Raw (Erotic Romance) (2 page)

She grinned at the memory of Declan propping her up on top of the rumbling machine before mounting her.  Her grin morphed into a trembling sigh as she recalled how they had moved in tandem with the cycle of the washing machine and reached explosive orgasms on top of the cold metal.  Resolutely, she flipped the light switch off and went upstairs, determined not to spend the next two weeks fantasizing incessantly about Declan.  She had already put too much of herself on a shelf since marrying him.

Feeling a rush of her pre-marriage independence rise up like a furor inside of her, Trisha strolled into the day room and set up her easel by the window.  It had been too long since she painted, and today she would devote all her energy to rediscovering her favorite hobby.  But as she dipped the brush into a flesh toned oil paint, the only image in her mind’s eye was of Declan’s magnificent naked body.

At 6’2” and 185 pounds, he was a flawlessly built piece of eye candy with the sweetest baby blue eyes to offset his overwhelming masculinity.  Trisha had fallen in love with him the day they met at a vending machine in college.  Her coins had gotten stuck in the contraption, and Declan used his muscular
prowess to shake her can of soda through the shoot.  She giggled, remembering how macho he had seemed that day.  But when he told her he was planning to go to medical school to become a pediatrician, she decided to overlook his occasional caveman slipups and cocky attitude.

Trisha glanced at the canvas and blushed, realizing that her hand had somehow stroked the paint into the shape of a male torso.  Sighing in frustration, she set the paintbrush down and tried to ignore the wetness sticking like glue to her panties.  But she couldn’t resist.  Shoving her sundress up to her hips, she closed her eyes and imagined Declan standing there, brushing paint strategically on her body.  She stroked her clit vigorously as the graphic images
crystallized and she could picture him tormenting her nipples with the bristles of the brush.  Moaning softly, she pleasured herself on the artist’s stool, ignoring her cell phone as it beeped with a new message.

Absorbed in the delight vibrating through her clit, she rubbed herself faster, pretending that Declan was spreading the paintbrush over her thighs.  She ground her hips up and down on the stool as she whipped her
hand against her clit before impaling herself with one finger.  Envisioning Declan’s rigid cock inside her, she bounced up and down on her finger, clenching her jaw as she longed to feel his imposing size instead.  She threw her head back and tossed her hair restlessly as her fingers provided maddening stimulation but little satisfaction.

“Declan,” she murmured, yearning to sheath him with her dripping wetness and fuck mindlessly on the floor of the dayroom.

Her cell phone beeped again as she worked herself closer to an orgasm, stuffing her fingers inside herself and writhing against the stool.  In her frenzy, she knocked a tray of oil paintings on the floor, cursing under her breath as she increased the pressure of her fingers.  Gliding her fingertips over her enflamed clit, Trisha daydreamed of Declan picking up one of the spilled paints and smearing the contents across her body to transform her skin into a sensual collage.  Roughly, she shoved her fingers against her bounty, urgent for release.

As she ignored the third beeping of her phone, a series of waves crested through her as she cried out into the empty room.  Her cries of desolate gratification echoed throughout the house as her clit spasmed beneath her fingers and the climax washed over her like a summer downpou
r.  Breathing heavily, she sat up straight on the stool, pulling her skirt down her thighs and wobbling to her feet.  The severity of her release made her feel lightheaded as she walked over to her phone.

Eagerly, she retrieved a trio of text messages from Declan:

Hi sweetie, I’m here.  Safe and sound.  Just got dropped off at the campsite.  Terrible cell service here.  Hope this goes through.  Love you.

Trisha held in a flood of tears as she tapped onto the next message.

Me again.  Damn you’re on my mind.  Couldn’t stop fantasizing about you on the plane or in the cab.  Damn.

She smiled
through her unshed tears, mollified that he was already going crazy over the separation.  Trisha felt a pang of compassion for her husband, knowing that he probably hadn’t been able to indulge in a little selfish rendezvous the way she had.  The third message set her aflame again despite the climax she had just enjoyed.

