That Filthy Book (21 page)
Authors: Natalie Dae,Lily Harlem
Tags: #Contemporary, #Romance, #Fiction, #Erotica, #cookie429, #Extratorrents, #Kat
Tears pricked my eyes, the reminiscence too much, and I took a deep breath before plunging one hand inside that spare rib box and taking hold of the book. I took it out, settled the bottom of it on my folded legs and stared down at it.
My Erotic Fantasies
sung from the front cover, although it had dulled with time, the previously bright red font more burgundy now. And the entwined naked couple, they didn’t look as lurid as they had back in the day, similar to any number of books out there now that didn’t make anyone bat an eyelid.
The long and short of it was that time had changed things. This book didn’t really need to be hidden anymore, would no longer be considered base by most people, could sit on my bookshelf without anyone thinking anything of it—except maybe to raise an eyebrow and look at us in a slightly different light, but I would still keep it under wraps in case our girls decided on a nosing spree and discovered it.
I ran my fingertips over it, then thumbed the pages before telling myself to just get on with it and open the damn thing. I did, and my cunt flooded at the sight of those lewd words. I sat for some time, scouring the pages, imagining the positions and scenarios in my head, but a sharp set of hammer raps from below brought me back to the present.
“Shit, their coffee!”
I gathered the fallen books together and put them back in the box, securing it as best I could with tape that didn’t fancy being sticky anymore. Hefting it back onto the wall, I scooped that filthy book from the floor and shuffled over to the attic opening. Peering down, I bit my lip. The landing seemed miles away, and my stomach rolled as I contemplated how I would turn at the hatch and get down the ladder. Book still in hand, I scooted around, legs trembling, and felt with one foot for a rung. My leg dangled in mid-air, meeting nothing, and panic set in. I
had
to get back down, and I could do it, too, if I pulled up my new, lacy, big-girl panties and told myself to stop being such a fool.
I found a rung, relief warming my insides, and somehow managed to make my wobbly way down the ladder with the book still in hand. Feeling happier once I was stood on the landing, I popped the ladder catches and shoved it back into the attic. The hatch proved harder to close, the bloody thing not playing the game and refusing to lock. I let out a strangled sound of annoyance and tried one more time, grunting with satisfaction as the door stayed shut. Hot and sweaty, I spun to rush downstairs and make the damn coffee, only to run smack into a broad, white T-shirted chest that gave off the scent of hard work.
I looked up, whipping the book behind my back and stared at one of the workmen. “Sorry. I’m just off to make your coffee now.”
After scanning through the filthiest book I’ve ever read and wanting my husband to come home for lunch so he can fuck me ragged when you and your friend are gone.
“No, my fault,” he said, stepping back with his hands raised. “I didn’t expect you to turn round so fast.” He laughed, the kind that showed he felt uncomfortable, that by him touching me he thought he’d maybe overstepped the mark. “Um, we’ve finished plastering now. It’ll be ready to paint tomorrow like we promised.”
I studied him quickly, noting his flushed cheeks, plaster-spattered brown hair, hazel eyes that darted warily from side to side as if he expected Jacob to come tearing along any second and punch his lights out. I felt sorry for him—it had been entirely my fault—and I shook my head, laughing.
“No, no. My fault. I got distracted up there.” I pointed to the hatch with my free hand, and the book slid within my grip.
Please, do
not
let me drop it.
“I’ll just go and get your coffee on now.”
“Yep. Thanks. We’re ready for that, all this hard work.”
He smiled, but not the lecherous kind that would’ve told me he knew damn well why we’d had our room soundproofed. I wondered if my excuse of using it as a bedroom-stroke-music studio had been believed.
“Right. Okay. Two coffees, both with two sugars and a splash of milk coming right up.”
I nipped past him and hared down the stairs, the book by my side closest to the wall so he couldn’t see what I was holding. As I rounded the bottom newel post and swung myself around in the direction of the kitchen, I imagined that if he saw the book and thought of the soundproofing, he’d think me and Jacob were a raging pair of pervs.
