Vanilla On Top (5 page)

“Do my calf. Those muscles get stiff from the shoes, too.”

I bite the urge to smile and say
yes, ma’am
, silently moving my caress to her smooth ankle and then higher. Her supple flesh gives beneath my fingers as I massage gently. I’m tempted to adjust my erection but don’t want to get caught in my arousal. I’d like nothing more than to snug her hot little foot up against my groin so she can feel what she does to me.

Unable to keep the position any longer, I shift, bending one leg to give my engorged flesh some space. My movement isn’t lost on Heather and she picks that time to change feet. “Can you do my other foot, now?”

I nod, feeling tongue-tied. She stretches out the finished foot, brushing my swollen arousal. I hold my breath for a moment, unsure if she’s going to tease me with her foot or just rest it on me. The serene pose of my black-haired tormentor reveals nothing. She’s wearing an innocent expression of relaxation while I knead and work the kinks out of her foot.

A downward glance reveals her decadent red toes laying unmoving on my erection. The delicate scent of citrus and ginger reaches my nose, teasing me with its exotic combination. “You’re really good,” she whispers. “I think you’ve earned a strawberry or two.”

She pulls her feet from my thigh, grabs a strawberry, and straddles my lap before I can figure out her next move. With a twist of her fingers, she removes the stem before placing the strawberry halfway between her lips, tossing the leaves into the bowl. She leans forward, lowering her mouth to mine, and nudges the chocolate covered tip between my lips, encouraging me to bite.

My hands rise to grasp her hips as I sink my teeth into my half of the dark chocolate-covered delight. The melting candy dissolves in my mouth as the sweetness of the berry explodes across my tongue. I curl my fingers into her flesh and chew, savoring the tastes and the feel of her hot mouth pressed to mine. I swallow and lean closer to deepen our kiss, resisting with herculean effort the urge to grab her tight bottom.

Tentative hands cup my cheeks, thumbs grazing along my jaw line. Heather breaks the kiss and meets my eyes. “You taste divine.”

I stare at her red lips and my brain blanks.

“Would you like another?”

I nod, unable to form words that aren’t graphically explicit of what I’d like to do to her.

She repeats the process, teasing me with the nearness of her body. I’d love nothing more than to reach up and pinch one of her pert nipples or trail kisses down her neck. God, this slow seduction is killing me.

She breaks our kiss and stares deeply into my eyes. “You earned those strawberries, Tony. Did you enjoy them?”

Coherent thought returns and I respond. “Yes,” my voice comes out in a croak. I clear my throat. “Yes, I did.”

She smiles, like I’ve said the right thing.
I’ll say anything you want to get a taste of you again.

She leans in and whispers in my ear, “I bet you give excellent back rubs.”

“I do.”

She pulls back to give me another smoldering gaze. “Want to do me?”

I’d like to do you all freakin’ night
. I stare into her dark brown eyes, wondering if we’re both thinking the same thing.

“How about right here on the pillows?” She shifts, climbing off my lap, and I immediately feel the absence of her warmth on my thighs and where she held my cheeks.

Heather grabs pillows, tucking a small one under her hips as she spreads out, tilting up her silk-covered ass for display. In a moment, she’s arranged on her stomach and has grabbed a bottle from a lower shelf of the coffee table. Heather reaches to hand me the bottle, a coy look on her face. “Unless you’re tired?”

Shit. I think she asked me about rubbing her back, not about doing her here on the pillows. “Um, no.” I accept the oil. “I’m good.”

I move across the rug to get closer and gain a better vantage point for a massage. She said I wasn’t going to get
lucky
, but how far are we taking this? I’m dying to bend down and kiss her shoulder, but like before, I get the feeling she’s calling all the shots and if I do anything off-kilter, she’ll subtly redirect me.

I look down at her still form, mentally reigning myself from speculating further, wondering instead on where to start on her back.

“Heather?”

She looks over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“If I use oil, I’ll mess up your shirt.”

A slow grin spreads across her face. “We can’t have that, can we?”