I wish you were here with me right now.  I’d kiss you for an hour and stay inside you for another two.  Remember the washing machine?  That’s on my mind now.  Before it was sex on the beach in Aruba.  Damn.

Although she was inclined to pleasure herself again thinking about the honeymoon memory, Trisha knew she had to answer her husband’s texts before he got worried.  With a saucy expression on her face, she punched a risqué message into the phone.

Hi babe…glad you’re safe.  I was just doing laundry and thinking the same thing…and you’ll never believe what I did on my artist’s stool just now.  The dayroom will never be the same…

In less than two minutes, Declan’s reply flashed on her phone.

Ohhhh (that’s me groaning in agony).  Did you touch yourself?  Damn those lucky hands.  I need details.  Have mercy.

Trisha grinned and wrote back a coquettish flurry of details.

Let’s just say I feel pretty good right now.  I got so into it that I knocked my paints over.  I was thinking about you hard inside me the whole time.  Like I said when you left, I’m going to keep you up all night
…

Satisfied that he would be yearning for her even more, she put the phone aside and started painting again.  She swept a slender brush across a fresh canvas and traced the lines of a beach setting.

“I’ll surprise Declan when he gets back with a painting of Aruba…and us having sex on the beach,” she said naughtily, dabbing another brush with bronze paint and morphing their naked bodies from the hue.

Her phone beeped again as she sighed, reading the urgent message.

Are you wet right now?  Because I can’t even tell you how hard I am.  But there are people all around me.  Damn do good doctors!  No privacy on this campsite.  How am I going to get through these two weeks?  It’s torture.  Send me a picture…in your birthday suit. Please.

Taken aback, Trisha wasn’t sure how to react to his request.  They had never been apart for more than a few days, so there hadn’t been a need for him to ask for racy photos.  It felt borderline sleazy to be sending a
naked photo of herself.  Pursing her lips uncertainly, she wrote back without attaching a photograph.

Why do you want a naked pic?  You’ll only get harder and
can’t do anything about it.  You have plenty of naked pictures of me in your head.  How about the time we did it on the kitchen table?  Just imagine me all splayed out like a banquet for you…

Trisha set the phone down and eagerly returned to her canvas, but Declan was persistent.

I remember that.  Vividly.  But come on.  Just send me a pic or two.  I’m sensory deprived right now.

Breathing nervously, Trisha acquiesced and peeled her skirt up to her belly.  Aiming the camera phone at her pink bounty, she took a close up shot.  As the camera softly clicked, she was surprised by how excited she felt.  Experimentally, she pushed the straps of her dress
off her shoulders and pulled her bra cups down.  She rubbed her nipples for a minute to make them stand out.  Then she snapped a photo of her bare forearms pressing her cleavage together.

Placing the camera phone on the stool, she bent over and got a shot of her swinging breasts.  She took one more shot of her index finger pressing into her clit.  Swallowing her nervousness, Trisha sent the photos to Declan, blushing all the while.  Ten minutes passed, and he didn’t text her back.  She bit her lip, wondering what the reason was for the delay.  Trying to focus her attention on the painting, she mixed a few colors on her palette and stroked a scarlet sunset onto the canvas.

Twenty minutes went by, and still Declan did not even acknowledge her photos.  She glanced at the phone, tempted to text and ask why he hadn’t replied.  It was late at night in Cambodia.  Dismally, she wondered if he didn’t find her photos arousing enough and had fallen asleep.  Finally, her phone beeped with a new message, and she lunged for it, ravenously reading Declan’s words.

Oh damn.  I had to find a private place here.  I just took those succulent pictures of you and had a little fun under a tree.  Phew.  I feel better now.  Sort of.  I’ll be looking at those pictures of you when I wake up in the morning…love you.  Good night.

Smirking in satisfaction, Trisha neglected to reply and focused in earnest on her canvas.  Tomorrow was Monday, and she would have to trudge to her dull job as an administrative assistant in downtown San Diego.  But for today, she could devote the rest of her time to painting…and fantasizing.