Did I care?
The wonderful feeling sweeping through me told me that, no, I didn’t bloody well care, and brought on a surge of laughter. Once in the kitchen, I let it free, leaning over onto the counter until tears ran and my stomach muscles ached. God, it was so good to feel this way—seeing then reading the book again hadn’t made me feel tainted and wrong.
I was finally me, Karen, a liberated woman, no shackles with regards to my sex life. With the room complete and a door lock in place, we wouldn’t have to go away for time alone. It was getting old having people wink at us when we told them we were off, nudging our ribs and saying ‘dirty weekend’ far too often and with sickening glee. We wouldn’t have to have people
knowing
we were having sex, didn’t have to explain why we needed time alone—we could just do it, no explanations. Yes, our bedroom revamp had cost a pretty penny, but the money we’d save on hotel rooms would make up for it eventually.
And why was I even trying to justify it anyway? It was our life, our money to do with as we pleased.
I stood upright, wiped my eyes and sniffed. Re-boiled the kettle and went about making instant coffee. The workmen came down, thanked me as I handed over their cups, and went out into the garden to drink. I stared at them through the window. Bright sunlight shone on their hair, and they rocked on the balls of their feet, scrubbed their chins, and probably discussed their next job. I wondered if they’d tell their wives about the couple who’d had their bedroom soundproofed because they wanted to try their hand at singing. The workman’s wife, she’d know that was a lie, and maybe it would make her think. I hoped it would, if she was even told about our soundproof bedroom. Perhaps it would help them revitalise their relationship. If they ended up feeling like we did, it could only be a good thing, couldn’t it?
* * * *
Another evening, another round of bedtime rituals. Baths, stories, little girls tucked beneath quilts. I took a quick shower, knowing that by the time I emerged, Tess and Lucy would be fast asleep. They’d been on a school trip today, to a working farm where they’d got to feed the animals and help muck out the pigs. They’d stunk to high heaven when they’d returned home, their boots relegated to the patio so they didn’t fill the house with their stench. I’d give them a good scrub tomorrow, but for now I wanted to spend time with Jacob and try out our new bedroom.
As I dried myself, I thought about how lovely it was going to be, screaming if I wanted to or letting the bed creak; the headboard smack against the wall. The fear of being heard would be a distant memory, and we could love one another as we’d been doing lately, in the comfort of our own bed.
Or on the floor. Against the wall…
I slipped on my black négligée, the one Jacob liked to watch me wearing. With a spritz of perfume in all the right places, I made my way downstairs, stopping in the living room doorway and striking a seductive pose. Jacob sat on the sofa, thumbing the remote, and took his gaze from the TV immediately.
“Ah, you’re on a mission, I see.” He smiled, dropping the remote beside him, and beckoning for me to join him. “Come here.”
I walked across the room towards him, feeling all kinds of sexy and adored, and knelt on the floor to pull out that filthy book from beneath the sofa where I’d placed it after the workmen had left. I sat beside him, flung one leg over his, and snuggled close.
“You still want to read this with me?” I asked, glancing up to look at his face.
He eyed the cover for a second then met my eyes, and there was that glint there, sparkling and full of promise. “Yep.”
“There’s one thing in here that I think you will like particularly. I read it in the attic earlier, but didn’t get to the part I wanted.”
“Oh, right. Get on with it then.”
I fluttered through the pages, struggling to remember where the fantasy I wanted to show Jacob was, but eventually stopped the flow of paper around the three-quarter mark. One corner had been dutifully turned down at chapter eleven. I held the book between us and we both read, me impatient to turn to the next page because I read faster than him.
And there it was, three pages in, one of the things we had yet to try. It was about something Jacob had done before he’d met me—watching porn. Except this fantasy… God,
this
fantasy encouraged the couple to act out the porn they watched. Move for move. Stroke for stroke. Thrust for thrust.
I looked at him again, into eyes that sparkled brightly. His cheeks had flushed from what he was reading and his cock, beneath his jeans, nudged my wrist—his hard and wanting cock.
