Saturday, December 1, 2007

39 and Holding...Him by Robin Slick, ed.

39 and Holding...Him by Robin Slick, ed.
December, 2007 - ISBN 978-1-59426-596-9
$6 eBook (five formats), $13 trade paper - Buy Now!
Editor's Backlist: Robin Slick

from "The Lady-killer" by Belinda Franklin

It was so easy. Almost too easy, really. Part of me sat back and chuckled as the little worm dangled on the end of my hook.

Carefully, I began to reel him in, giving all the required answers and ticking all the right boxes. Yes, I was single, and no, I wasn't looking for a relationship. I was far too busy, didn't have time, all the usual clichés. It's funny how much you can get away with when the man opposite is trying to peer down your top. His eyes were almost popping out as he craned his neck for a better view.

Admittedly, I hadn't made it hard for him. The deep V of my cleavage was clearly visible, plump mounds spilling enticingly from the low-cut neckline, with only a hint of lace showing I was actually wearing a bra. To be sure, it was top of the fuck-me range, but going without would have been too déclassé. I wasn't portraying a whore, just a woman. An older woman who was a little bored, a little jaded, and just ripe for the plucking. Alan considered himself irresistible and, with his money, he practically was--to a certain type, anyway.

The type I was pretending to be tonight.

Not that he was unattractive; I've seduced much worse. His face was mature enough to pass for the thirty years he'd claimed, rather than the twenty-five I knew he really was. His best features were those deep blue eyes that seemed to look right through you, but he also had a lovely full mouth and trim figure, from what his tailored black suit revealed. Officially, he was still in mourning for his parents, who'd died a month ago in a car crash, but he was hiding it well. Very well. His father's multi-million pound corporation was now in his hands, and he was loving it. He had a good head for business, and a first-class team of advisers, though the fast cars, all-night parties and lunch breaks that took all afternoon probably weren't doing much good there. They also weren't helping his marriage, as his thirty-five year-old wife was not impressed with the parade of blonde bimbos who graced his arm at every public function. Some people argued it was his way of dealing with grief. Sure, and if you believe that, I have a bridge I'd like to sell you.

We were at a very swish restaurant in Piccadilly, the kind where the waiters' suits must have cost more than the patrons'. No expense was spared, and discretion was assured, making it ideal for our secret tête-à-tête. A candle lit the space around us, giving everything an intimate glow and scenting each breath with jasmine. The soft light enhanced the blue of his shirt and showed how perfectly it matched his eyes. Alan knew how to dress--or, more likely, someone had told him. It was nice to know I rated the full seduction treatment, even if it wasn't needed, and I let myself be seduced. Being the complete focus of someone's attention this way was deliciously erotic, as he no doubt intended, and so was the furtive stroking of my knee under the table.

He really was good at this, and by the time dessert came, I was genuinely aroused. We fed each other strawberries, and his tongue gently licked my fingers before the sweet juice dripped onto the pristine tablecloth. I returned the favour, lapping shyly at his fingertips, maintaining the pretence of a woman charmed against her better judgment. Then it was Alan's turn again. He was bolder now, his whole tongue caressing the length of my fingers and finding the tender skin where forefinger and thumb met. It felt like he was exploring much more private areas, and moisture began to gather between my thighs.

By unspoken agreement, we skipped coffee. He paid the bill, thanked the waiters as they helped us into our coats, and held my hand as we approached the door. A typical upper-class gentleman, except that I knew he was born in London's East End. A voice coach had worked hard to eliminate the grating twang, but a trace was still there if you listened carefully. I've never understood why people are ashamed of their origins.

Just before we reached the door, he checked no one was looking, and guided me into a secluded alcove that was almost hidden by a huge pot plant. The curtain of leaves gave the illusion of privacy, and I put up no resistance as his warm lips closed over mine. He was an excellent kisser, easily coaxing my lips apart and slipping his tongue inside. I thoroughly enjoyed the feel of large, strong hands at my waist as he pulled me closer. My arms went round his neck and I kissed him eagerly, rubbing my body against the erection I could feel straining in his trousers. One hand was combing through my hair, and I knew he enjoyed the silky feel of the long strands, while the other moved to my side. Two fingers started caressing the side of my breast, just those two fingers moving in maddeningly light repetition, and my nipples became tighter and tighter. Still kissing me, he opened a small gap between our bodies, and that hand suddenly darted between us, squeezing the nearest nipple, before returning to continue its gentle torment.

I knew he owned a flat nearby, and had prepared a great excuse not to go, so I was ready when his mouth left mine and kissed a path to my ear.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I have to catch a flight in an hour. There's an important business deal I need to finalize in Miami, and I don't trust anyone else to do it properly."

"How long will you be gone?" I asked, making sure only disappointment showed in my voice.

"Ten days. I would ring but my wife insists on checking all my phone bills, and to use a mobile would be so expensive. I'll ring when I get back, I promise."

Two-timing skinflint, I thought, but aloud I said, "Of course, I understand. But I want you now..."

His eyes gleamed with victory. "I know. I want you, too. Have you ever had sex in a public place?"

"Not yet," I purred.

"Would you like to?"

"Yes, please. No one can see us here, can they?"

"Of course not," he assured me, lust completely overriding common sense. His mouth returned to mine for a passionate moment, nibbling on my bottom lip, then he abruptly pulled back. Firm hands turned me to face the wall, and I instinctively braced myself against it as I heard the soft rasp of a zipper.

"It'll be easier to give you pleasure this way," he murmured in my ear, and lifted the back of my skirt. I heard a condom packet being ripped open, and moaned as expected when his sheathed prick settled between my quivering ass cheeks. He chuckled softly. "What a naughty wench I've found, not wearing any knickers on a first date."

"I never wear them. They're too restricting." Then, mischievously, I added, "I love the naughty thrill of the wind whipping up my skirt, invisible fingers teasing me to wetness, imagining the shock and helpless arousal on everyone's faces if they knew."

His breathing quickened as I spoke, and by the end, his swollen penis was grinding rhythmically against my bottom. "Oh, yes," he growled. "And I bet you're wet now, aren't you?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself? Since you don't trust anyone else..."

"Cheeky minx." But his fingers were already probing my slick folds, delving inside my pussy to find the sweet moisture gathered there. "Fuck, you're dripping," he whispered, and would have said a lot more had footsteps not shattered our private world.

"Alfred, did you hear something?" A cut-glass female voice shrilled.

"No, darling."

"I'm sure I heard a noise ... well, hurry up and get the door then--Mr. Manners never goes on holiday, you know. And find a taxi before I freeze to death, it's far too cold to hang about."

"Yes, darling," came the placid reply. A soft chime rang as the door opened, and Darling's complaints faded into the frosty night air. There was a quiet click as the door closed, and then we were alone once more, but who knew for how long?

Long enough. While the woman was giving her orders, those skillful fingers had found my aching nub, and were deliberately circling it. I couldn't make a sound for fear of discovery, and it was incredibly exciting.

As soon as the door shut, his cock plunged inside me and he started rubbing my clit in earnest. The tension had been building for hours, and we were both so close already that it only took a few slow thrusts to bring us to the edge. The first spasms echoed through me and he grunted as I clenched round him. One more frantic push and he too came, muffling his cry of release against my shoulder. I bit down hard on my bottom lip, but even so, it was hard not to shout my orgasm to the world. For an evil snake, he had some angelic moves.