Soul Keeper (5 page)

“I love you,” she whispered, wanting him to hear her voice in his dreams. “Want you in my life always.”

“Ditto, sweetheart.”

She jumped slightly, realizing that he was awake, smiled and breathed in the scents surrounding them—the bubble bath, the gel, sweat and sex. Hunger for him grew in her cunt, her sensitive clit swelling. Once again her tummy flipped over at the images flicking through her mind. Rob taking her from behind, his hands on her shoulders, ramming into her while she rubbed her clit. Rob holding her hips, guiding her cunt over his face and lifting his head to taste her.

Carrie groaned and arched her back, shoving herself against him. She swept her hand to his cock, surprised to find it hard, to find him as insatiable as she. Taking it in her hand, she massaged it, watching how the skin stretched then ruched. How the head swelled on the upstroke, a clear drip of leftover cum pooling on the tip, retreating as she pulled down. His heart sped up, the quick beat loud in her ear, and his breaths shortened. She propped herself onto her elbow then shifted into a sitting position before kneeling beside him, all the while fondling his cock.

She turned to look at his face. He regarded her with obvious curiosity as to what she planned to do next. Having loved the feel of his cock in her mouth and his tongue on her clit, she swung one leg over him and jutted her ass upward so she faced his feet. She lowered so he could reach her slit easily with a slight lift of his head. His hot tongue slid between her folds, and she stifled her moan with his cock, taking as much of him in as she could. The combination of Rob licking her and her sucking him brought on a swift shot of desire. Her clit ached from so much attention in such a short time, but she ignored the sweet pain and concentrated on encouraging her release to grow.

Head bobbing languidly, Carrie licked and sucked, her aim to bring him off with a torturously slow orgasm. Rob had the same idea, it seemed. He flattened his tongue and swept it up and down her crease, their rhythms in sync. Hands flat to the bed, she plunged her mouth down then drew up, creating a strong suction that made Rob’s bollocks twitch. His tongue stilled.

“Fuck! I’m going to come again, sweetheart,” he whispered.

His words and the return of his tongue on her ensured her orgasm burned, a tormenting, hot sweep of pleasure that infused her cunt and tightened her nipples. Her muffled moan puffed out around his cock, and she clamped her lips around him again and pulled up hard to take him out of her mouth. She cried out from the pleasure-pain of his tongue—the sharp jabs of the nerves in her clit almost too much to bear—and closed her fist around his base. Working him slowly, she aimed his cock at her breasts and bucked her hips as the last whoosh of her release came.

“No more,” she said. “I can’t take anymore.”

The bed jolted as Rob dropped his head to the mattress. Carrie looked down and pumped his cock, waiting for cum to jet out. Hot and quick, it slapped against her breasts, the next ejection coating her stomach. His hips rose as a feral groan ripped from him along with the last of his ejaculation. Rubbing his cock tip over her breasts, she smoothed in the cooling fluid, jerking every so often as her cunt recovered from Rob’s attentions.

Carrie eased herself upright. Letting his cock go, she massaged his cum into her skin. His hands caressed her outer thighs, and she marveled at how comfortable she was sitting on him backwards with the light on.

“Lay with me?” he asked.

Carrie maneuvered off him to settle by his side. She snuggled her cheek to his chest. Exhausted, her clit overly tender, she closed her eyes, too hot for the duvet. Sleep was going to snatch her away, and she wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

“I can’t go back home,” Rob said softly.

“What?” Carrie snapped her eyes open and lifted her head to look at him.

His gaze met hers. “I can’t go home. Not now.”

“But what about your job? Your home?” Her heart hammered so hard she felt nauseated.

“The house is rented. Furnished, you know that. I only have a few things of mine there.” He paused, stroked her cheek. “And my job? I’ll find another. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does except being with you.”

Hot tears blurred Carrie’s vision, and she had to blink several times in order to see him properly. “Are you sure? Are you
that
sure?”

“Aren’t you?”

He looked so worried she rushed out, “Yes! God, yes!”

