Read Online Best of Best Women's Erotica by Marcy Sheiner - Free Book Online

featherlight over my chest and up and down my neck. Sometimes he would trace the seams of my jeans. We’d sit like that for hours, while rehearsals were going on, in the darkness of the wings, until we were needed onstage. Sometimes I went on flushed and dizzy, unsure of where my feet were, unsure even of who I was, which character I was to play, or the words I was supposed to say. I went home every night dying to masturbate the minute I got to my room.
    Now Jason’s fingertip began to trace the flowery vines on my
dress. I shuddered a breath, in and out. I wanted to murmur sweet nothings in his ear, to give him a taste of the painful anticipation I was riding—but I could not speak. His finger slid along the center seam of my dress and came to rest at the crook of my hip. Then he turned my chin toward him, and before I could say anything, he smothered my unspoken words with a kiss.
    His fingers were drumming now, like a piano arpeggio, closer and closer to where my clit throbbed under layers of clothing. Yes, I wore panties, even when out on the prowl. His gentle tapping intensified my longing. I didn’t dare open my eyes, afraid that people were staring at us. He kept his rhythm even, his touch light, as if there were no urgency in him at all. The urgency was all inside me, making my shoulders tighten under his arm, my breath grow shallow, my jaw clench.
    And then came the train. He held my hand and pulled me into the car. There were only four or five people within earshot, none of whom paid us any attention. Jason pulled me down into a seat and right onto his lap.
    That finger of his was busy again, this time underneath my dress, pushing aside my cotton panties, then nosing back and forth through my wetness. More liquid was forthcoming, and I licked my mouth as if to match it.
    When his finger slid into me, I started to cry. You ninny, I was thinking, you’re going to ruin it, he’s going to freak and run away on you. But I couldn’t help it. His slow, gentle touch was going somewhere deep inside of me, somewhere I needed to be touched so much that the relief triggered tears. I clung to his neck and sobbed softly, my face hidden by drifts of my own hair, while his finger went in and out, soon joined by a second one. He could barely move his hand, jammed between my legs like that, but it was enough, just rocking. Then his
thumb perked up and rubbed against my lubricated clit, and I sobbed harder.
    â€œIt’s okay,” he said into my ear. “I know.”
    Feeling as I had during those confused moments of stumbling from the curtains in the wings, unsure where to stand or where to go, I now found myself being carried from the train. He had me in his arms and whispered in my ear and nibbled my neck, and the next thing I knew we were at my door and he was asking for my keys. He set me down on my feet and I opened the apartment door and we climbed the dark stairs.
    At the time I didn’t think it odd that he knew where to go; I was too grateful to be there, mere steps from the bedroom, where we soon were, me kneeling on the bed, him standing while I unbuttoned his white cotton shirt, unbuttoned his jeans, and revealed him. His silky red erection came free and I sighed. I cupped his balls with my hand and let my lips fall around him. Ahh. Mmm.
    He sensed that I didn’t want to waste time, and let me swallow him deep a few times before he pushed forward onto the bed, flattening me in the process. We shed the rest of our clothes and I pulled a condom out of the side table drawer. I kicked off my socks while he put it on. I wrapped my legs around his back and pulled him into me.
    With every thrust I felt like sparks flew down to my toes and shot out the tips of my fingers. I thought again of junior high, of a trip to the beach—baking in the sun for an hour and then running headlong down the sand and plunging into the cool water. An intensely pleasurable shock. A shockingly intense