Laid Bare is my contribution to an anthology called Infinite Pleasures, edited by Stacia Seaman and Nann Dunne. I recommend you buy online from Amazon.com.
“Tell me what you want.”
Pressing you up against the wall of the narrow hallway, my mouth against your ear, there’s nothing I want more than to pleasure you. But I want to hear you say it. I want you to ask for what you want.
“Tell me how you want to be touched.” My harsh whisper provokes frantic movements from you. I’m holding your hands behind your back with my right hand, while my left travels across your body, loosening clothing, pulling it free.
My hand slips inside your shirt, sliding across the delicate fabric of your bra. You’re not saying much but your body is speaking volumes. Your nipple is a hard peak under the silk, pressing against the palm of my hand. I catch it between my thumb and finger and squeeze. You jerk and twitch at the touch and I smile, feral, yet in control.
“Is this it? Is this what you want?” I whisper, my lips trailing down the line of your jaw. You open your mouth to answer but before you can speak I cover your lips with mine. Your words turn to a gasp and I press my advantage, sliding my tongue inside you. I squeeze the pebbled flesh between my fingers again and you groan against my tongue, all resistance, however faint, melting away. Your tongue fights back, swirling around mine and I allow myself a moment of selfish sensation, adoring the feel of you inside my mouth.
But then I wrench myself away.
“Cat got your tongue?” I say. “How can I give you what you want if you don’t tell me, sweetheart?” I slide my thigh between your legs and press closer, higher. I can feel your heat through your jeans and it only makes me want you more. You are panting now, moving rhythmically against my leg. But that’s not what I want either. I pin you more firmly against the wall, preventing any movement.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Kiss me,” you say, your voice hoarse. “Kiss me, please.”
“But I just kissed you, love…that can’t be all you want.” I smile against the soft skin of your neck. I can feel your pulse fluttering against my lips, fast and thready.
“God, I want you,” you groan. “Stop teasing me.”
“Ah, ah, ah…you love it. I love it. So why would I stop? Now tell me more about what you want.” I dip my tongue into the hollow at the base of your neck. It’s the softest of touches but it produces a rasping whimper that curls my toes.
“You know what I want,” you gasp.
“I want to hear you say it. I want to hear it from those cultured, educated, sophisticated lips. Tell me what makes you wet, what makes you tremble.”
“Your tongue,” you whisper, so quietly I almost miss it.
“What about my tongue?” I run the organ in question across the edge of your collarbone, pushing aside your shirt as I nudge my way along. You moan, low and throaty. “What about my tongue?” I insist.
I laugh softly, knowing that is not what you meant to say, knowing that something is preventing you from telling me what you want—some level of embarrassment that I’m going to have to work hard to overcome.
I do so love a challenge.
“If I let go of your hands, will you keep them to yourself?” I ask, not wanting to be distracted from my mission. This time it is you chuckling.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then there will be no tongue for you,” I whisper quickly, tracing your lips with a fingertip. They are parted slightly and I gently dip my index finger inside, inviting you to take it further. You do, drawing my finger into the warm, close wetness of your mouth. The tip of your tongue brushes the nerve-rich skin of my finger’s pad and I shudder. Your eyes are closed but you read my signs and begin a gentle, rhythmic sucking designed to drive me crazy.
I lean closer, pressing my mouth to your ear as you continue to work my finger.
“Imagine that’s my tongue inside you,” I say. “Imagine doing what you’re doing to my tongue, only not with your mouth…”
Your eyes fly open and I am treated to the close-range sight of your pupils dilating with pure arousal. I laugh softly, knowing you will do what I ask.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I remind you. I drop a line of kisses down your throat. “Promise me.”
Another groan. “I…I promise.”
My right hand releases you and immediately you reach for my hips, but I quickly push your hands away from my body.
“Tell me what you want.” I reach up and cup your breasts through your blouse, tempering my need to touch with the need to be gently teasing. “Tell me.”
“I want your tongue.”
A low moan tells me everything and nothing. I nip at your earlobe, knowing that soon I will feast on other delicacies, but only if you ask.
“Are you very attached to this shirt?” I murmur, nibbling at the soft spot just below your ear.
“I have five more just like it,” you answer. I hear your palms slap against the wall behind you as my fingers tweak at nipples sensitive beneath layers of silk.
“Good.” With one quick movement, I pull apart the halves of your blouse, popping buttons and yanking the cloth from the waistband of your jeans.
“Yes,” you growl, arching against me, your fingernails digging into the plaster of the wall.