She sits up with her back to me and lifts off her skimpy shirt, tossing the garment to the rug. Her hair cascades down her back, slowly hiding her dewy skin. She lies down without giving me even a glimpse of one pert nipple. So close!

Heather settles and gathers her hair in one hand, pulling it over her shoulder. “Is that better?”

Her slender back beckons my touch, and thankfully with her request for a massage, I’ve been granted permission to explore at will. “Yes.” I run a hand over her golden-hued flesh. Her warmth travels up my arm and joins the heat my raging hormones have stirred in my chest.

Have I never relaxed enough around a woman to feel this way? I’ve given back rubs in the past, but none of them felt so…intimate. I squirt oil in one hand then place the bottle nearby. I rub my hands together to heat the liquid, the squishy noise sounding oddly erotic, conjuring images of slick bodies meeting at their privates. My dick pulses in response.

Damn, this is fun.

Sufficiently prepped, I lay my hands on her back and lean on her slight frame, using my weight to press into her muscles. “You’re tight.” A low murmur meets my observation. “Been stressed lately?”

A strangled gasp turns into a muffled laugh. “Yeah. Maybe a little.”

“Can’t have that.” I dig into her back, working out the tension until the muscles smooth under my hand. “I’ll loosen you up in no time.”

After a few minutes on her upper back and shoulders, I slide my hands down the slender curve of her spine, wanting to go lower but afraid I’ll get oil on her silky pants. “Heather?”

“Hmm…?” The content drawl of sound pulls a tug of accomplishment from me.

“You need to move your clothes down a bit so I don’t get oil on them.”

Without rising she reaches back and wiggles a bit, sliding her pants to her lower thighs, exposing the lush round curves of her bare ass. I clamp my mouth shut, locking the sigh of appreciation inside. The split peach of her bottom, tilted up on the pillows, begs to be kissed, or smacked…or screwed…maybe all three…or more.

She looks over her shoulder, gaze lingering on my obvious erection. “How’s that?”

“P…,” my voice hitches and I try again. “Perfect.”

She
’
s got to know she
’
s driving me freakin
’
insane, right? It’s not that she’s teasing me so much as arousing me beyond what I’m used to. Heather turns her head away, shifting her hair to the other shoulder.

I skim a hand down the dip of her back and cautiously palm one bare cheek. The heat radiates from her skin, enticing me to squeeze gently.

“Nice,” she purrs. “Use more oil on my low back.”

Oh, her butt is her low back, now? Is that what we
’
re calling it? I smother a smile, reaching for the oil and squirting a small pool in between the dimples above her firm cheeks. We can call it whatever she wants as long as I get to rub it.

Boldly, I slide both hands down over her bottom, smoothing the oil as I go. I grasp and knead her heated flesh, picturing my shaft rubbing forward and backward between the globes. In my eagerness, I’ve scooted closer and the tented material over my arousal nudges her side.

“Go lower.”

Lower? If I do that I’ll be rubbing between her cheeks, delving into the moist folds near the pillow. Excited to follow her request, I curve one hand inward, exploring downward. My inquisitive fingers encounter her slick arousal and my cock jerks.

“That’s it. More. Put those fingers inside me.”

Needing no further encouragement, I do exactly as she bids, sliding in two fingers, gradually working them until they sit to the hilt. I steadily draw them back and then in, moistening my skin more with each pass.

Her hips lift off the pillow and she wiggles, driving herself firmly onto my hand. She moans, gyrating in a slow circle while I stroke her inner walls. The tight muscles cling to my fingers, making me wish it was my prick sliding inside her. She’d feel like a hot wet glove slipping over my skin.

One slim arm snakes under her side, hidden from my view. In a moment I feel her fingers rubbing below my hand, massaging her own clit while I pump in and out of her hot core.

“Faster.”

This time, the tone is not subtle. Her voice pitches louder and strength rumbles through it. I do as she says and increase my speed, wishing it was my hips between her legs instead of my hand.

