow but steady, not stopping at her tiny flinch. His fingers were longer and thicker than hers, of course. She was fairly certain that youthful bike riding accidents, third-base hits and so forth had taken care of some of the work. But only some.

Richard cursed softly as he moved his finger in and out, lifting his other hand to play with her throbbing clit. It felt swollen and hot, and when he grazed it with the back of his fingernail she couldn’t keep her hips still. Then he lowered his head and licked.

Lindy bit her lip, trying to stifle a cry as a sharp pang of need shot through her.

“Don’t hold back. I want to hear everything you’re feeling. Go for it, be a screamer. My neighbor isn’t home to hear you anyway.”

He licked her again and then fluttered his tongue against the tight bud of nerve-rich flesh at the same time he thrust his finger in to the hilt, and Lindy bucked toward his hand with a moan. Then she moaned louder in protest when he abandoned her entirely.

“Protection,” he reminded her from the side of the bed, where he sat digging in the drawer of the bedside table. She heard a crinkle of plastic, saw a square foil wrapper as he tore it from the pack. He started to toss the remaining row of condoms back in the drawer then, with a shrug, left them out on the bedside table.

Lindy saw that Richard was still in his t-shirt and jeans, a gross inequity in their states of dress. She set about remedying it as quickly as possible, crawling up behind him on the bed and pulling the back of his shirt up and over his head.

“Take it the rest of the way off,” she growled, nipping boldly at his back, reveling in his throaty laugh as he complied while she reached around to unsnap his jeans. The zipper was a trickier matter. She worried about safety and etiquette, about the danger of his penis getting caught up in the teeth if she did it wrong. Richard made it a moot point by standing up and turning around, slinging his doffed t-shirt around her shoulders and catching it on the other side. He used this makeshift sling to pull her the last few inches, until her mouth was resting against the troublesome zipper. He then solved the dilemma by unzipping it for her, but she beat him to the next step and surprised him by pushing his jeans and boxers down enough to free his stiff cock at last. It was dark red, almost purple, and bore impressions from its struggle against Richard’s jeans.

“It looks kind of pissed off,” she said with a giggle, then bit her lip, knowing it was probably the wrong thing to say.

“It’s had to wait very patiently, and it’s

Lindy had interrupted Richard’s retort by capturing the tip of his beleaguered penis in a soft but lingering kiss. She thoughtfully swiped her tongue through the large bead of creamy fluid gathered there, mapping the area thoroughly before letting him slip free. Looking up, she saw Richard’s eyes were squeezed shut, as were his fists. He was whispering something frantically under his breath and she rose up on her knees to get closer, trying to hear what he was saying.

Box scores. He was reciting box scores. Or at least, with her admittedly limited knowledge of baseball, that’s what it sounded like to Lindy. “Cardinals or Cubbies?” she whispered.

“Blasphemy. You know I’m a Cubs fan, woman.” He opened his eyes and she fell right in, lured by their dark-chocolate depths. In most lights they looked almost black. Here, with the late afternoon light streaming in, they were the most delicious shade of brown, almost matching his hair but without the subtle hints of gold.

Richard pushed his jeans off and stepped out of them to kneel on the edge of the bed, taking the opportunity to stroke Lindy’s breasts again, plucking her nipples back into tight peaks and then jangling her nerves as he pinched them hard. Lindy closed her eyes, processing the feeling, pain and pleasure dueling until pleasure won out. She sighed and arched her back for more.

“She likes that too. God help me. Advanced lessons, advanced lessons.”


“Nothing.” And then he pulled her into his arms, kissing her senseless, taking time to explore her mouth as he hadn’t before. They were doing things all backward, Lindy thought, with the orgasm first, then getting naked and then necking. But she couldn’t complain when it all felt so good. Wrong was the new right, it seemed. And right was Richard’s tongue sweeping over hers, curling in and out of her mouth, and his lips teasing hers until they were as swollen and sensitive as her pussy felt.

Wanting more, too woozy with lust to remember the words to ask for it, Lindy was only able to feel and respond. She did so with growing fervor as Richard hooked one arm behind her knees, sweeping her legs out from under her and lowering her to her back. He stopped kissing her and shifted his weight just long enough to roll the condom on. Lindy noticed with some detached, still-rational part of her mind that his hands were shaking a little, which she thought was incredibly sweet somehow. Then he lowered his hips back between her thighs and kissed her again, and she couldn’t think anymore.

From there it was the work of moments. First his finger, slipping into her again, his palm flattening against her clit as he stroked in and out, in and out. And then his finger went away only to be replaced by something larger and smoother, pressing for entrance—and she tilted her hips and it stung like hell and then she wasn’t a virgin anymore.

And after the shock wore off, she started to figure out why people made such a fuss.

It wasn’t just the feel of Richard’s cock, filling her so full. Or the way he shivered as he held himself still, giving her time to get used to him as the initial pain subsided. No, it was about the look on his face, just inches from hers, when she opened her eyes and saw him looking back at her. His expression of jaw-clenching tension, tinted so sweetly with the expectation of rapture. And the way he brought a trembling hand to her face and brushed her hair away from her cheek before he kissed her slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

And more than anything else, the way his kiss ended with a very gentle, measured flex of his hips, pressing his cock even deeper inside her. And then the words whispered in her ear. “Feels so good, Lind. God, it feels so good to be inside you.”

She moved in response and the moment changed into something else, a different dynamic as he started thrusting deep enough for his pelvis to bump against her clit. After a few halting efforts, her body figured out what to do. Which was to meet Richard in the middle, matching his pace even as he started to lose control, to pump hard enough that it began to hurt again. She didn’t care. She didn’t think. She only moved, and felt.

