Read Online Naked Came the Stranger by Penelope Ashe, Mike McGrady - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Penelope Ashe, Mike McGrady
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incoherently.
"Rabbi Turnbull, are you all right?"
"Never mind me," he hissed. "Think of Rabbi Elisha." Gillian was
solicitous. The poor man was in obvious pain and she searched for
ways to comfort him. "Would you like a massage?" she asked. The mere
suggestion caused Turnbull to swoon into a comatose state. A half
hour passed before his moribund powers were restored.
And no sooner had feeling returned to the affected parts than he
once again reached out for Gillian.
"Your clothes," he gasped. "Take off your clothes."
She laughed, pulled away, teased. That crazy shiksa, she
wants me to work. In this condition, she wants me to work. He managed
to rip off her dress. The sight of her long, faintly tanned legs
below black net panties set off new explosions of lust in his belly.
Avoiding the bedpost, he pounced again. Gillian tried to kick loose,
but he had her pinned this time and was covering her mouth with wet
kisses. Then, holding her fast, he began working his way down. He
traced her navel with his tongue and reached for her smooth, high,
arched buttocks when the phone on the night table began ringing.
"Don't answer it," he whispered.
"Why are you whispering?" she said.
The phone kept ringing, insisting, a noisy witness to an act
rendered suddenly ludicrous.
"Forget about it," the rabbi said. "Forget about that fucking
phone."
" Ra bbi!" The shock in her voice caused him to loosen his
hold. "I can't forget it, it's probably William. If I don't answer,
he'll be suspicious."
Turnbull groaned, relaxed. She rolled away from him and picked up
the phone.
"Hello. Yes, everything's fine. Why?"
"William?" the rabbi whispered.
No, she indicated. Turnbull clapped his hand over his eyes,
groaned aloud. Gillian continued to chat aimlessly for fifteen
minutes despite his imploring hand signals. It seemed to be the
smallest talk possible. From time to time he reached out to touch
her, but she brushed him away. By the end of the call, he was doubled
over on the bed again, muttering incoherently. As the thought of
strangling her with the phone cord came to him, Gillian calmly hung
up.
"Why didn't you hang up right away?" he asked.
"Am I answering to you already, rabbi?"
"Joshua," he said, "call me Joshua."
"Well, Joshua, that happened to be Mario Vella."
"The gangster fellow?"
"The same," she said. "I don't understand why he calls me, but
sometimes he says he just wants to talk. And I don't think it would
be particularly wise to hang up on him."
"But Mrs. Blake, Gillian, when a man and a woman are in
bed…."
"…The world doesn't end," she finished it.
Turnbull looked at her for a moment. She was kneeling opposite him
on the bed. He unhooked her brassiere, and this time Gillian offered
no resistance. He removed it and bit softly at her breasts. They
waved at him, pennants in the wind of lust, and he bit deeply into
the acid of her dugs. Then he pulled off the black net panties
– there was a cellophane sound as they were peeled past her
thighs. They stuck at her knees. What he had hoped (and prayed, even)
would be a smooth operation was spoiled as he had to fumble about her
knees and she arched to let him finish slipping them off. Turnbull
rose from the bed and then, clad only in his beard, rejoined her. He
watched with the patience of the sages as Gillian removed the
earrings and the bracelet.
Turnbull delayed it, made it last, stared at the naked woman
waiting on the sheets for him. Then, as if making an elaborate bow,
he took hold of her and pressed hard against her slightly parted
legs. He sewed her body with a thread of bites and kisses, dwelling
on the tight high pack of her working hips and patching them with
little pink squares. Finally he rose up over her, shadowed her with
the majesty of his manhood, noticed that her legs were still
closed.
"Not yet, Joshua," she said. "Not yet. Kiss my knees first."
"Your knees?"
"My knees."
"Would you prefer the caps or the hollows?"
"Just kiss them, Joshua."
One
"Rabbi Turnbull, are you all right?"
"Never mind me," he hissed. "Think of Rabbi Elisha." Gillian was
solicitous. The poor man was in obvious pain and she searched for
ways to comfort him. "Would you like a massage?" she asked. The mere
suggestion caused Turnbull to swoon into a comatose state. A half
hour passed before his moribund powers were restored.
And no sooner had feeling returned to the affected parts than he
once again reached out for Gillian.
"Your clothes," he gasped. "Take off your clothes."
She laughed, pulled away, teased. That crazy shiksa, she
wants me to work. In this condition, she wants me to work. He managed
to rip off her dress. The sight of her long, faintly tanned legs
below black net panties set off new explosions of lust in his belly.
Avoiding the bedpost, he pounced again. Gillian tried to kick loose,
but he had her pinned this time and was covering her mouth with wet
kisses. Then, holding her fast, he began working his way down. He
traced her navel with his tongue and reached for her smooth, high,
arched buttocks when the phone on the night table began ringing.
"Don't answer it," he whispered.
"Why are you whispering?" she said.
The phone kept ringing, insisting, a noisy witness to an act
rendered suddenly ludicrous.
"Forget about it," the rabbi said. "Forget about that fucking
phone."
" Ra bbi!" The shock in her voice caused him to loosen his
hold. "I can't forget it, it's probably William. If I don't answer,
he'll be suspicious."
Turnbull groaned, relaxed. She rolled away from him and picked up
the phone.
"Hello. Yes, everything's fine. Why?"
"William?" the rabbi whispered.
No, she indicated. Turnbull clapped his hand over his eyes,
groaned aloud. Gillian continued to chat aimlessly for fifteen
minutes despite his imploring hand signals. It seemed to be the
smallest talk possible. From time to time he reached out to touch
her, but she brushed him away. By the end of the call, he was doubled
over on the bed again, muttering incoherently. As the thought of
strangling her with the phone cord came to him, Gillian calmly hung
up.
"Why didn't you hang up right away?" he asked.
"Am I answering to you already, rabbi?"
"Joshua," he said, "call me Joshua."
"Well, Joshua, that happened to be Mario Vella."
"The gangster fellow?"
"The same," she said. "I don't understand why he calls me, but
sometimes he says he just wants to talk. And I don't think it would
be particularly wise to hang up on him."
"But Mrs. Blake, Gillian, when a man and a woman are in
bed…."
"…The world doesn't end," she finished it.
Turnbull looked at her for a moment. She was kneeling opposite him
on the bed. He unhooked her brassiere, and this time Gillian offered
no resistance. He removed it and bit softly at her breasts. They
waved at him, pennants in the wind of lust, and he bit deeply into
the acid of her dugs. Then he pulled off the black net panties
– there was a cellophane sound as they were peeled past her
thighs. They stuck at her knees. What he had hoped (and prayed, even)
would be a smooth operation was spoiled as he had to fumble about her
knees and she arched to let him finish slipping them off. Turnbull
rose from the bed and then, clad only in his beard, rejoined her. He
watched with the patience of the sages as Gillian removed the
earrings and the bracelet.
Turnbull delayed it, made it last, stared at the naked woman
waiting on the sheets for him. Then, as if making an elaborate bow,
he took hold of her and pressed hard against her slightly parted
legs. He sewed her body with a thread of bites and kisses, dwelling
on the tight high pack of her working hips and patching them with
little pink squares. Finally he rose up over her, shadowed her with
the majesty of his manhood, noticed that her legs were still
closed.
"Not yet, Joshua," she said. "Not yet. Kiss my knees first."
"Your knees?"
"My knees."
"Would you prefer the caps or the hollows?"
"Just kiss them, Joshua."
One
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