Unreal! This woman taking control of her own pleasure by using me like a sex toy is incredibly erotic. She tosses her hair back to the other side, watching me while I lean over to work her tight hole.

“Open your pants.” I pull my hands away, eager to comply. “Eh! Do it one handed. I didn’t say you could stop touching me.”

The sharp command in her voice pushes me higher. It’s a struggle, but I manage to continue pleasuring the little vixen and lower my pants and briefs in due time. The cooler air in the room feels good against my engorged flesh. Her eyes widen when she sees my length, a hint of lust darkening their depths.

“Wrap your fist around yourself and pump. Do it slow.”

This time, I don’t hold back what I’ve wanted to say several times tonight. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles, her eyes following the grip and twist on my erection. “You like it when I tell you what to do, don’t you?”

I nod and boldly meet her appraising stare.

“Use a third finger. I want to feel something…thicker.”

My prick would be thicker, but I don
’
t think she wants that, yet. I suppress a grin as I pump myself while slicking a third finger through her juices. She’ll tell me when she wants me. And damn, I can hardly wait to hear it. She shoves her pants the rest of the way down and moves to her knees, legs spread so wide it’s more like she’s straddling the pillow. The added height and space allows her to move her hips more freely, and alter the angle of her swirling fingers.

“Ooh…yeah…that’s nice…,” her voice eases out like syrup and trails away.

I slow my strokes, feeling the telltale signs that my orgasm looms in the near distance. I glance down at Heather to see she’s watching my every move.

“Stroke it faster.” The look in her eyes steals my breath. She’s not just enjoying the sexual experience, she’s owning it. She’s opening herself and getting off on telling me what to do as much as I enjoy following her desires.

I pump myself up and down, increasing speed, twisting my palm slightly at the top before I slide back down.

“You can’t come until I say, Tony.” The sheer sexual power pouring from her is intoxicating. I nod again, unwilling to break the spell by speaking. More than anything, I want to pleasure her like I did the other night, to see that exquisite release etched on her face and know I gave it to her.

Wetness coats my hand, the added lubrication a sign she’s close to coming. “That’s it, Heather,” I whisper. “I want to see you come.”

Her eyes widen at my words and little tremors start deep within her pussy. I tighten my grip on myself, squeezing slowly to give sensation without breaking the barrier approaching me. Her mouth opens in a silent
O
, then closes, opening again right away on a loud moan. Her eyes shut, and her head lowers to the rug, lost in the sensations of her cresting peak.

The muscles tighten around my plunging fingers, and the slick wetness of her slit sucks at my skin. My kneeling body hunches forward, wracked in the intense pleasure-pain of orgasm avoidance. I can do this
.
, I can resist coming and show her I can be as intense as she wants.

“Come now, Tony!” She pants and the convulsions inside her begin in earnest.

I pump my hand again, loosening my grip, allowing my rod to move freely in the slick oil coating my palm. Her head arches back as she moans her release to the room, each exhalation expelling in a louder moan of pleasure.

The lower half of her bottom rubs my wrist, drawing my attention back to that magnificent ass. My balls draw up as her orgasm continues, a longer peak than she had on the patio. Tingles begin in the base of my spine, travel quickly to the stem of my cock, and pause for a split second before rocketing out of my length.

Long jets of my release land on her upturned bottom, each spurt a joyous reminder that I did it—I held on until she said. A supreme relief settles through me as the spurts become less and less, then dwindle to rocking shudders throughout my body.

A fine sheen of sweat covers my exposed skin, a mark of the exertion in holding back my orgasm. I don’t think I’ve ever had a peak that intense when not inside a woman. Stunning, to say the least.

Heather’s hips sink to the pillow, and what sounds like a satisfied breath eases past her lips. “Grab the tissues, please. I can’t get up.”

Chapter Five

Heather

The sheer satisfaction of pulling off Saturday night buoys me all morning. Tony protested when I didn’t agree to meet him for breakfast today, and I found myself suggesting afternoon coffee just to make him smile. I had to agree to something before he’d leave last night.