“You fancy trying this?” I asked casually, knowing he would, needing a quick answer because I couldn’t wait to get up there into our room. “With our DVD from Amsterdam or the new movie I bought over the internet the other day?”
“A
new
movie? Jesus, Karen, you just keep on surprising me.” He eyed me, head tilting. “You watched it already?”
“No. I thought we could watch it together. Do what this book says. I read the back of the DVD, and it’s about some guy who uses a hammer to… We never did get to use the handle of the one we bought when we stayed in the hotel that time.”
He let out a stuttered breath, raised his hand to caress my cheek. “Christ, I love you.”
“I know.” I grinned and lifted my hand to cover his. “So, you want this fantasy? The porn?”
“Fuck, yes, but more than that. I want…you, always.”
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita
Lily Harlem
Excerpt
Chapter One
The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita—episode 166:
It has been an eventful weekend in my nocturnal world. Saturday night was my first pole performance at Talin’s. The club was overflowing and the air thick with cigarette smoke and the bellow of men’s chatter. During my first steps I was nervous, but practicing paid off, my routine went well and I was pleased with the new black suspender belt. It was sexy and risqué when I spun around the pole then belly danced for the front row of the audience.
Madan was, of course, there, sipping a drink chock full of ice, and his seductive, brown eyes never left my body as I danced and writhed, swung and twirled. He’d been keen to see this new craze, this new sizzling dance the girls had been talking about in hushed whispers and rehearsing in secret. I’d been even keener to show him, to perform for him. Just one look from Madan is like a thousand caresses from any other man.
When my erotic performance came to an end, he stood, slammed his drink on the table and stalked to the exit. My heart fluttered, and a lump grew in my belly. Had he not enjoyed watching me coil around the cool, hard steel? I’d caressed it like a lover and been shameless in the way I’d flashed the gusset of my panties to the entire room. I’d even considered doing the routine topless next time, it felt so good, so liberating, to be spinning through the air while everyone watched adoringly.
I headed into the backstage corridor, keen to get to my dressing room. Just as I wrapped my fingers around the door handle to my room, I heard my name called sharply.
“Harita.”
I turned, clutching my chest. “Madan! You took me by surprise.”
He took three ground-eating paces towards me, his jaw set and his eyes flashing. I couldn’t tell if he were beyond furious or consumed with desire. There was a rise of colour on his cheeks and his fists were balled.
“What is it?” I asked, pushing open the door and taking a backwards step inside.
“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said in a voice that was more like a growl than human speech. “Ever.”
“You liked it?”
“Oh, yes.” He moved into the small room with me and kicked the door shut. “And I’m going to show you just how much I liked it.”
His fine-tailored jacket hit the floor with a quiet whump and he tore off his shirt. Between one breath and the next, he’d shifted the contents of my dressing table, bunching them to one side, and lifted my bum onto the cool wood.
“Madan,” I gasped, gripping his hot, hard shoulders for purchase. “We can’t, not here.”
“You will do as I say.” He ripped at my thong panties, tearing them from my body.
“
Especially when you have me about to combust, my sexy little Janu.”
His eyes were stormy with desire, and lust coiled in my belly. I needed Madan the way I needed my next breath.
“Unzip me,” he growled. “Take my lavDa into your sweet mouth. Don’t stop sucking until I tell you to.”
As his kiss threatened to consume me, I dragged at the zip on his pants and released his big, pulsing…
“Kamini, would you get off that laptop? You have a fitting in less than an hour.”
“Yes, Mother,” I shouted, quickly hitting ‘save’ and closing down the screen. I would have to finish Harita’s sex scene later. Right now, there were essential wedding plans to organise.
“And make sure you have something to eat before we go.”
“Okay, Mother.” I raced downstairs and into the kitchen. My appetite had been waning lately. My upcoming marriage to the delectable Damon was consuming all my energies and thoughts, leaving little time to think of practical matters such as eating and writing.
