Lynda's Lace (7 page)

“Absolutely,” she promised, then leaned in for another kiss. To her surprise, she could still taste remnants of her juices on his lips. “And if you want to know what’s on my mind right now, it’s how incredibly you licked me tonight.”

A hint of wicked pride entered his gaze. “Your pussy is inspiring.”

They laughed softly together—and Lynda got an idea. She wanted her pussy to inspire her lover even more, and she thought she knew exactly how to accomplish that. Right now, her mound was covered with pale brown hair, well-trimmed but not shaven. She usually kept it bare, but she hadn’t shaved it since she’d met Jordan—afraid he’d be shocked or think it too naughty, too much of a sign that she was a wild woman.

“You know what I bet would make eating me even nicer for you?”

“I can’t imagine,” he chuckled. “What’s that, precious?”

“Well,” she began, tentatively, even shyly, “when we were in the strip club, I noticed how most of the dancers were smooth down there, no hair. And watching you lick me, well…I wondered if maybe that would make it better for you.”

When she gathered the courage to meet his gaze, he looked thoroughly excited. “I’d never ask you to do that for me, baby, but…yeah, it probably
would
be nice. Although, that seems like a dangerous place to shave,” he added.

Little did he know that she was an expert at such hair removal, with years of practice. “Well, maybe I’ll get brave enough to give it a try,” she offered. “We’ll see.”

Not that this meant she was still trying to ease Jordan into
her
brand of fucking.

No, she was going to
love
all the lace he gave her. She was going to love their sex, no matter how vanilla. And most importantly, she was going to love
him
.

If she could find little things to excite them both a bit more—like a denuded
cunt
—all the better. But she was in love and committed to being content, and even happy, with the same kind of sex
most
people had, once and for all.

Chapter Four

“It’s been good talking to you. I’ll get back to you soon.” Jordan hung up the phone, pleased that the man he’d met at the strip club the other night wanted a quote on a sizable order of merchandise and sounded like he planned on doing business. Then he set about keying the order into the computer.

Yet as he typed in item numbers and quantities, his mind drifted to the same place it always drifted lately, to Lynda.

He’d spoken words of love to only a few special women in his thirty-eight years, and she was the first in a very long while. And though he’d always enjoyed his bachelor status, he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, the time was coming to share his life with a woman in that all-important way—that maybe he wanted to get married.

So he loved this woman, yet…he found himself wanting to do awful things with her. Like that rough sex in the alley. He still didn’t know where that had come from. And he still suffered some guilt for getting so intimate with her in that strip club in front of Steven. Admittedly, he’d been turned on by the lovely erotic dancers. And Lynda had looked beyond incredible in that pretty lace dress. But that still didn’t explain what had come over him. He’d never wanted a woman with such urgency before, and he continued feeling like a brute for it, so it had to stop.

In addition to that, he remained plagued with wondering what she was holding back from him. Even through all they’d shared the other night and how understanding she’d been, and later how passionate, he’d still sensed her holding something inside, not being completely forthcoming with him—even when she’d denied it. Was it just in his head?

Well, he knew one thing that
wasn’t
in his head—his hard-on. The damn thing remained a near-constant in his life, always keeping him on edge because it never went away for long. Now, he felt his cock growing, rising, over the memory of fucking her in the alley. He didn’t want to salivate over the recollection, but he’d clearly enjoyed what they’d done—which he just plain didn’t understand.

Only now, when he fantasized about it, he found himself imagining that he pushed up her dress to find a smooth, bare pussy—which had started with her offer to shave for him. He’d kind of thought only strippers and porn stars did that—but the idea definitely appealed, and was adding to his arousal problems.

Just then, the door opened and Steven walked in. “Hey, bud, my
binocs
in yet?”

Jordan nodded. “Just came this morning.” Steven had ordered a set of super-high-powered binoculars last week.

As Jordan reached under the counter to get them, he added, “Heard from
Nate
this morning, too. Thanks again for the recommendation and introduction.”

Steven let out a slight laugh. “You weren’t the only one who was glad you changed your mind and stopped by. I have to admit, I thoroughly enjoyed meeting your girl, and
Nate
and his friend thought she was a real
looker
, too. She’s very hot, man, and also very cool.”

Jordan smiled at the description. “Yeah, she’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?”

“You ever want to share, just let me know,” Steven added with a wink.

But Jordan was shaking his head before Steven even finished talking. “Not
gonna
happen.”

Yet after Steven had paid for his binoculars and exited the store, leaving Jordan in quiet surroundings again, a new fantasy entered his head, unbidden. He envisioned Lynda back in Michael’s with him—back in her tight lace dress—fucking him while all the other guys watched in awe. He saw them sitting in a plush chair placed up on the stage, her straddling him, the dress at her hips. He saw her thrusting her gorgeous breasts at his mouth, the lace pulled down just as it had been in the alley, as she rode him, grinding hard.

Before Jordan knew it, he found himself leaving the front counter, heading into his office. Taking a seat at his desk, he unzipped his pants and let his erection burst free. As usual, a relief—but he needed more. He took his thick cock in his fist and began to pump. Behind his closed eyes, he imagined Lynda’s pussy squeezed him instead of his hand, imagined her beautiful face lost in passion, imagined her breasts bouncing before his eyes until she came, screaming and moaning, as the men surrounding them yelled their raucous approval. And then
Jordan
came—on his desk and pants. Shit. Not even time to reach for a tissue. And a fine example of the insanity the woman wrought in him.

Damn it, what was happening to him? Why did he want things with her he’d never wanted with anyone else? And why did it have to happen with a woman who he’d fallen in love with, a woman he’d never want to offend or hurt or risk in any way.

He looked down at his still-erect cock and said, “You picked a fine time to start liking kinky shit.”