“Then will you come back with me to collect my things?” He blushed and glanced away for a second before returning his gaze to her face. “I’m afraid if I leave you, you’ll change your mind once I’m gone.” He blinked and swallowed. “I couldn’t stand that, sweetheart.”

Carrie let the tears spill and smiled, her lips trembling in her effort not to sob like a stupid, silly young girl. Rob thumbed her tears away and raised his head to kiss her temple.

“Will you come?” he asked, brow furrowed.

She nodded, her body flooding with fresh love for him. “Yes. Yes, I’ll come, my beautiful soul keeper.”

Coming Soon from Totally Bound Publishing:

Magenta Starling

Natalie Dae

Released 14
th
July 2015

Excerpt

Chapter One

Naked and fondling her nipples, Morgan Lloyd reclined on the circular bed and gazed at the mirrored ceiling. Light from the chandelier brought the room into stark relief, and she considered the irony that the reflection above resembled her life. Upside down.

She closed her eyes and images of the previous night haunted her. An evening spent alone, channel surfing. No program had gained her complete attention. Her mind had swirled with questions. Questions as to whether her job prevented her from finding a lifelong partner—whether her need to prove she wasn’t frigid had prodded her to start her kinky massage business. She smiled at the idea of it being kinky. All she really did was massage while wearing saucy outfits.

She opened her eyes and stared at the wardrobe doors. Clothes she wore for her clients hung inside—rubber, satin, lace. Boots, thigh-high and knee-high, stood in regimented rows beneath.

She sighed. A poor excuse for a lazy fan whirred, unable to dissipate the hot air in the stuffy room. She moved one hand from her nipple down her stomach and found a home inside her damp folds. She grazed her clit, the sensitivity there strong, and her hips bucked involuntarily. She swirled her thumb around the clit and her cunt clenched, released, clenched. She let out a quiet moan and slid her index and middle fingers inside her.

The vision of a man she regularly massaged filled her mind and she shut her eyes again to see him better. Nude, he stood before her, his broad shoulders begging for her to dig her nails into them as she came. His tongue traced full lips, and she longed to suck it into her mouth, nip the end, have its soft wetness lick her clit. His thick cock, veins prominent in his arousal, jutted from his body. The head, a purple-hued dome, incited the urge to cover it with her lips—either set—and bring him release.

Morgan removed her fingers and used them to strum her clit faster. Her breaths ragged, she pinched her nipple. The sharp caresses wrought a burst of pleasure that shot to her clit and nudged her fingertips to rub harder, quicker. She crested, hips arched, and cried out the man’s name.

“Dion.”

She stilled her hands, lowered her ass to the bed, and allowed her legs to relax and flop outward. Her brown hair splayed over the pillow and across her face. Long, sweat-soaked tendrils stuck to her neck. Hotter now, she pushed out her bottom lip and blew. One tress lifted then fell back into place. The short burst of air dried the sweat on her face, and her skin tightened. Tears stung, but she refused to open her eyes to give them freedom to trail down her cheeks. Sour emotions welled, highlighting her loneliness, reminding Morgan of her self-imposed solitary existence outside her occupation.

One day. One day she’d find the perfect man. But for now she had work to do. Only two hours remained before her client arrived.

Dion.

* * * *

At anchor in the deepest part of the bay, Morgan’s large yacht, The Magenta Starling, bobbed intermittently on languid evening waves. Morgan stood on deck, leaned on the prow rail and took in the lit shoreline, a pitch sky the backdrop to golden lights. The ocean crept up the beach as though unsure of its welcome, yet retreated just as slowly. Music filtered from the bars and clubs, a cacophony of mingled beats, unrecognizable as any individual tune. A carnival atmosphere raged ashore, the same as every other summer night—nothing unusual for this part of the world, where holidaymakers partied hard and spent their cash fluidly.

If only they knew what their cash could buy here.

