Branded Sanctuary (3 page)

“Talk to me,” she whispered. Her fingers crept up her right breast, making a tentative pass over the nipple. The sheer jolt of response arched her up, startling her such that she captured it between the knuckles of her middle and forefingers, increasing the clamp as she imagined his teeth closing on the hardening tip.

“I want to be inside you. I‟m imagining…that. Your cunt, slick…wet, closing over my cock, stroking it like my hand now, only so fucking much better. Straddling me, sitting up…coming down hard on me…your gorgeous nipples in my mouth…hard…biting them… God, I want to fuck you.”

“More. Tell me more.” She was usually more generous, but her body was too needy, in the midst of a punishing storm after a long drought. Her other hand slid down her abdomen, called by the fresh, eager need between her legs. When she reached her clit, she let out a soft moan as it gave her a welcome pulse, responding to her touch.

The way her heart lurched in response, she realized her absent desire had affected her mind as much as her body.
I’m aroused. I’m alive.

“You‟re touching your pussy now. I can tell from that sound you just made. I want to lick your fingers, so when you slide them inside yourself, it will be my mouth that helped make you ready.”

His mouth was doing that already, on so many levels. She eased two fingers into miraculous wetness, just up to the first knuckle, playing in that sensitive opening. Her thumb and ring finger compressed her clit, following instinct to find the most effective pattern of strokes and pressure that could change every time, thanks to a woman‟s ever-shifting demands when it came to what turned her body on.

“I‟d get you so wet, Chloe. With my hands, my mouth. Whatever you demand, I‟m giving to you.”

Her rhythmic rubbing on either side of that quivering nerve center, the feel of her own slick flesh against her knuckles, was probably less rapid than his pace, but still the tempo was catching up, like the swelling overture of a composition of strings and keys at once, strumming and pounding together.

She pinched her nipple harder, gasped as she felt his fingers, the way his large palm would cover her breast, squeeze it so the nipple, when taken into his mouth, would be even more sensitive. “Don‟t stop…”

“Can‟t think of anything…but wanting to come for you. Seeing you…in my mind.

Naked…glorious…so fucking sexy.”

“Come for me, then. I want to hear you.”

“Want to wait…”

“No. Come now.” She didn‟t dare let her mind think anything was expected of her, anything that could dissipate the wave of pleasure that listening to him reach crescendo was building.

There was a scraping sound, a short bump, as if he‟d hit his elbow and jarred the earpiece, but then she heard his expulsion of breath, the guttural sounds that built into a succession of helpless groans.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Like that. Come hard for me, Brendan.” She wanted him to have to wash his sheets tomorrow. She imagined his seed spurting thick and messy over his clenched grip, coating his fingers in a way that would make her want to lick every one of them, suck them into her mouth and then clean his cock the same way, swirl her tongue over his balls, taste and tease them with her teeth.

She‟d work her way up his delectable, muscular body one perfect inch at a time. She wanted to be there with him, trailing her fingers through the thick cream where it hit his belly, painting it over those impressive abs.

“Ah…” She caught her own moan in the back of her throat. Even as his climax was winding down, he heard it.

“Please come for me, baby. I want to hear you too. Stroke your pussy. Imagine it‟s my mouth, sucking on you, tasting that wetness. Your legs are wrapped around my shoulders, grinding yourself on my face, marking me as yours, taking your pleasure.”

“Oh Goddess…” The flush raced up her body, a wave of heat as her clit spasmed under her fingers, her inner labia clamping around the digits inside, a poor substitute for what she wanted filling her there.

Despite that, it took five desperate more minutes, her body locked up, straining, afraid she wasn‟t going to make it, but his whisper was a hand pulling her up over that cliff, not letting her doubt herself and give up.

“Don‟t get in your way, Chloe. You can do it, baby. My mouth is on your pussy, fucking you with my tongue, my cock so hard, wanting you. When you‟re all done, I‟m going to lie between your legs and suckle your tits for hours, so easy and gentle, until you‟re wet and wanting again. Until you give me permission to fuck you into the stars.