The glow from last night’s intimacy still warms my heart. Surprisingly, I’m not shocked at how I behaved, and feel more of a freedom after the daring antics than I ever would have expected. He didn’t laugh…I didn’t mess up and make a fool of myself…and I have to admit, a big part of me really enjoyed acting like a stronger person.

Looking at the early morning photo I took of the Brooklyn Bridge, snapped on a soul-searching walk one year after my parents’ accident, I realize I really do have a lot to be proud of. I oversaw all the renovations on this place, using part of the life insurance policy and assets left to me from my parents. I don’t have any vices that have run up my credit cards, nor do I have unpaid student loans looming over my head.

Compared to most eligible women in the city, I’m doing pretty damn well.

I remember an old saying my mom shared with me when I was job-hunting the summer after my freshman year of college: “Fake it ‘til you make it.” She convinced me to dress more professionally and less like a broke intern, stating if I wanted to be considered for advancement I should dress like I was already there. It was an interesting observation, and one that has helped me well in the corporate world.

I wrap the memory of my mother around me before bravely heading out to meet Carla. We haven’t seen each other since Thursday evening at the coffee shop. We ended things okay that day, but I’m not so sure where we stand. It’s like there’s an undercurrent between us that wasn’t there before.

I step into a cozy eatery near Macy’s, the smell of the fresh breads and soups wafting up to tempt me.

“Over here!” Carla waves to me from a tiny bistro table in the corner. I navigate through the packed establishment, grateful when I see she’s ordered two soups.

We kiss and hug, the tension from our last meeting melting away in the joy of being together.

“Thanks for ordering for me.” We settle at the table and I toss my loose curls over one shoulder. “What’s the soup special today?”

“Bean with ham, is that okay?”

“Ahh…” I dip in a plastic spoon and stir the thick concoction. “It’s perfect. Smells good.”

Carla nods, her gaze going to my hair. “I like the curls. Did you do it yourself?”

I smile, forcing myself not to preen under her notice. “Yeah. Hot curlers. Took about thirty or forty minutes this morning.” I shrug, trying to downplay the adventure of my struggles with the piping hot, ceramic finger-torturing devices.

She takes a spoonful of soup and nods. “You did a great job. It’s very flattering. You should style it like that more often.”

I rather like the look of the sexy curls myself; maybe I will drag out those painful coils again and attempt to master them. “Thanks,” I say, sitting up a little straighter in my chair. “So…what did you do this weekend?” I’m not sure how many details I want to share with Carla regarding my Saturday night, but I definitely want to tell her I saw Tony.

An open expression of excitement crosses my friend’s face. “I went out with one of the guys from the speed dating event.”

I track back in my mind, wondering if I told her about the guy I thought looked like a predator. “Which one?”

“Michael—the guy in the sport coat with the killer smile.” She smoothes her tightly-fitting shirt over her cropped yoga pants.

I nod, understanding whom she means. He didn’t make it to my table before I left. “Good for you. How did it go?”

“We had a nice dinner in Little Italy, talked for hours.” She gazes past me and out the window. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“Hmm…you’ve got that look.”

“What look?” she says.

“It’s kind of melancholy. Like you’re happy, but with a touch of sadness.”

She props an elbow on the table and stirs her soup. “Damn, girlfriend. Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

“Did something feel off?”

“Nothing jumped out at me, just an impression I had.” She catches the eye of a man at a nearby table and smiles at him, seemingly unaware her actions are a blatant invitation for him to approach her.

I reach across the table and touch her arm, drawing her attention back to me. “Aren’t you the one always telling me to trust my instincts?”

She smiles to lessen the seriousness. “Nothing like that, not like I wasn’t safe or anything. More like he was more interested in his own good looks and who noticed him than he was in me.”

I suppress a smile. This could be why she and I clashed the other day, too. Carla is used to being the center of attention and attracting male eyes. Sounds like she went out with the male equivalent of herself.

“Was he constantly smoothing his shirt and smiling at strangers the next table over?” I keep my voice as level as possible and raise one eyebrow. “I don’t think I know anyone who acts like that.”