Unexpectedly—she always had to work so hard to come when she did it by herself—another orgasm began to build. She lost the rhythm for a moment, then lost it again for good but it didn’t matter. Pleasure had already started to flow through Lindy’s body, having its way with her, forcing her into the scream Richard had wanted to hear. And then gasping into another one, with his name somewhere in the middle of it, just as he arched into her quivering body with a shout that sounded suspiciously like triumph.

* * * * *

When Lindy tried to leave the bed, Richard held her down with one arm and one leg, laughing at her attempt to wriggle free.

“You’re not going anywhere. You have to stay for the advanced lessons, remember?”

She blushed, thinking about the various “lessons” he had already proposed. “You don’t have to do all that. This was wonderful, but I really think—”

His stifling kiss was firm but lazy, confident, just like his voice when he finally released her mouth. “You’re here for the night. Get over it. I’m not through with you.”

“I thought this was just supposed to be my first time? Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re very welcome. My pleasure.”

“Yeah, mine too.”

He smirked and tossed his hair back out of his face. “I noticed.”

“You don’t have to get all smug about it.” She tried to sit up again, to no avail.

Richard gave her an appraising look. “I just had great sex, of course I’m smug. I guess that can be lesson number two. If the guy either falls right to sleep or turns into kind of a jackass afterward, you know you were doing something right.”

“Gee, good to know. Can you not number the lessons?”

“So you admit there
be more lessons. Victory!”

“Jackass.” But she was failing at her effort not to smile.

“See? Good job.”

A snicker escaped. And then a giggle, bringing with it a sudden wave of relief. Lindy rubbed her eyes then stretched, arching her back. The move earned an appreciative hum from Richard, who was unable to resist fondling the closest breast.

“You surprised me,” he confessed as he toyed with her. “In more ways than one.”

She found it hard to think with his long fingers plumping the tender flesh, thumb scraping a slow back-and-forth over her nipple. A few moments earlier she would have considered herself spent, but Richard’s casual stroking was already sending fresh tendrils of need from her breast down to her thighs.

“Surprised how?” she managed.

“Well, asking me to do it in the first place caught me off guard, I have to admit,” he said with a wry little smile. “But also…” Lowering his head, he ran his tongue over Lindy’s nipple, then took it between his teeth and pressed just hard enough to pinch. When her eyelids fluttered and she moaned softly, he grinned up at her and released his mouthful. “Also stuff like that. I wouldn’t have expected you to go in for any of the rough stuff.”

Lindy bit her lip. Rough? Had he been rough? She wished she knew. He just seemed confident to her, demanding and a little arrogant, which had always been her ideal. And the pain had seemed different, in this new context. Just another thing to feel at a time when everything felt good. She wondered if spanking would have the same effect; maybe that was the appeal. “You like rough stuff?”

After a beat, he nodded. “Yeah, actually I do. Usually. This was good, too, though. More than good.”

“So what would be an example of something rough?”

He pursed his lips then looked away, scanning her body with obvious appreciation. Then he frowned, pointing to a tiny smear of drying blood at the top of Lindy’s thigh. She saw a similar streak on the condom he had yet to take off.

“We should go get cleaned up.”

Lindy couldn’t argue with that. She grimaced and sat up, then stood. Richard followed her to the bathroom, to her chagrin. She was further embarrassed when he lifted her up to sit on the counter and then accosted her with a warm, wet washcloth.

“I’ve been washing all by myself for years now, Richard.”

“Whatever. Spread your legs for me.” He stroked gently with the cloth, looking for any other signs of bleeding and finding none. Focused, intent on his job, very conscientious and thorough. Lindy was almost painfully turned-on again by the time he was finished. When Richard was through with her, he turned his attentions on himself. Lindy watched that process with a certain amount of fascination. She was surprised he was still hard.

“So, are you going to tell me what counts as rough or are you still avoiding that for some reason?” Her question seemed to prompt his penis to twitch slightly, and Lindy wondered how to get that response again.

“You saw through my ploy.” He had rinsed the cloth, and now hung it neatly over the rail in the shower stall.


“It’s subjective, Lind. It isn’t an either-or thing.” He leaned one hip against the counter next to where she sat, crossed his arms and stared her down. “I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about. If you don’t like something I’m doing, just tell me to stop and I will. No big deal.”

“I wasn’t worried. I was curious. Trying to expand my mind.”

“Overachiever. Come on back to bed.”

She did go back to bed, although first she banished him from the bathroom. Lindy preferred solitude when she peed. And she still wanted to check out the damage for herself, despite Richard’s careful attention and reassurance that everything looked fine. She’d worried it might sting but it didn’t much, and there was no more bleeding. Just a little soreness, but even that wasn’t really unpleasant. It reminded her of what she had just done. What
had just done.

He was waiting when she peered around the corner of the bedroom. Lying on one side on the rumpled sheets, staring out the window, a quirky half-smile curving his lips. For a second, Lindy was actually shy about being naked in front of him. Then he spotted her and grinned. When she ventured closer, he reached out to pull her down on top of him, and she melted at the heavenly sensation of skin touching skin.

Nuzzling her nose into Richard’s neck, draping herself over him, Lindy found it too easy to forget he was just doing her a favor. She knew she should have left after the first time, because staying would only make it harder to leave in the long-run. But she had never expected him to ask her to stay; she’d had no defense against that. Now, Lindy thought, her only hope was to play it as casually as she could.

BOOK: Art of the Lie
2.82Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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