Sexy and Funny, Hilarious Erotic Romance Bundle (84 page)

He pinched my thigh again, but I bit my lip to stifle my response. I wouldn't cry out.

He unfastened the button on my shorts, and then he was pulling them off, yanking my panties off at the same time. We were on the dirty forest floor, still within sight of the trail.

He paused for a moment, staring down at my pussy with a smile on his face, and then his head was between my legs. He rushed, licking hard and fast, his tongue urgent and probing. He found my clit and pressed down hard with his tongue, bobbing his whole head up and down between my legs to apply pressure. His stubble prickled on my inner thighs, but his tongue was perfect. The sensation was so sudden and intense, all I could do was whimper as I melted back into the leaves and dirt. The trees and sky above me were beautiful, and then I had to close my eyes as he took me swiftly over the edge.

I cried out in ecstasy and grasped at the leaves around me like they were rough bedsheets.

He unzipped his pants, adjusted, and nudged the head of his cock against my opening. He stroked his warm, thick flesh up and down my slippery crease, past my opening and over my still-sensitive clit, then all the way down to my back door. My pussy was so wet, and combined with the slickness coming from him, everything moved smoothly.

He his body moved up, on top of me. Looking me in the eyes, he rocked his hips, teasing me with just the tip, sliding in and out of my pussy.

I put both hands on his ass and pinched, hard. He bit me on my jaw and hung on, his teeth sharp on my skin. Around my flesh, he said, “Kitty play nice?”

I relaxed my hands and stroked them softly up and down his back, over and under his shirt, which was damp with perspiration.

He stopped biting my jaw and kissed me on the lips, nicely.

I moaned into his mouth and kissed him back, relaxing. Still, he kept rocking his hips, just that tip of his popping in and out of me like a lollipop.

His voice low and growling, he said, “What do you want, Sheri?”

“I want you to fuck me, Detective Dunham. Fuck me so hard. I want to have trouble walking tomorrow.”

“Say my name.”

“Dunham.”

He bit my eyebrow ridge, just a nibble. “My other name.”

“Smith.”

The head of his cock moved in, beyond the opening, massaging me deeper, where I wanted him.

“Smith,” I repeated.

Breathing heavily, he drove into me, all the way. He filled me up and thrust against me, his balls slapping against my soaking-wet butt.

I moaned and squirmed, wanting more, more, more.

He pulled out and pinched my leg until I rolled over, my butt up in the air.

Again, he took a moment to slide the head of his cock up and down my crevice, sliding between my lips and then over them, brushing over my clit and then all the way back to my butt.

Finally, he slid into my pussy, his cock as hard as steel. In this position, he had more leverage, and he really pounded into me, our sweating bodies slapping together.

He said something, but I wasn't expecting talking, and asked him to repeat himself.

Panting hard, he said, “I'm going to come all over your pretty shirt, all over your pretty hair.”

“What?”

“I'm going to come in your hair.” He grabbed a lank of my hair and twisted it around one hand, pulling at my scalp.

“No, Smith, not the hair, you sick fuck. You work for me,” I said.

He groaned.

His other hand was between my legs, on my clit, and I was coming again. I cried out, a howl like a wounded animal, and I came with him grunting into me from behind. The orgasm started in my pussy and blasted out like a shock wave, until I felt it in my scalp, felt that ecstasy in my hair, down the back of my head.

He grunted again, and my pussy was hot, his liquid spurting inside me.

He yanked again on my hair and I cried out, my moan mingling with his.

When he stopped shuddering, he pulled out and wiped his cock against the backs of my legs.

I turned to look back at him, saying, “What the hell?”

He slapped my ass, sending a loud crack through the quiet forest.

“Just giving you your money's worth,” he said, already standing and pulling his khaki pants up.

I cursed him out and looked around for some not-too-crunchy leaves to wipe myself off with. He stood there, staring at me curiously, until I swore at him and told him to turn around and give a girl some privacy.

He reached into his pocket, withdrew a cloth handkerchief, and handed it over.

“M'lady,” he said.

I snatched it from his hand.

Still chuckling, he turned around and walked away.

I was still picking twigs out of my hair when we arrived in town about an hour later.

To my disappointment, the only places that were of interest to me, a couple of cute clothing boutiques, were just closing up for the day.

Smith approached the gray-haired woman pulling in a rolling rack of clothes.

“Are you the owner?” he asked.

Her eyes narrow with suspicion, she said, “Maybe.”

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and plucked out some bills. “How'd you like to triple your day's sales?”

She laughed and told him to put the money away. “I can stay a bit longer. Just pay for whatever ya like, hun.”

“This is my niece,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders as we followed the woman into the boutique.

I reached out to shake the woman's hand just as Smith said, “My niece doesn't speak English. Not a word.”

I smiled and nodded.

The woman spoke loudly, enunciating every word, “NICE TO MEET you sweetheart!”

“She takes naps in the woods,” Smith said, twirling one finger around his ear. “Cuckoo.”

I turned my back to them so she wouldn't see me smirking.

“She doesn't have any grown-up clothes,” he said. “I want to take her out for dinner, but she's a disaster, as you can see.”

“We'll fix her up,” the woman said.

I was already doing fine on my own, but she buzzed around the small shop, pulling out fabulous things I would never have noticed if she hadn't held them up.

