Messalina: Devourer of Men (9 page)

“Climax”

            My heart stops beating as Jared opens the door. He’s wearing a casual suit with a cream-colored shirt and carries a soft-sided attaché case. His glossy auburn hair and bright eyes compete for dazzle effect. Yes. Here he is, my man, coming home to me after a hard day’s work. Several other words: elegant, dashing—sex machine—flash inside my brain.

            “Nice,” he drawls. “I was hoping you’d have little on.”

            “Anything else you hoped for?” I put my hands on my hips.

            He lays down his car keys and portfolio on the small lacquer table beside the door and in two long strides, Jared closes the distance between us to crush me in a hug. The knot of my robe slips even more, letting my damp, naked body press against his clothed one. My breasts compress against his firm chest and the sensation thrills me. It does wonders for him, too, because I feel his erection growing.

            He inhales the floral scent from the curve of my neck and nibbles my jaw. I place my hands on his shoulders and tilt my face for a welcome kiss. He grabs my hips and jerks me forward to introduce me to the extent of his desire. I gasp, allowing his tongue deeper access to my mouth. He reaches between us to untie the belt of my robe and gives it some slack so it falls beneath the swell of my bottom. Then he lassoes me close once again.

            “How was your day?” I murmur against his lips.

            “Filled with thoughts of you,” he replies and kisses me harder. I increase the force and loosen his tie.

            “This is it,” I say, pulling away. “No more stalling.”

            “So who’s stalling?” He grins as two of his fingers dive deep inside me, making me jump at the suddenness of his attack. “Follow me, sugar.”

            With calm assertiveness, and using a method more effective than any choke chain, he leads me to the bedroom but stops short inside the threshold when he sees the trolley. He turns and gives me a heart-melting grin. “Good thinking.”

            As he guides me to the bed, my robe slips to the floor. Suppressed excitement bubbles from my mouth in the form of a giggle. He glances at me over his shoulder.

            “What’s so funny?” He gives me a sharp tug, stimulating me in the process.

            “Ooh! Nothing,” I gasp, taming my urge to come.

Taking the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket, he sits on the edge of the bed and pours it into twin glasses. He hands me one and as I take a sip, a wicked grin comes to his lips.

            “Cootchie cootchie coo!” he teases, wiggling his fingers inside me.

            My right hand shoots out and clasps his shoulder to balance myself, causing me to lean forward. He uses the opportunity to kiss between my breasts. Keeping my eyes closed, I stroke his hair, luxuriating in it as his fingers push further. My eyelids flutter as he licks the bud of my left nipple. Opening my eyes, I see him put down his glass and reach for a strawberry from the tray. He takes a bite of the giant berry.

            “Nice and sweet.” He nods. “But it needs something.”

            I look down at him with glazed eyes only to meet his amethyst stare. He takes the berry and strokes it against my slit. I bite my lip at the sensation of cool strawberry flesh dripping with its own juice as it  mingles with mine. He gently taps the berry against my swollen clitoris, sending white-hot flashes up my spine and into my brain and I see stars before my eyes. Sighing, I coat the strawberry with my own cream.

            “Whoa there, girl!” He reaches up and grabs my drink before the glass slips from my fingers. He removes the fruit from me and pops it into his mouth.

“Delicious. Much better.” He swallows and lies back on his elbows. His eyes scan my face, noting my lack of composure, and his lips curve up with amusement. That little episode drained me and we haven’t started yet.

            “Do any shopping today?” he asks in a husbandly way and grins with the same self-confidence I noticed in my apartment.

            “Yes, I did. And thank you for the loan.”

            “It wasn’t a loan. A lady needs her things.”

            He says it in a way to leave no room for discussion and I don’t want to spoil the moment. Luckily the nightstand is only a step away, because my legs are about to give. I open the top drawer and lift out a small bag. “I discovered a nice boutique that reminded me of you.”

            I toss it to him. He reads the receipt and laughs. Reaching inside, he takes out several small jars of body paint, two brushes—and several boxes of condoms.

            “Since you’re the artist,” I say, kneeling beside him on the bed, “I figured I’ll be your canvas tonight instead of your bulletin board.”

            He smiles up at me, making my heart race, and strokes my thigh with a hair-tipped brush while his other hand manipulates the small paint jars like Chinese worry balls. I let this action distract me and watch the way his fingers move. They are so agile. He lays the jars and a brush down on the bed.

            “Paint me, Jared,” I say in a voice I don’t even recognize as my own, it’s so thick and husky. His eyes seem to turn darker as he removes his jacket and takes off his shoes and socks.

            “Lie down on your back,” he orders gently and I obey. The little jars roll against me from where I lie on the mattress and the glass containers cool my fevered skin.

            I watch him cross the room to lay his jacket neatly over the back of a chair. He removes his tie and sets it aside while keeping one brush in his mouth like a long filter cigarette. As he approaches, his mouth wiggles the brush contemplatively. Standing at the foot of the bed and unbuttoning his shirt, he isn’t looking at me but at my body, his canvas.

            I try not to get self-conscious under his scrutiny, but I invited it. I am allowing someone to analyze every inch of me when I would rather fade into the background.

 He rolls his sleeves up to the elbow and climbs onto the bed, straddling my legs. He has the colors red, blue, orange, yellow, and black to work with. Situating the containers, he places them on top of my pussy mound. He removes the lids and swirls the brush end in his mouth to get it moist.

            After dipping into the black, he starts painting just above the center of my breasts. He strokes down in a curve, stopping at my pubic hairline, then he does it again. With a few simple strokes he’s created the silhouette of a woman, arms outstretched, as she dives between my breasts, her buttocks curve just above my navel, which doubles as her sex opening.