A taxi-boat chugged toward her yacht, the tall floodlights illuminating white foam in the smaller vessel’s wake. Morgan made out two occupants—the captain and her client. He’d telephoned earlier and requested an evening appointment, but she’d been fully booked this sultry Friday. As soon as the call had ended, her cell had rung again—her last evening client canceling. She’d contemplated another night alone before a rush of abandonment had gripped her. She’d contacted Dion and informed him that he could fill the free slot.

Now she released a harsh laugh at the pun. She hadn’t been filled in a long time. Unwilling to give herself to just anyone, she rebuffed any offers from clients wishing to include sex with their massages. No. She wanted a genuine relationship, not men who visited her for what they couldn’t get at home.

Morgan sighed and ousted the dismal thoughts. Tonight she would once again play a part. The role of a woman in total control. And revel at being in Dion’s company.

The boat drew nearer, so she straightened up and smoothed the front of her dress. Unusual for a client to request a little black frock that wasn’t made of rubber, but Dion always did. Still, she wasn’t complaining. Her normal attire would have been hell to work in tonight. The heat still lingered despite the cooler breeze, an almost stubborn refusal to be gone and give respite. She wiggled her toes in strappy black sandals and peered at the boat as it chugged alongside hers with a
splutter-chug-burp
. The captain waved, his gap-toothed grin dull in a face tanned deeply by the merciless sun. Dion stood, his back to her, hands in suit trouser pockets. The cut of his jacket appeared expensive, as did that of his blond, wavy hair, and Morgan deduced he’d had it trimmed since she’d last seen him.

“All right there, missus? I’ll be back at eleven then?” the captain shouted, the engine noise and burble of the ocean from its propeller muffling his words.

“Yes, thank you.” Morgan’s gaze remained on the client in his boat.

Dion turned in slow motion and revealed his profile, one she had seen in her dreams day and night since he’d first set foot on her yacht. He faced her, his skin bronzed, white shirt open at the neck. Tawny chest hairs peeked through the gap and set her heart racing.

God, I want to fuck him.

He gave a lazy smile and stooped to pick up a picnic basket, his gaze remaining on her. Excitement fluttered in her stomach and she swallowed to wet her suddenly dry throat. He walked toward the side of the taxi-boat, and Morgan leaned over the rail to relieve him of the basket he held aloft. Although curious as to what lay inside, she stilled her tongue and placed the basket on her deck.

Dion turned to the captain. “I will call you later. I may not be ready by eleven.”

His voice, so cultured, reminded her of olden-day gentry. The captain saluted, and Morgan frowned. For all Dion knew, she had another client booked after him. But in truth his assumption that she was free for the rest of the night heightened her desire.

Dion held the rails of her yacht ladder, and Morgan stepped back as he hauled himself aboard. His aftershave wafted in the humid air and she inhaled as deeply as she dared without alerting him to what she was doing. Undertones of bergamot and lemon assailed her, images of him naked and at her mercy dancing through her mind. Her cheeks heated and her cunt grew wet. Dion eyed her, his brown eyes harboring…lust?

Morgan swallowed again and clasped her hands in front of her. The taxi-boat sped off back to shore, and she bent down and gripped the basket handle. Dion’s hand covered hers and he helped lift the basket between them. Dion’s palm was warm against her fingers, and Morgan stared up at him, into eyes that set her clit to throbbing, and wished, wished…

“Good evening, Morgan.”

His smile, a slight tilt of his head and a wink jellied her knees.

Damn him for making me feel like this when I can’t have him.

“Good evening, Dion. What’s in the basket?”

She began to raise the lid but he stopped her, entwining the fingers of his free hand with hers. Heat rushed to her face and she cursed the telltale stain that would surely alert him to how she felt.

“Oh, just a few things.” He uncurled her fingers from the basket handle.

“Things?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes. Shall we?” He motioned to the steps that led below deck. “Or would you rather play outside tonight?”

Her stomach churned and excitement swirled through her. She glanced around—no other boats in sight—and said, “Oh, outside should be fine. Besides, if anyone approaches, we’ll hear their motor.”

“And if anyone watches us through a telescope, we will be none the wiser.”