FrenchQuarter.htm by Alexander Lacey (good fiction books to read TXT) 📗

he rained kisses down over her shoulder, chest, the ridge of her breasts—finally his mouth closed over one straining nipple and she cried out. He sucked hard, just like she wanted, and she felt the sensation shoot straight from her breast to her cunt. Finally, he released her wrists, dropped to his knees, and lowered an exasperatingly chaste little kiss to the front of her panties, just above her needy clit.

“Your bra,” he said, still kneeling before her. “Take it off, slowly.”

Biting her lip, Liz reached behind her to undo the hook, loosening the tight lace. Then she reached up, hooking her thumbs beneath the straps, and leisurely extracted it from her Mardi Gras accessories, leaving her breasts draped only in the colorful beads.

Now, she thought, tossing the bra away, now he would lick her pussy, kiss her breasts—something!

And then—damn him—he backed away to look up at her.

“More, baby, please,” she begged. Maybe that was what he wanted, for her to beg. She’d beg and plead all night if it would get her what she needed.

He smiled. “Sorry, chere, but don’t waste your breath. I’m callin’ the shots here.”

Infuriating man! She pulled in her breath, leaned back her head in frustration.

And then he was suddenly on his feet again and reaching for her breasts—but no, no, damn it, not her breasts at all; he was only reaching for the beads she wore. Yet then—sweet bliss—he rolled the strings of beads outward over the curves of her breasts until they met both turgid nipples, stopping them in place. But only for a brief moment—he kept dragging the beads until they flicked hard past the pink peaks impeding them, creating a tense echo of pleasure throughout her body. She bit her lip and moaned.

She sensed his grin of arousal as he next dragged the beads back from the outer curves of her breasts until once again the stiff buds halted them. Delicious pressure weighed on her nipple as Jack slowly continued pulling the strings inward, finally snapping the beads across the little rock-hard crests and sending another tremor of heat through her. “Unh,” she breathed.

He continued playing with the beads, pulling them this way and that over her ever-sensitive breasts, doing it faster, raking the hard beads back and forth over her nipples until she thought she’d die from the rough little jolts of pleasure. And then his tongue entered the fray—he dropped to lick at her taut nipples, making her pussy surge with wetness below, making her grunt and moan and grip his head in her hands, making her wild and wanton for more. More, more. She wanted to beg him, but resisted, because he was so single-minded tonight, so driven to do it his way, and she suspected begging would only make him stretch it out further, so she only whimpered and groaned and let him know how hot he was getting her.

Finally, he let go of the beads, released her nipples from his sweet wet mouth, and the absence of all touching made her realize exactly how roughly her cunt throbbed. She didn’t think it had ever felt this hot and swollen.

And maybe he read her mind, because that’s when he took the lush feather boa from her shoulders and slipped it between her legs. He held it taut against her pussy, one hand behind her, the other in front so that it was like riding a feathery rope. He never said a word, just looked into her eyes. She knew she was meant to move against it, relieve a little of her ache that way, and she couldn’t have resisted rubbing herself on it if she’d tried. At that moment, having anything offer a little sweet pressure against her mound would have made her respond, but she couldn’t deny the thick feather boa was particularly soft and sensuous, especially where the feathers brushed against her ass in back, where her panties were just a tiny strip of fabric.

As always, she relished his intent gaze on her as she rode the boa for him, and grew even hotter inside when she glanced up at her lover and remembered their masks. The sight made her imagine for a short moment that they were perched high on a Mardi Gras float, spectators all around them. He’d called her the perfect Mardi Gras queen, and she felt just as sexy and sensual and daring as such a French Quarter would demand.

Finally, Jack withdrew the boa from between her thighs and led her to the bed. Mmm, he would finally fuck her here, she knew it—and she could barely stand the wait. “Lie down,” he commanded.

She followed the order willingly, watching him, waiting for what would come next. Kneeling between her legs, her Bacchanalian god of all that was carnal slid his massive cock lengthwise against her pussy through the lace, playing her like a violin. So good to finally get that sweet hot tool against her cunt—she reached down, planning to pull the lace to one side, but he stopped her, grabbing her hands, again pinning them to her sides while he sawed his cock against her aching slit.

More, baby, please, she silently begged, but instead she got it someplace she hadn’t expected at that very moment—he shifted on the bed to straddle her face, his cock looking even more majestic than usual towering over her like a column of steel. Mmm, she wanted it in her mouth, as deep as she could take it, so she reached up, wrapped her hand around the thick shaft, and drew it down to her lips. Yet instead of sucking him just yet, at the last second she decided to tease him a little—two could play at that game.

Smiling up at him, she raked a tiny lick across the tip. He shuddered visibly, closed his eyes. She licked again, this time dragging her tongue in a circle around the head, French-kissing his cock.

Above her, he moaned and she continued the teasing treatment, thoroughly enjoying each