Give this to yourself…”

It was a hard, hard climax, pulled from inside a room that had been locked for too long. Long enough that one, two, three convulsions, a short scream, and the door slammed. She vibrated with the aftermath, making a long, low cry of need, her body clutched in a trembling weakness. Curling around her hand, still clenched against her pussy, she brought her knees up to rock herself, keep that sensation going as long as she could.

It didn‟t matter. She‟d done it, damn it. A baby orgasm was still an orgasm. It was like the first time she‟d had one, when she was twelve. Something unexpected, that she immediately knew she‟d want to do again. It had been an innocent accident, instigated by her bemusement at how good it felt to hold her giant teddy bear between her legs and rock against it. Just like then, she was in the secret sanctuary of her bedroom, but she‟d since learned there were better things than teddy bears to fill that need, no offense to Balthazar Bear.

She wanted the real thing, Brendan‟s cock inside her, his body lying upon her, giving her that sense of safety and intimacy, an only-the-two-of-us-in-the-world feeling.

Unlike when she was an adolescent, though, she was breathing too hard, and her chest hurt again. Her other hand was still cupped over her breast, cradling it, and she tried to calm herself, imagining his hand there, his body spooning in behind her.

“You all right?”

His warm murmur over the phone made her eyes close tight as she held onto the resonance. “I wanted…more.” Needed more.

Then she realized how that sounded. “I didn‟t mean—”

“I wanted more too. But this is a good start, don‟t you think?” It was okay. Though he hadn‟t completely understood the nuances of her statement, she hadn‟t offended him. Listening to the easy honesty in his words, she realized that it could be that simple, for both of them. She‟d adopt his truth for her own.

“Yes,” she said. “I hope so. What now? Is there a phone sex version of cuddling?”

“Leave it to a girl to think of that.”

“Well, if we didn‟t, you guys would start using phone sex exclusively, thinking you could get out of it.”

“As good as phone sex is, I‟m pretty sure we wouldn‟t give up actually being inside a woman, for any reason. I know I wouldn‟t.”

That little trill of sensation skittered down her breastbone again, like a cool drop of water on a hot day. “Anyhow,” he added, “I‟m not ashamed to admit I like cuddling.

As long as you don‟t report my violation of the universal male code to the proper authorities. Then I‟ll deny we even had the conversation.” She smiled. “I liked hearing you. When you came…it was like heat spread all over me, as if you were here.”

“I was imagining being there. Or you being with me. Are you warm enough? If you get cold, you should get under the covers.”

“I notice you didn‟t say I should put my sleep shirt back on.”

“Well, no need for drastic measures if you have a blanket. Are you tired?” She‟d yawned. She was glad to hear the reluctant tone in his voice, though, as if he wasn‟t ready to let her go.

“Not really. It‟s just the time of night. Remember, it‟s you guys who get sleepy after sex, not us. So if you start snoring in my ear, I‟ll get my foghorn and blast you.”

“You have a foghorn?”

“Yep. I dated a ferry boat captain for awhile, and he gave me one from a boat being refitted. It makes that deep two-toned sound, like you hear in the movies. It can blast your eardrums if you‟re too close to it.”

Loosening her hand from around her breast, she drew her handmade quilt over her.

A soft, familiar
mrrr
noise gave her fair warning right before St. Frances leaped onto the end of the bed. The dark tabby usually went out prowling while she slept, using his cat door to come back in during the later hours of the night. Stomping over with a look that suggested she was messing with his schedule by being awake, he situated his long, lean bulk into the curve of her body and began to ferociously wash, rocking against her.

“Why are you giggling?”

“St. Frances is tickling my chin. My tabby cat,” she added. “Named after St. Frances de Sales, not Assisi. He was a medieval bishop, the one who said
Nothing is so strong as
gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength.
”

“And what saint-like, gentle qualities does your St. Frances have?”

“He doesn‟t hurt anything, not even bugs, unless it‟s an accidental squishing when he lies down. He catches creatures all the time, but he holds them so gently in his mouth they‟re still alive when he brings them to me. One morning I woke up to find an ibis strutting about the kitchen. When he catches chipmunks, he lays them on the linoleum and then looks puzzled as to why they‟re cowering there.”