I tried on an armload of outfits, each thing more appealing than the last. How long had it been since I bought new clothes? My most recent acquisitions had been from the Lost-n-Found box at the laundromat. Paying off student loan debt was a higher priority than pretty things… though pretty things certainly had their appeal. Had my legs always looked so curvy in a skirt?

Smith looked at each outfit and then he chose which pile to put the items in. He said he was paying, so who was I to argue? Besides, apparently, I didn't speak a word of English.

The woman took away the dirtied-up clothes I'd come in wearing, and I settled on a black denim mini-skirt and a cornflower-blue blouse with ruffles to wear out of there. The outfit was dressy, but just casual enough it didn't seem crazy paired with my sneakers.

Instead of us having to haul a big bag of clothes back up to the cabin, Smith made arrangements for my clothes to get delivered the next day, along with our groceries. Ah, so that explained how the food got there. Apparently, the delivery boy had a motorcycle—a dirt bike—that he rode the trails with.

Smith took me for dinner at a cozy place, an old house that had been converted into a restaurant that defined the word
quaint
. The building was still divided into several rooms, each containing hints of the room's former life. The hostess tried to seat us in the nursery, but Smith wrinkled his nose and said it wasn't to his liking. She steered us all the way to the back of the place, to a former mudroom with big multi-paned windows overlooking the back yard.

“Perfect,” he said, grinning broadly. “My cousin Sandy and I will dine in the mudroom.”

We sat at the antique-looking table, and he pointed up to the ceiling, which was covered in silk flowers and feathers.

“Now that's just ridiculous,” I said, giggling. “I love it.”

The mudroom was decorated with a variety of footwear running up and down the walls, but with the evening sun filtering in through the wisteria vines covering the window panes, the place was as golden and romantic as anywhere I'd ever been.

He reached for my hand across the table and grasped my fingertips gently. “You look so beautiful tonight. The shirt matches your eyes, and your creamy skin is positively glowing.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling the flush of my cheeks turning red.

With my free hand, I rubbed the spot on my leg where he'd pinched me. It was up high enough that the skirt covered it, but I'd noticed a bruise forming when I was in the changing room.

Our waitress came in and rattled off a long list of things that sounded French. Smith nodded knowingly and asked a dozen questions about the wine list. It hit me: I was nervous because I was completely outclassed. He was a bestselling author, and if memory served me correctly, he'd already been wealthy from business endeavors even before he started writing.

And who was I? A barely-middle-class girl with freckles and a pile of student loan debt. I didn't know what all the various-sized forks laid out in front of me were for. I knew one was for salad, and one for the main course, but there were more than two.

Smith had let go of my hand when the waitress came in, and I was wringing a napkin nervously on my lap.

The waitress turned and asked me which wine I'd prefer.

“You decide,” I said, smiling at Smith. “I think sometimes you know what I want before even I do.”

The waitress grinned and said, “Have you two been dating long?” Apparently the hostess hadn't passed along Smith's fib that we were cousins.

“No,” I said. “We're not—”

“Less than a month,” he said, beaming. “We met scuba diving and she saved my life.”

The waitress tilted her head. “Aww!”

“Yes,” I said, kicking him under the table. “That was really… unbelievable. Like something out of a book.”

“Or a movie,” the waitress said. “I love the meet-cute.”

“He barfed,” I said.

“Sweetie!” He pretended to be shocked and embarrassed.

The waitress giggled, each little laugh making her look more stupid to me and more interesting to Smith.

Grinning, Smith took another look over the wine list and made his selection, then ordered food for both of us.

After the waitress left, I said, “Thank you for ordering for me. I had no idea what anything was.”

He laughed, tipping his head back and filling the mudroom with his booming laughter.

I kicked him again. “Don't laugh at me.”

He frowned. “You're being silly. Who cares what some waitress thinks? As long as she doesn't think you're rude, and stick her dirty thumb in your food, it doesn't matter.”

“I guess. Easy for you to say, with your big wallet full of cash and your… good looks.”

Looking smug, he turned to look out the window at the lush green garden. “My good looks, you say? Do go on.”

“You're not bad-looking, for an older guy.”

“Ouch.”

“Smith, can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me two. Now go ahead with the second one.”

The waitress came by with our wine, so I waited until we were alone, and said, “Is this how you wrote all your novels?”

He swirled his wine and stared into his glass. “You mean did I have sex with my other typists? Come now, I didn't ask you for your sexual history.” He leaned across the table with his glass raised in a toast. “To fresh stories.”

“To fresh stories.”

Despite my toast, I wasn't satisfied with Smith's answer. In the olden days, pre-internet, a woman would have to wait for a man to divulge his secrets, but these were not the dark ages. I had my cell phone with me. After we ate dinner, I excused myself to the washroom, where I did some web searches on his name.

It took me ages to find anything that wasn't a book review or a fluffy interview. What little I did find was not exactly what I wanted, but still illuminating.

I discovered that he preferred to write first drafts in his cabin in Vermont, which meant the cabin wasn't a brand-new thing. One article said he spent months researching his stories ahead of time and outlining them. That part was news to me, as I hadn't seen any notes or outlines at the cabin. I read on, to a quote from him, where he said he put away all his research when it came time to write the first draft, and went on his memory alone. He said that if an element of the book didn't stick in his memory, then it wasn't important enough to have in the book.