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Authors: Strange Attractions
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gave one, hard throb and then he was gone, a pulsing, salty flood.
Clearly B.G. had been waiting for this release; it seemed to go on and on. Eric was happy to let it, milking each spasm with steady tugs. He knew he'd never forget the sound of B.G.'s groans.
As they waned, he let his lips grow softer, licking tenderly upward and across the crown. When B.G.
couldn't bear any more stimulation, Eric crawled up his side and collapsed on his back. B.G. lay in the same position beside him, panting and sweating, powerless to move except for reaching out to take Eric's pinky in the hook of his own. Their breathing echoed through the clean kitchen, making Eric wish he had the wherewithal to start again. His chest was still pounding from his orgasm, his cock still twitching with tingling waves. He felt as if he'd been hit by a very pleasurable truck.
"Wow," B.G. finally said with a contented sigh. "I have to admit, that was more in line with my concept of a first time."
"Mine, too," Eric agreed, though—to be honest—it was far better than he'd dreamed.
The end of the story left a hanging silence in her little room. Eric eased away from her as if his body hurt.
Charity understood how he felt. What she didn't understand was how he could stop. Disbelieving, she craned her head around. She found herself wishing he looked a little sillier with that raging boner poking from his shirt. Instead, the visual destroyed any hope she had of getting her hormones under control.
"You're going to leave me like this? After telling me that?"
"Those are the rules, Charity. You're encouraged to get aroused, but no one takes or gives release without permission."
On his face was the same uptight look she'd seen on every Dudley Do-Right she'd ever met. She wasn't sure what Eric's problem was, but in her experience, the expression generally meant the man who wore it was dying to be led astray.
Hub , she thought. We'll see who gives permission to whom .
"Just one question," she said before she swung out of bed to re-dress. "Is your boss really that good a kisser?"
His boyish grin wiped away his primness. "He's all that and more. In fact, the only person I've met who comes close to kissing that well is you."
Chapter Five
Eric knew his compliment to Charity would prick as much as it pleased—which was why he'd put it the way he had. What he hadn't guessed was that implying her kisses came second to B.G.'s would exponentially increase her determination to assert her power.
She stewed—very prettily, he thought—during the ferry ride across the sound. The day had cleared until the sky was no more than hazy, making a postcard of the low green islands they chugged around. The Olympic Mountains spread across the horizon like a mirage, their bases blue, their rugged peaks streaked with snow. Despite the drama of the scene, apart from some gulls wheeling overhead on the hunt for fish, every male eye in sight was glued to Charity's knockout body in the demure pink dress.
She was a dark-haired Marilyn decked out as Jackie O, from her gleaming waved coiffure to her cream-colored two-inch pumps. Despite his extensive experience with women—and good-looking women at that—the subtle shifting of her curves behind the knee-length knit left him mesmerized. Even Maurice, normally careful about getting too close to guests, let her coax him to her side by the rail.
When the former wrestler loaned Charity his jacket to shield her from the sound's cool breeze, Eric's only recourse was to roll his eyes. There was, after all, no rule against being a gentleman.
He was forced to listen, admittedly with amusement, while she twirled her hair and prattled suggestively.
Did Maurice enjoy driving stick, she wanted to know, or was it hard to get comfortable? Had he needed time to adjust, or did he plunge right in? Her hand drifted to her bosom as she confessed she couldn't imagine driving that way herself, but maybe if someone showed her—patiently, gently, taking
Clearly B.G. had been waiting for this release; it seemed to go on and on. Eric was happy to let it, milking each spasm with steady tugs. He knew he'd never forget the sound of B.G.'s groans.
As they waned, he let his lips grow softer, licking tenderly upward and across the crown. When B.G.
couldn't bear any more stimulation, Eric crawled up his side and collapsed on his back. B.G. lay in the same position beside him, panting and sweating, powerless to move except for reaching out to take Eric's pinky in the hook of his own. Their breathing echoed through the clean kitchen, making Eric wish he had the wherewithal to start again. His chest was still pounding from his orgasm, his cock still twitching with tingling waves. He felt as if he'd been hit by a very pleasurable truck.
"Wow," B.G. finally said with a contented sigh. "I have to admit, that was more in line with my concept of a first time."
"Mine, too," Eric agreed, though—to be honest—it was far better than he'd dreamed.
The end of the story left a hanging silence in her little room. Eric eased away from her as if his body hurt.
Charity understood how he felt. What she didn't understand was how he could stop. Disbelieving, she craned her head around. She found herself wishing he looked a little sillier with that raging boner poking from his shirt. Instead, the visual destroyed any hope she had of getting her hormones under control.
"You're going to leave me like this? After telling me that?"
"Those are the rules, Charity. You're encouraged to get aroused, but no one takes or gives release without permission."
On his face was the same uptight look she'd seen on every Dudley Do-Right she'd ever met. She wasn't sure what Eric's problem was, but in her experience, the expression generally meant the man who wore it was dying to be led astray.
Hub , she thought. We'll see who gives permission to whom .
"Just one question," she said before she swung out of bed to re-dress. "Is your boss really that good a kisser?"
His boyish grin wiped away his primness. "He's all that and more. In fact, the only person I've met who comes close to kissing that well is you."
Chapter Five
Eric knew his compliment to Charity would prick as much as it pleased—which was why he'd put it the way he had. What he hadn't guessed was that implying her kisses came second to B.G.'s would exponentially increase her determination to assert her power.
She stewed—very prettily, he thought—during the ferry ride across the sound. The day had cleared until the sky was no more than hazy, making a postcard of the low green islands they chugged around. The Olympic Mountains spread across the horizon like a mirage, their bases blue, their rugged peaks streaked with snow. Despite the drama of the scene, apart from some gulls wheeling overhead on the hunt for fish, every male eye in sight was glued to Charity's knockout body in the demure pink dress.
She was a dark-haired Marilyn decked out as Jackie O, from her gleaming waved coiffure to her cream-colored two-inch pumps. Despite his extensive experience with women—and good-looking women at that—the subtle shifting of her curves behind the knee-length knit left him mesmerized. Even Maurice, normally careful about getting too close to guests, let her coax him to her side by the rail.
When the former wrestler loaned Charity his jacket to shield her from the sound's cool breeze, Eric's only recourse was to roll his eyes. There was, after all, no rule against being a gentleman.
He was forced to listen, admittedly with amusement, while she twirled her hair and prattled suggestively.
Did Maurice enjoy driving stick, she wanted to know, or was it hard to get comfortable? Had he needed time to adjust, or did he plunge right in? Her hand drifted to her bosom as she confessed she couldn't imagine driving that way herself, but maybe if someone showed her—patiently, gently, taking
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