“Like cat, like Mistress. Marguerite told me you‟re the official bug catch-and-release officer at work.”

“You asked about me?”

“She mentioned that at the wedding reception, when one of your customers brought up stories about things that happen at Tea Leaves.” He paused at her silence.

“It‟s not that I didn‟t want to learn all about you, Chloe. I wanted to learn it from you.

And Marguerite…she pointed out if you weren‟t interested, I‟d only be tormenting myself if I asked her all these questions about you.”

There was more to it than that, she could sense it in his voice, but before she could pursue it, he switched topics. Since she was drifting in a dreamworld, not wanting any unpleasant reality to intrude, she let it go.

“A ferry boat captain?” he pressed. “Gen said you‟d also dated a biker. No wonder you haven‟t called me. A drama teacher‟s pretty boring compared to all that.”

“Yeah, didn‟t you hear me yawn earlier? Rescuing me from my nightmares with out-of-this-world phone sex and talking to me in French. Geez, it doesn‟t get duller than that. Idiot.” She cradled the phone under her head, her eyes drooping despite herself.

“Tell me more about being a drama professor. If I was going to walk into your class, what‟s the first thing we‟d do?”

“If
you
walked into my class?”

“Brendan.” She snorted. “If I was a brand new student.”

“Well…” She heard some rustling, and imagined him turning on his side, still naked, his damp cock against his thigh, his dark hair brushing his shoulders. The moonlight would be filtering through his windows, kissing every curve and plane of his lean body. “We warm up with facial exercises. I have them grin, really wide. Scream.

Screw up their faces tight and release them after thirty seconds. There are so many muscles in the face that give away expression. You have to exaggerate them for the stage, but it helps to know how to do it minutely as well, if you plan to act for film.” Chloe scrunched up her face, held it, and released. “Wow. It‟s like doing yoga or isometrics for your face.”

“Try a big, exaggerated clown smile, take it down to a quick smile, then a faint one, as if you‟re not really happy, but you‟re going through the motions. Then back to the big one again.”

“Okay…” She laughed. “It‟s hard. You have to concentrate. Like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach.”

“You‟re training your muscles to respond on command, versus instinct. Once you get that down, you go back to instinct, only instead of responding to emotional stimulus, you‟re cued by lines, the tone of the scene.”

“I bet your female students imagine you naked when you talk like this. I get the perk of
knowing
you are.”

“You‟re not focusing,” he said in mock offense.

“Ooh, a stern tone. And I am too. This is really interesting.”

“As interesting as getting to blow a ferry captain‟s foghorn?” She laughed outright but snuggled into the blankets, folding her arms across herself like a bat, scooching St. Frances down lower into the cradle of her lap. “For your information, I didn‟t blow
his
foghorn. Or anything else. It was one of those casual dates that turned into friendship.”

“He must have been blind, or stupid. Not saying that being your friend wouldn‟t be great, but if a man could have more, he‟d be crazy not to go for it.”

“Maybe he discovered
I
was too crazy.” She sobered. “You know what you said, the faint smile, going through the motions? I‟ve been doing that for awhile. Sometimes I‟ve wondered, if I do the fake smiles long enough, will it become like you said, an instinctive learned response, but nothing I really feel?”

“You‟ve been real with me tonight. You haven‟t forgotten how to feel.”

“How do you know?”

“Because some people are great actors. You‟re not, Chloe. You‟re as genuine and without artifice as they come. What you feel, it‟s in your voice. And you can feel and be whatever you want to be with me,” he added.

“Charmer. You‟re just hoping to get lucky.”

“I got lucky the moment you dialed my number. Want to do another exercise? This one I call WPS. It helps the beginners get over self-consciousness.”

“I‟m afraid to ask what WPS means.”

“Worst Possible Song. Basically, I come up with a song for you to sing to me, the one you‟d least likely pick for yourself, because it wouldn‟t fit your voice or comfort zone. Of course, I usually have a karaoke machine to help them with the words. For our purposes, I‟ll pick something familiar. You can sing what you remember and improvise the rest. Learning to think on your feet, in front of an audience, is also important.”