Carla laughs, a full-bodied sound that turns more interested men our way. “Good point! I have no room to talk. But seriously, I don’t act like that on a date. He just gave off the
player vibe
.” She picks up her spoon. “It didn’t sit right with me.”

I eat soup and think about how Tony acted with me. I can’t help but wonder if he would treat me differently in public than he did in private. He’s been a perfect gentleman, so far. My face heats as I remember him touching himself, the naked desire on his face as he looked down at me. Well…at least until I told him to come. After that, his eyes closed briefly in rapturous delight as he shot ribbons of—

“Spill, Heather.” Carla smiles. “You’re five shades of red, right now. I want to know what off-color thoughts you’ve got spinning in that pretty little head of yours.”

“Tony came over to my place last night.”

Carla squeals with delight, leaping out of her chair to hug me. “Oh, my God. Tell me everything. Did he stay the night?” She hastily returns to her seat, eager eyes glued on me.

“No!” I laugh at her exuberance. “Come on, Carla. You know me better than that.”

She waves me off. “Yeah, yeah. A girl can hope. So, how did it go?”

I sigh, the deep breath spilling out of me and taking my tension with it. “Incredible. We talked and ate for hours.”

“And then?” Her eyes widen. “What happened for
dessert
?”

I squirm in my chair, unwilling to share too much in a public place, especially after she broadcasted my patio exploits over coffee. “I fed him chocolate covered strawberries…from my mouth.”

“Ooo…sexy. Nice touch.” She digs into her soup. “Then did he do you all night and you booted him out before morning?” Humor lights her eyes as she waggles her eyebrows.

“No…but we both had a
satisfying
evening, if you get my meaning.”

“Damn, hon, I’ve known you for years. Of course, I get your meaning. I just want to know the
how
.”

I look out the window, uncomfortable with revealing the intimate details and my actions of the evening. “Not much to tell, really.”

“Oh come on, did you tell him what to do again? Order him around like some dominatrix?”

Anger lights inside me, swift and sure over her belittling question. What Tony and I shared last night was intimate, not some power play enacted for a man who wants to be told he’s a bad boy and needs to be whipped and humiliated to reach orgasm.

“It’s nothing like that, Carla.” I put down my spoon, no longer hungry. “I don’t dominate him or humiliate him, for crying out loud. It’s just good, clean fun.”

Carla’s demeanor changes when she sees I’ve taken offense. “Okay, relax. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off. Geesh, you’re sensitive today.”

My mouth opens to apologize and I snap it shut. She says something crappy and I’m the one who needs to say I’m sorry? The old Heather would have bent over backward, accepting fault for a misunderstanding, but the new me is saying
not today, dammit
.

“
I’m
sensitive because
you
implied what I’m doing makes me a dominatrix?”

Carla’s hands fly up in a stop motion, palms facing me. “Whoa. You’re right. It was the wrong choice of words.” She smiles, possibly hoping to put us back on firmer ground. “Besides, if we were going to get technical,” she winks to show she’s kidding, “I bet you’d fall under the category of a ‘vanilla dom.’”

My anger deflates as I think about her words. I may not be ready for whips, chains, humiliation, and name-calling…but I do like the sound of vanilla. “Is that a real term? Vanilla dom?”

“Nah.” She relaxes, sitting back in her chair now that the tension has drained between us. “But if it was, you’d be it.”

We finish our meal in companionable silence, talking about our own up-coming weeks every now and then. She’s traveling to Philly and we won’t get to hook up again until at least Friday. We leave and go our separate ways, my invitation to have her join me for shopping turned down once she complained about laundry and packing. I’ve got several hours before meeting Tony and decide to shop on my own.

I catch sight of my reflection in a passing mirror, pleased anew with my bouncy curls. More male eyes seem to be drawn toward me, and I’m not sure if it’s the hair or my attitude.