“Tell me more.” My fingers deftly negotiate the front opening of your bra and impatiently I push the material aside, exposing your breasts. I suck in a breath, entranced, as always, by what I see. Soft, ample, flawed, but so sexy to me that sometimes just the thought of them is enough to make me weak at the knees. “Tell me,” I say, my eyes, my hands, fully occupied.
I can sense your eyes on me, and I know that I if I lift my eyes to meet your gaze, a shard of control will slip from my grasp, back to you.
“I want your mouth on my nipples,” you say quietly, regaining a slight measure of composure. You know that what you want from me, I want to give you, desperately. “And I want it now.”
I risk a glance at your face, and sure enough, there is a half smile that tells me you think you’ve regained some control. But your body betrays you.
A single drop of perspiration begins a slow journey down your breastbone, and I let my eyes follow it. I know you feel it because you arch toward me, your eyes firmly on my mouth. I wait until the droplet of sweat has almost played itself out. You are whimpering softly under your breath and the sound is music to me.
“Please,” you say, but I ignore your request. Although my eyes are still firmly on the salty rivulet of moisture between your breasts, my hands want fresh fields.
I drop my hands to the fastening of your jeans. Not what you expected but keeping you off balance is such a turn-on for me. Slowly I undo each button; each muffled pop is a milestone on a journey.
Your jeans are loosened now and my fingers dip inside the waistband of your panties, my hands sliding around you until I can cup your backside. The move pulls us even closer together and you gasp as my thigh presses tighter against your hot center.
I imagine I can feel your wetness, despite the thick material of your jeans.
My face is inches from your skin and your nipples are taut and tempting, swaying gently as you rock against me. I duck my head, catching the last of the sweat droplet with the very tip of my tongue. You gasp once more at the touch, delicate and teasing. Slowly I retrace the drop’s path, letting my tongue wander the meandering trail back up your breastbone.
You groan and I am hard pressed not to echo you. I want you so badly I have to fight not to abandon all attempts at teasing and take you here, now, hard against the wall. Instant gratification gal, that’s me. But I know this way is better, for us both.
“God, please, please kiss my breasts,” you plead. I pull you closer still, my fingers kneading your buttocks. My face is between your breasts now and I breathe in the warmth that radiates from your skin. Each moist curve and fold gives way under the soft explorations of my nose, lips and tongue.
Your nipple beckons, proud and trembling. I spend half a second more deciding how I will take it, but then realize your body is telling me exactly what it needs. You are arched hard against me, your breasts thrust forward, begging for my attention.
In one swift motion I pounce, sucking your nipple deep and hard into my mouth, scraping lightly with my teeth, not quite biting. Immediately your head slams back against the wall but you don’t feel it; all your concentration is on the tugging ache of high-wire tension radiating from your nipple to your core.
“Oh yes, yes, please…harder.”
Somewhere I have the presence of mind to be amused enough to raise an eyebrow but then I focus on biting just hard enough to push you closer to the brink without hurting you—permanently, anyway.
Your yelp is pure pleasure, sharp, high pitched, approving. I fight for focus, enjoying where I am but knowing there are so many other pleasures to be had. I let go and trail my mouth, hungry as ever, across to your other breast.
This nipple I take more slowly, teasingly, swirling my tongue around the aureole like I’m savoring the sweetness of my favorite ice cream. The peak feels like the tip of a strawberry against my tongue and I resist the urge to devour. Instead I barely touch, letting my breath and lips do all the teasing.
But then you break your promise. Your hands slide across my back and up into my hair. Insistent pressure pulls me closer and I have no choice but to take your breast deep into my mouth. This feeling of being held to your breast is an overwhelming one and we are both lost for a moment. My hands retreat from your backside as I wrap my arms around your waist. You return the hug, holding me close as I suck.
It isn’t long before gentle gives way to passion once more as the sheer sensuality of the act builds again into hunger and your hips rock against me more urgently.
“Please,” you whisper. “Please, I want more.”
I leave your breast, the nipple popping from my mouth noisily.
“Yes,” you say with a growl.
“And what more do you want?” I ask. I drop a kiss on the soft curve of your belly, my nose nudging the underside of your breast playfully.
My hands drop again to the waistband of your jeans, this time pushing them, and your panties, down over your hips.
“I think you can if you want it badly enough,” I reply, dropping to my knees in front of you. “Do you want it badly enough?” One more nudge and your clothes fall completely away, pooling at your feet. My mouth is so occupied with teasing your belly button, I barely notice you stepping out of them and kicking them aside. You do know what you want, after all.
You groan as my tongue dips into your navel, teasing the rim before probing and filling.