Even though we’d met only once, several months ago, when our parents had introduced us, Damon’s soft, intelligent eyes and handsome face had stayed with me. He’d surveyed me from head to toe that first evening, taking in my petite frame and emerald green sari, my flawless makeup and my most dazzling jewellery. Then he’d nodded and shifted his feet. His broad shoulders had relaxed, he’d pulled in a deep breath and a wickedly sexy smile had tilted the corners of his mouth, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth.
I’d spent the rest of the meeting trying not to squirm. In fact, Mother had frowned at me twice for fidgeting. But it was hard not to when my panties were damp and my nipples tight. Damon had hardly taken his gaze off me, studying me like a starving man who’d been offered up his favourite dish but told he wasn’t allowed to take a single bite.
By the end of the stiffly formal evening, even though we’d barely spoken, it was clear how compatible we were going to be. The air practically fizzed between us, our desire and lust another live, physical presence in the room.
It seemed our parents had matched us well in more ways than they’d anticipated.
And now I was very much looking forward to married life and all the naked fun it would entail. Well, apart from one thing…would I still be able to continue writing
The
Unwholesome Adventures of Harita?
No one in the whole of Mumbai knew it was I, Kamini Singh, who wrote the explicit weekly column in
Ichchha
magazine
,
a racy glossy for men. It was a secret I’d kept close to my heart for three years now and a wonderful way to explore my sexual fantasies. But could I risk telling Damon, my new husband, about my fictitious alter ego whose sexy antics sold across India? As his bride I was supposed to be open and honest, promise to love, honour and obey and live without secrets or hidden agenda.
Mmm, it was something to which I would have to give some serious thought. But one thing was for sure, I wouldn’t be letting Harita hang up her suspender belt without a fight, and with a bit of luck my bedroom antics with Damon would give me even more ideas for future adventures.
* * * *
Sitting beneath the lavishly decorated mandap in the Siddhivinayak Temple four weeks later, I glanced at Damon again. My new husband was even more heart-stoppingly gorgeous than I remembered. He wore a pristine white kafni adorned with gold embroidery, and I could just make out dark coils of chest hair peeking from the ‘V’ below the hollow of his throat. He still wore the garland I’d placed around his neck several hours ago, and the red and white flowers seemed to have an extra vibrancy against him. They weren’t wilting, they were alive, blooming, flourishing. It was the way he made me feel, too—I was full of hope for the future, our future.
His gaze captured mine, and once again a rush of heat spread to my cheeks. I was already warm wearing the red, white and gold sari he’d bought for me, but whenever I looked at him I just got hotter—from the inside out. The reason for this was in part owing to the two gold spheres that sat in my pussy. A pre-wedding gift—from him. They’d arrived by courier and been signed for, luckily by me, the evening before, just as the sun was setting and my family were distracted with stringing together floral decorations.
I’d known straight away they were love balls. Even though I’d never owned a pair, I was well up on sex toys thanks to my online research for Harita. There had been no note with them, just his name scrawled with an ‘X’ on a slip of paper.
Before Mother had begun to help me dress the next morning, I’d slipped the cool metal between my legs and gently pushed the orbs upwards, inserting them into my warm, virginal channel. I’d lodged them high and secure, so only the little, white string was left protruding.
All the time I’d been fussed over, made up, coifed and adjusted, the balls had exerted a delicious pressure against a super-sensitive spot on the front wall of my pussy. Several times, when moving about during the day, I’d needed to suppress a shudder as pleasurable sensations threatened to overwhelm me.
Now, nearing the end of our ceremonial celebrations, all I could think of was Damon’s soft, sensual lips on mine, his tongue peeping into my mouth and his hands on my skin, sweeping down my belly, delving into my panties and finding the string. Tugging, rolling, jostling those balls and increasing the pressure and the pleasure, then pulling them completely out and replacing them with his long, hard cock. Taking me how he wanted me until I screamed his name, and he released his pent-up desire. Surrendering his polite, formal conduct to the animal inside and satisfying his basic needs.