***

The next morning, Trisha’s alarm clock buzzed merciles
sly at her bedside.  She slammed her hand on the nightstand to shut the alarm off, grumbling in a half sleep state.  California sunshine filtered brightly through the gauze curtains as she stretched and yawned.  Rolling over to Declan’s side of the bed, she pressed her face into his pillow and breathed in, just as she had done with his tee shirt.

Reluctantly, she forced herself out of bed and into the shower.  The August heat was dry, but she still felt sweltering and turned the spigot to the coldest setting.  As the cold water splashed over her
body, she envisioned Declan swimming naked across the Pacific Ocean to get to her.  Grabbing the removable shower head and pointing it at her bounty, she made believe that he was standing behind her, stroking his turgid cock as he watched her.

She moaned as the water pressure created a wellspring of sensations in her core.  Ribbons of pleasure streamed through her body as she directed the frigid water onto her clit.  Her clit became engorged with blood and excitement as the water rushed over it.  Rhythmically, Trisha moved her hand forward and back, spraying the water inside of herself and shivering with desire.  Not satisfied with the water pressure, she scooped up a bar of soap and inserted it in her
channel.

With one hand, she sprayed the water onto her clit and with the other hand she shifted the soap in and out of her wetness.  The combination of sensations was deliciously intense, and she squeezed her eyes shut, picturing Declan
entering her from behind and reaching around to massage her breasts.  The water cascaded like pearls over her skin as she pressed the bar of soap deeper inside, gliding it in and out easily as the cold water kept flowing.

Her breasts quivered from the temperature of the water, the nipples painfully erect and the areolae
becoming puffy.  Dropping the bar of soap onto the hard tile, she replaced it with her fingers, spreading them over her clit with deliberate pressure.  Stimulated beyond belief, Trisha whimpered as the sound came out like a lusty gurgle mixing with the water.  She bucked against her fingers, bringing the nozzle of the shower head closer to her clit and drenching the bud in chilly droplets.  As the water drizzled over her vibrating flesh, she stiffened against her fingers, feeling spasms rip through her clit.

Knowing that no one could hear her, she let out a scream, rubbing her fingers against her clit to extend the orgasm.  The gushing water intensified her release as she felt her clit go numb and her muscles
slowly relax.  Collapsing against the tiled wall, she turned the water off and just stood there, breathing heavily.  Trisha was so depleted from her climax that she longed to crawl back into bed and sleep for another two hours.  But she dragged herself out of the shower, quickly towel drying her hair and stumbling into her bedroom to get dressed.

Even though she had
indulged herself twice in the past 24 hours, she still felt enormously unsatisfied.  Snapping her bra on roughly, she admitted to herself that she wouldn’t feel complete until Declan was back.  He needed to be the one showering her with orgasms.  The pleasure she gave herself was a minor relief and left her unbelievably hungry.

All throughout the long day in her cubicle, she couldn’t focus on her work.  She picked up the framed wedding photo that she kept on her desk and stared at it longingly.  From the picture, Declan stared back at her, dapper and devastating in his tuxedo.  She put the photo down and tried to compose a few business emails, but her words kept getting jumbled.  Exasperated with herself,
Trisha stole an early lunch, sitting by herself in the cafeteria and staring out the window, wondering for the thousandth time what Declan was doing.

***

Cambodia

Declan settled into his sleeping bag for the night, exhausted from a long day of
conducting pediatric medical exams and administering vaccines.  Looking into the innocent orphans’ wondrous sable eyes, he knew he had made the right decision in volunteering to come to Cambodia.  Missing Trisha was painful, but it was a necessary pain…and one that he knew would lead to many pleasures.

He tossed inside his stuffy sleeping bag, feeling a familiar hardness rise up in him.  Declan resisted the compulsion to grab his phone and gawk at Trisha’s seductive photos again. 
Just a few feet away, one of his colleagues was snoring, and Declan didn’t want to be caught in an embarrassing situation.  He would just have to withstand the torment of being half a world away from his wife.  Drifting off to sleep with a full erection, Declan remembered a particularly erotic Valentine’s Day they had spent together…