* * * * *

It was Monday morning and Jordan had just spent an invigorating weekend with Lynda.

On Saturday, they’d had breakfast together at
L’Madeleine’s
on Jackson Square, then walked along the Mississippi, hand in hand, watching barges and fishing boats and soaking up a sunny day. They’d listened to a little jazz in an open air cafe near the French Market while sipping on hurricanes, then rented a movie and headed back to her apartment to watch it over pizza. They’d made love for an hour before falling asleep.

On Sunday, they’d driven the short distance to Metairie, where Jordan had introduced her to his parents and younger sister, Pam, along with Pam’s husband Chad and their two kids, a niece and nephew of twelve and ten who Jordan loved to spoil rotten. Lynda had been nervous, he could tell, but had finally relaxed over dinner in his parents’ dining room and later told him how much she liked them. They’d liked her, too—it had been obvious. His family was slightly well-to-do but not stodgy, and he suspected his mother appreciated in Lynda that same genuine quality that so attracted him to her, as well.

That evening they’d had dinner back in the Quarter—casual Italian at a place on Decatur, then headed back to her place again. He didn’t sleep over last night, but it had been hard to drag himself home to his house out on St. Charles in the Garden District after more incredible sex. She’d sucked his cock so well that he’d felt himself falling in love with her more every hot second, and he’d returned the
favor
, having discovered that licking Lynda’s pussy was his
favorite
thing to do with his mouth these days. If he were forced to make a choice between Lynda’s
cunt
and food, he’d happily starve.

Now he stood behind the counter, caught up on his work and a little bored. Business was good, but Monday mornings were typically slow.

So, of course, his thoughts turned to his sweet lover.

And then his eyes, too.

He’d told her that he had, on occasion, demonstrated a few of the tiny spy cameras he sold by honing in on her at Cajun Lady, which set diagonally up the street from Spy Games. Customers seemed to find it amusing when he’d say, “Let’s spy on my girlfriend for a minute, see what she’s up to.” Today, no customers, but a new camera-in-sunglasses gadget that he hadn’t yet tried out.

Removing the glasses from a display shelf behind him, he slid them on and peered out the window toward Lynda’s shop. Then he touched the nearly invisible zoom feature above the left lens, holding the miniscule button in until the camera narrowed tightly on her door. A slight shift to the left and there she was—his lady stood behind the counter talking to a young woman with bouncy auburn hair, a pretty face and ample breasts held in a low-cut camisole. A customer, he supposed.

Lynda smiled as she spoke, then reached across the counter, lifting her hand gently to the girl’s chest to touch a large pendant hanging there. Lynda was into
jewelry
—always admiring it, especially anything antique. She slid her fingers beneath the pendant, cupping it to look more closely—and he suffered the first hint of a hard-on.

Shit. Why? What was so erotic about
that
?

But then he figured it out. Another girl. There was nothing sexual about the move, but something about watching Lynda touch another girl, even that innocently, was enough to spark arousal.

Because his passion for her was growing more intense with each passing day.

Sure, he’d kept it mostly under control this weekend, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t had a barrage of dirty thoughts about her running like a film strip through his head. He continued having the raging urge to do things with Lynda that he’d never done before.

At first, when this had started, he’d thought she simply inspired powerful fantasies, but the longer it went on, the more he couldn’t deny it—this was about more than fantasizing. This was about truly wanting to indulge in hedonistic acts he’d never before had any real interest in. His lack of control with Lynda after leaving the strip club had proven that, beyond a doubt. And he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Morning.”

Jordan took off the spy glasses to see Ginger
Larkins
, his second-in-command at Spy Games, walking in the door. When he’d first hired Ginger six years earlier, she’d only minded the store on weekends, but before long she’d wound up fixing the computers, keeping the books, you name it—and now he’d be lost without her. “Hey, Gin. Good weekend?”

“Two dates,” she replied with a confident shrug. The tall, shapely brunette exuded a cool confidence he’d noticed the first time he’d met her, at the tender age of twenty-five. Now, at thirty-one, she was even more attractive, and more self-assured as well. Her raven hair hung in a straight, blunt cut to her shoulders, and a sizable tattoo—something like a swirling spider web—stretched from her neck down onto one shoulder. She wore lots of rings, all different in design, claiming each was either a gift from—or just reminded her of—a particular lover.

“With?” he asked of the dates.

“On Friday, a guy who plays blues guitar sometimes at
Tipitina’s
. On Saturday, a girl who bartends at The Funky Pirate.” Ginger had announced she was bisexual a few years ago and since then, men and women had seemed completely interchangeable to her. Although she’d told Jordan she eventually expected to settle down with one person, for now, she enjoyed what she called “ultimate sexual freedom”.

“How’d they go?”

“Guitar player, thumbs down,” she said. “I thought he’d swallow my face when he kissed me. Bartender, though…maybe.” She shrugged again. “Kissed much better anyway. All over.”

Soon after meeting, he and Ginger had ended up in bed together one night after too much to drink, and that one encounter had somehow started a friendship in addition to their working relationship. But ever since Ginger had swung into her alternative lifestyle, Jordan had felt as if he didn’t know her very well anymore, as if it distanced them—he supposed he just couldn’t relate to her any longer. Thus her easily shared sex tales seldom affected him much one way or the other.

Today, unexpectedly, however, he found his dick growing hard at the vision of Ginger kissing another girl, and he couldn’t help but wonder—was something inside him suddenly changing? Or was this all about Lynda? He feared his
untamable
passion for her was now keeping him in such a constant state of arousal that it took less than ever to turn him on.

As Ginger shed her stylish black leather jacket, heading to the back room to hang it up, Jordan let his mind wander.