            I try to regulate my breathing to facilitate his brush strokes and it’s hard, very hard. I groan in spite of myself to prevent my passing out. Jared covers my breasts with kisses to moisten them before painting a sickle moon on my right breast and a fiery sun on the left.

            Scooting down further, just enough for him to part my legs slightly, he paints a bonfire with its source coming from the center of my pussy. The satiny texture of the brush and the wet, stickiness of the paint assault my senses. I wiggle my toes, and the movement causes me to brush against his stiff cock. He sucks in his breath, and as sweet torture for my moving, he places more feathery strokes along the top of my thighs.

            The small jars of paint precariously balanced on my pelvis make a tinkling sound as I tremble. He grabs them and holds them in his palm before moving away from me.

            “Okay, darlin’, spread ’em wide.”

            Never have I felt more exposed. But I do as I’m told. I want this. He situates himself over the end of the bed as I bend my knees and place my feet flat on the mattress. Just when I think he’s viewing me in a strictly objective manner, he says.

            “Evadne, if only you could see what I see.”

A blush burns my face. What I do see is his devilish, grinning face from between my legs, just above the curls of my unshaved mound, and my inner muscles contract in expectation. He lets the paintbrush handle enter me just enough for me to get a sense of penetration. But it’s not enough. I need the length, girth, and force of his cock slamming inside me.

            “Jared—”

            “Shh.” His fingers rake through my neatly trimmed bush. “That’s a good kitty.”

            Then I feel the second brush flick against the rim of the tight ring leading to my ass before he suddenly buries his face between my thighs. He nuzzles me, breathing warm streams of air into me along with a few random licks before poising his brush to paint once again. His face, now smeared with body paint, gives him a savage appearance and he goes about repainting the area. A line here, a dot there, he paints with one brush as he pushes the other further inside me.

            “Jared,” my voice quavers but he just chuckles.

            A brush trails between my ass cheeks and I thrust my hips up, inadvertently driving the other paintbrush deeper.

            “Oh, Jared, fuck me now . . .”

            “Not yet,” he says, patting my right thigh.

            I exhale with a long hiss. How can he be so damn calm? If I didn’t think it would ruin the mood, I’d mount him at this moment—or start without him.

            Finally he removes the brush from my body. Good. Time to get fucked till I’m blue. But, instead of mounting me and riding me to glory, he hides his face between my thighs again and licks each succulent inch of my pussy before inserting his tongue to the hilt. I can’t hold back and grind circles on his face as he sucks the sensitive flesh into his mouth.

            “Now, now, now!” I cry, my hands clutching at the sheets to keep from clawing at him.

            He reaches up and his hand does a quick inspection of my body and backs away.

            “Good, you’re dry.”

            He obviously means the paint. Before I can open my eyes, he grabs my waist and turns me onto my stomach and is straddling my thighs again, his strong legs clamping mine in place. He stretches out above me, pushing my hair aside to kiss my ear.

            “Almost finished,” he whispers. “These colors look gorgeous on you, sugar.”

            “Jared,” I moan. “Please . . . fuck me . . .”

            “Hard and deep, babe. Just give me a few more minutes.”

            His erection brushes the crest of my buttocks and I rear against him causing him to release a pent-up breath against my cheek. I do it again. His arm hooks around my waist to hold me against his swollen cock and he thrusts back. We dry-hump for a few minutes and I’m smothering my cries in the pillow and he’s breathing harder than before.

            “Do you want me now?” I moan.

            He doesn’t answer. I kick my legs and thrash my arms in frustration until a hard, resounding slap on the ass stuns me into stillness. A lump swells in my throat. That fucking hurt.

            “Be still,” he says angrily, “or there will be more.”

            I bite my lip and hide my face. That spank, hard as it was, only serves to get my juices boiling as I once again receive a sample of Jared’s no-nonsense side. I am hundreds of miles away from home with a man I barely know. Part of me says I should be scared, but I’m not. My lust is the only thing that matters and I am so hot for Jared right now, my skin is burning. When the weight of his body lifts from my back, I know he’s sat up, and when the paintbrush returns on my skin, it’s at the top of my spine.

            More bold, curving strokes go down my back and sides. Then, he brushes inside the spaces as if filling them in. I can’t see and have no idea what he’s doing. I don’t care.

            “Oh, Jared, use me.”

            “Almost there, love. Be patient.”

            Easy for him to say. My legs are sticking together from all the erotic syrup I’ve produced since his return.

            “Okay, I’m done.”

            His declaration makes me jerk my head out of the pillows, completely alert, like a retriever at the sound of her master’s gun. Jared gets off the bed and I roll onto my side to watch him strip out of his remaining clothes. For the first time, I see him in all his glory and I’m confronted with his long, sculpted body as his strong hands roll a condom onto his fully extended cock. After days of dreaming of this very moment, the time has finally come.

            “You look heavenly,” he smiles and advances towards the bed.

            If I were strong enough to take my eyes off him, I would cast a glance over my body to view his handiwork.

            He climbs onto the bed but doesn’t let his body touch mine in order to suspend himself above me with his hands on either side of my shoulders. His eyes bore into mine like a hypnotizing serpent and I fall to the role of his prey. I close my eyes.

            “What’s wrong?” he says.

            I swallow, trying to find my voice. “I need . . . I want you so bad, Jared.”

            My confession is met with silence. Slowly, I open my eyes to see him just staring at me for such a long time I wonder if he’s having second thoughts. But his smile and kiss in reply are gentle as he nudges himself between my legs. When he lifts his head again, the same predatory gleam is in his eyes, only fiercer. He lowers himself and my body welcomes him like a soft pillow. My arms and legs wrap around him and he reciprocates by holding me tight. Soon, he’s reaching between us to guide himself into me.