“I want you to do that again,” you say. But before I can repeat the movement you reach down and lift my chin with your fingers. Then you lean down, bending at the waist to stare me in the eye. “But this time I want your tongue inside me, deep, and I want your face covered in my juices.” I swallow hard, but before I can reply, you kiss me with an intensity that takes us both by surprise. Your tongue demonstrates, in no uncertain terms, just what you want me to do to you. “Have I been clear enough?” you say breathlessly as you break away from me.
“I think so,” I murmur.
You straighten up and lean back on the wall again, your palms flat against it, just as if you had never moved. The shift thrusts your hips forward once more and I find myself just millimeters from the soft skin of your belly. Your hand is back in my hair, pulling me closer, and I know, now, that the games are over. Control doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters are the sensations and the intent.
I kiss a tender trail down your midline, nuzzling your curves. Soft curls are already damp. There is arousal in every movement of your hips, every hint of redolence, every drop of moisture. I want to take my time, drink you in, and so, when your hand presses more insistently, I resist. Instead I let the tip of my tongue find that blissful dip at the beginning of your cleft, the place where I can tease you almost without touching.
You groan, low and deep and aching and I feel your knees begin to buckle, even as your legs spread apart a little more, inviting me further in. My hands slide from your hips to your backside, steadying you, holding you close and firm. My tongue probes deeper, sliding into warm, wet velvet.
“I c-can’t keep s-standing.” You moan and my body vibrates like a tuning fork at the sound.
I drop away from you, ignoring your cry of protest, and let my legs swing around until I can brace my feet against the wall behind you. I fall back on to my elbows and gaze up. You are magnificent. Naked but for the remnants of your shirt and bra. Brazen, legs open, your eyes half-lidded with desire and your lips in such a pretty pout at my sudden departure from your hot center.
I smile at you, knowing that my smile is teasing you, driving you crazy.
“Then come down here and let me do what you know you want me to,” I say softly. “Come down here and let me lick you.”
You groan and finally your knees give way. With a thump you fall over me, a leg on each side of my shoulders, your hands braced against the wall behind my head. Poised above me is everything I want—you, open, wet and wanton.
“Do it,” you growl, looking down at me, past your swaying, tantalizing breasts. “Enough talking. Do it.”
I need no further invitation and push myself up, quickly burying my face in your lush wonderland. My tongue immediately finds your entrance, swirling around just inside, opening you, exploring, delving.
“Oh, God, yes,” you say with a hiss and your hips are in constant motion now. My nose presses against your swollen, tender nub and you begin to tremble. Whatever happens next, it will not take long, I know. “God, please, don’t stop.”
No chance of that.
My hands, still on your buttocks, begin their own dance, massaging, teasing, separating, as my tongue slides deeper. Suddenly, my thumb finds what it is searching for and presses in. You jerk against the unexpected intrusion and hesitate just long enough for me to wonder if you will object. But then your movements resume, your hips regaining their ever more frantic rhythm. I would smile but my tongue and lips are otherwise occupied.
You are moaning with each breath now as you ride me. I am straining to remain connected to you, my stomach muscles working hard to keep my mouth pressed against your center. But I am so turned on, I don’t care about discomfort. I can feel the trembling in your thighs, I can taste your arousal, smell it, feel it dripping onto my tongue and I swear I am right there with you, inches from coming.
“Please, please, please,” you beg. My tongue slides out of you and I turn my attentions to your engorged clit. With one quick movement I pull it into my mouth, sucking hard and strong to the rhythm of your hips. “Jesus!” you yelp.
One of your hands leaves the wall long enough to press against the back of my head, holding me in place, insisting on it. There is no argument from me. Each pull, each tug, each taste of you is pushing me closer too. I no longer feel like we are separate beings, we are both reaching for the same thing.
Your movements are frantic now, all focused on pulling the most sensation from the tiniest points of contact. My tongue joins the fray, swirling and surrounding your clit, pressing it, teasing it, coaxing it onward.
You are shuddering now, and I press deeper, suck harder, pull closer until suddenly you are there, riding a blinding, shimmering shock wave. I feel you open, taste the flood that tells of your orgasm, as you stiffen and hold yourself for as long as you can in the moment.
And then it is over. You slump, boneless, and I let you go, slowly withdrawing from all the hidden depths I have inhabited. I am breathless and wordless, panting on the floor beneath you as you crawl down and over me, burrowing your face against my neck and wrapping yourself sinuously around me.
Together we recover, our heartbeats slowing, our breathing keeping time with each other.
“You are awesome,” I whisper, and I feel your smile. You crawl even closer and your lips brush against my earlobe.
“Tell me what you want.”