Strolling toward my destination, the indoor mall on Broadway, I spot a black corset in a shop window. A quick glance at the leather shop’s signage has me smiling. I may not be a biker chick, but I bet I
’
ll find some fun stuff in here.

The rich smell of new leather fills my senses as I enter. The muted lighting and loud music almost feel at odds with one another, each giving off a separate and distinct vibe. Coats, chaps, boots, shirts, pants—dozens of colors and textures hang on racks and wall displays. You name it, it’s here and made of leather.

A rugged man in his late thirties with sideburns and a wickedly sexy grin approaches me. “Can I help you find something today?”

I try my best not to stare at the swirl of colorful tattoos over his chest and arms peeking behind his skimpy black leather vest. “Yes. I like the black corset in the window.”

His smile grows, and the twinkle in his eye makes me think he’s picturing it on me as we speak. “Sure thing. Follow me and I’ll help find your size.”

I trail after him toward the back of the shop, noticing his leather pants really show off his butt nicely. “Here we are.” He whips around and my face burns, sure he’s caught me staring at his backside.

“Thank you.” I reach blindly for the rack, willing the redness to pass. “Uh…how are these sized?”

“Some are small, medium, and so on. Others are bra band sizes.” He eyes me with masculine appreciation, no hint of reproof or judgment that I might not be well endowed up top. “You look like a thirty-four, that about right?”

My facial burn returns, as I try to look anywhere but at his welcoming face. “Yes, that’s right.”

The salesman pulls out a beautifully intricate style, something I never would have chosen. The bodice is offset with a black embroidered swirling design, reminiscent of vines and leaves. He turns the corset around to expose an open-back weave design, large crisscrossing straps of leather instead of the traditional solid back with corset ties.

Immediately, my mind goes to Tony’s hands running down my back last night, almost reverent in their touch. A slight chill runs through me as I extend a hand to accept the hanger. “I’ll try this one, thanks.”

He nods toward the dressing rooms, giving me space to get there on my own. My eyes sink to the bulge in the front of his pants, well hugged and cupped by leather. My voice rings out before I’m even conscious of the thought, “How about pants, too?”

Within thirty minutes I’ve bought leather pants that fit like second skin and a corset top to pair with it. If the hint of appreciation in the salesman’s eye is anything to go by, they look damn good on me. Anticipation spikes through me. What would Carla say if she saw me in such a get up?

I’d like to think she’d hoot and holler for me, but with the way we’ve been at odds lately, I’m not too sure. Warmth starts low in my middle when I ponder what Tony would say. I bargain he’d love the outfit
—
what man doesn
’
t like a woman in tight leather?

I travel to the mall, which is near the coffee shop where I agreed to meet Tony later, and remember last night. Our mutual ending was out of this world hot. I never expected it would go so smoothly, not in a million years. I’d enjoyed hearing about his likes and interests, even though he divulged little about his family.

But, who am I to complain? If I’m perfectly honest, I haven’t exactly presented myself as I really am, more like who I’d like to become. Can I meld this new me with the old me?

I stop in front of a shoe display, eyeing the expensive designer shoes I’d never normally buy. The spike heels and strappy designs scream
sex
. I walk in, zeroing in on the handsome salesman near the counter. His olive skin and brown hair remind me a little of Tony, and the idea of shopping and pretending it’s him intrigues me. I smile and he jumps to attention, rushing over to assist me.

“Hi. Was there a style that caught your eye in the window? I’d be happy to get it for you.”

I can do this. I can flirt and not stumble on my words. I nod. “The red ones with the silver heel, please.”

He gestures to an empty chair near the front of the store. “Please, take a seat. What size?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I make myself comfortable and wait. In a moment the man returns, carrying three boxes of varying sizes with him instead of one. I hide a smile at his obvious attempt to sell me more shoes than simply the pair that caught my eye.

“I brought out two other pairs I thought would look stunning on you.”

“Sounds nice. Let’s try the first one.”

With great showmanship, he removes the paper and bars used during shipping. I slip off my flats and, with my feet, scoot them beneath the chair. A warm hand glides down my ankle, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.