I exhaled, long and slow.
Did he know this was the erotic image that rushed through my head as we sat in this holy place? Was it the same picture that rushed through his and made him smile in that sinful way? Did he want us to tangle our tongues? Did he want to touch me down there and discover if I’d used his gift? These were all questions to which I was only hours from finding out the answers.
I could hardly wait.
He leaned towards me, his lips by my ear and his warm breath tickling my neck. “My beautiful bride, it is time to feed one another.”
Touching the sari covering my long, black hair, I nodded and tried to contain the tripping of my heart. He smelt so delicious—lime and spice, bergamot, too. Pulling in a deeper breath, I let the scent infuse my passageways and lie on my tongue like the most exquisite incense I’d ever encountered. If he were such a treat to my nostrils, what on earth would he be like to actually, physically taste?
Heaven wrapped in paradise?
I studied the smooth flesh of his neck and the cords that led down beneath his shirt to his shoulders. The texture of him fascinated me—I’d never explored a man’s skin before, and to know soon I would no longer have to use my imagination was an aphrodisiac all in itself.
Smiling shyly, I opened my mouth and allowed him to place honey and yogurt on my tongue. The gentle gesture was intimate and familiar, and despite our parents, his twin brother, my sisters and all our other relatives and friends watching, I became lost in his swirling, chocolate gaze, transfixed by the hunger I saw there—a hunger I suspected was for more than food, a hunger that would require satisfying…soon.
Willing my hand not to shake, I offered him the same four bites, as was tradition, and studied the way his tongue lifted from the base of his mouth to take the sweet treat. It was thick and moist and the tip was pointed. I had to clench my thighs as my aching pussy clamped around the balls with more gusto than at any other moment during the day. I’d written many times about Harita being loved intimately by Madan’s mouth, described it in fine detail from my imagination. But would Damon want to do that to me? And if he did, would he be good at it? Would he plant hot kisses over my feminine hair, swirl my clit with the tip of his tongue, dip into my entrance and tug at the ball string with his teeth?
I shivered and tried to conceal the erotic shudder, but it was too late. Damon had seen it. The carnal tilt to his lips told me he knew exactly what had been happening inside my body.
Sweat moistened my cleavage, and a flutter of nervous anticipation grew in my stomach. I had a feeling that beneath his charming exterior my groom was oh, so bad, and losing my virginity was going to be oh, so good.
* * * *
I turned as Damon stepped into the kitchen. Finally, we were alone together. Alone as man and wife in our new home.
“
Tum Sada mere sapno mein rahti ho
,” he said, stepping up close and taking my hands in his.
“And you have been in my dreams, too,” I said, looking down at his thumbs as he traced the intricate henna pattern spread over my palms. “From the very first moment, I knew we were right together.”
He lifted my right hand to his cheek, spread out my fingers and pressed my palm over his lightly stubbled flesh. “You let me sit down first,” he said. “During the ceremony.”
Absorbing the heat and sweetly sharp texture of his skin, I nodded and wondered if he were now going to ask me about the love balls.
He didn’t. Instead, “You conceded to me being the boss of our relationship very easily. I had anticipated a more modern approach.” He grinned. “A scuffle for equality.”
“I am your bride, your wife, I will do as you ask. Obey the same way my mother, my grandmother and her mother before that have.”
“Oh,
Siyàra
,” he said, the endearment as sweet as sugar to my ears. “In this marriage I wish us to discuss our lives as two adults joined together in a team. You have a college degree, a job, you are respected and your opinions sought after. If I were a man who had no regard for your input, it would make me very foolish indeed.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my palm. “And I would hate to be considered foolish, most of all by you.”
It was the first time his lips had touched my body. Like an electric shock, the current of pleasure shot up my arm, across my shoulder and settled in my breasts.
“Then that is how it will be,” I managed, though my throat was tight and my mouth dry. Nerves were simmering in my belly, clamping my pussy, but desire burnt hotter. Desire for my husband was the overwhelming emotion.