Snow on the Bayou: A Tante Lulu Adventure (15 page)

“Definitely not with Bernie.” And that was all she was going to say on that subject.

When he realized that she wasn’t going to disclose anything else, he began to play with her breasts. Palming them. Tweaking the nipples, then strumming them with fluttering fingers. “I love your breasts,” he said.

When he lowered his head and began to suckle her, she let out a long, keening wail, arched her hips up off the mattress, and climaxed again.

She turned her head away. “I am so embarrassed.”

He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Never be embarrassed about something so beautiful. Your coming almost made me come.”

That made her feel a little better, but only a little. All thought left her head then as he stood and shimmied out of his shorts. His penis was large and engorged, the veins standing out as if oversensitized, the mushroom head ruddy with arousal.

“Are you like that all the time?” she asked before checking her hasty tongue. “I mean when you’re having sex, not when you’re just walking around.”
Jeesh! I sound like a blushing virgin.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Only for you. I’ve been wanting you for a long time, baby.” He knelt on the mattress at the end of the bed, tugged off her panties, then crawled up and over her. “Talk about embarrassing, I don’t think I can wait much longer.” He rolled a condom on one-handed…
another talent bespeaking his experience
. Then, without asking if she was ready again—
he must know
—he nudged her knees apart with his own, then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he eased his penis inside her body, which welcomed him with grasping clasps of her inner muscles as they adjusted to his size. She was too far gone in excitement to be embarrassed anymore.

Buried inside her fully, he closed his eyes and seemed to be counting when what she wanted was for him to begin moving. In fact, she urged on a soft moan, “Move, dammit.”

He tried to laugh but it came out as a choked sound. “Wait, or this will be the fastest fuck in history.”

“Nice language.”

“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t look one bit sorry. In fact, he appeared to be in pain. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. The muscles in his shoulders appeared tense. And he was panting.

So she decided to jump-start things herself. While she couldn’t lift his big body off her by raising her hips, she could move from side to side, and that was almost as good. Bliss!

And it must have felt blissful to him, too, because he lifted himself up on extended arms until he was almost out of her body, then slowly, slowly, slowly down. Over and over he performed this maneuver until the sweat was dripping off his body, and every nerve ending in her body was quivering with tension.

“Harder,” she pleaded.

“Like this?” he asked, slamming into her, hitting her clitoris dead on. But he only did it once.

Darn him!

When he raised himself up the next time, she reached between his legs and tickled the underside of his balls at just that place which he’d once told her was his happy spot. With an expletive bursting from his gritted teeth, he pushed her knees to her chest and looked at her directly. “Game on,
chère
?”

“Game on,
cher
,” she countered.

Justin made love to her then with all the expertise he’d garnered over the years. Alternating between long and short strokes. Embedding himself in her and, at the same time, kissing her until she was a whimpering mess. Then plunging into her depths again. Occasionally, he murmured words to her in a foreign language, which she hoped were endearments, but were probably coarse sex words.

He told her things he liked her to do. “Touch my shoulders, baby.” “Put your hands on my butt. Yes, like that.” “French-kiss me, sweetheart. Suck on my tongue.”

And she found herself telling him the same. “My breasts. Touch them some more. Not so hard. Yes. Gentle.” “I like when you caress the back of my knees.” “Oh, no, stop! I’m ticklish
there
.”

It must be true what they said about Navy SEALs and their staying power because Justin stayed hard for what seemed an exceedingly long time. By the time he finally reared back and thrust himself deeper than ever inside her, roaring out his ejaculation, she might have climaxed two or more times. Amazing!

As he lay over her, still inside her, his face buried in her neck, she wished that he might say the words that hummed in her own brain,
I love you.
But of course, he didn’t because she’d told him not to. It was for the best, really.

When he finally raised his head and looked down at her, he said with a wicked grin, “You are the best friend I’ve ever had.”

I’ll tell you my fantasy if you’ll tell me yours…

C
age was serious. He’d never had sex so good, and to his shame, that was saying a lot, considering the number of notches on his belt. Literally.

When he’d left Louisiana the first time, he remained celibate… for a while. Saving himself for Emelie. Despite the way he’d been railroaded out of town and despite his lack of success in contacting her by phone or mail, he’d never doubted that she still loved him. Until he’d come home after boot camp and discovered that she was married.

He didn’t like to think about that time in his life. Although the military hadn’t been his choice initially, he’d actually liked basic training. It was something he could do and do well. He fit in for the first time in his life. He’d been so full of himself on that first liberty, coming home to see his girl, perhaps take her back with him. There was married housing on the base; he’d checked into it.

He’d gone crazy then. So many women, he’d lost count. And then, when he became a SEAL, there was a whole new pool of women. Honest-to-God SEAL groupies. Aside from them, willing females abounded in every port, on every mission.

And now he’d come full circle to find that the best sex was still with the woman he’d loved from the beginning. How pathetic was that? Or soul-searingly wonderful?

“Wait here,” he said, giving Em a quick kiss and going into the bathroom to make quick work of the used condom, then washing his hands. Looking into the mirror over the sink, he couldn’t help but notice the loopy grin on his face. He was a goner. Turning on the faucets in the shower stall, he opened the door and beckoned Em with a crooked finger. “Come here, you.”

She was sitting up in the bed, propped against the pillow, a sheet drawn up and over her breasts, which incidentally he really, really liked. Really! Her bed-mussed curls looked really bed-mussed now, and her lips were rosy and swollen from his kisses. Fifty shades of sexy, and she knew it. All she did was arch her eyebrows mischievously at his invitation.

“You forgot to turn off the water,” she told him.

“I didn’t forget. Haul ass, babe.” He motioned her again. “Time’s a-wastin’, and I have plans.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” She slid off the bed and walked toward him, a vision of pure, naked, Southern belle sexiness. When she passed him in the doorway, she wiggled her butt saucily, and glanced back at him over her shoulder through half-slitted eyes.

“Tease me, will you?”

He picked her up by the waist and walked them both into the shower, closing the door to create the perfect
steamy cocoon. The warm spray soon covered them both and her wet hair was plastered against her head. He combed his fingers into her hair, pushing it behind her ears.

She cradled his face with her hands, as though he were precious to her, and kissed him. A short kiss, but intense with unspoken words.

“Time to teach you some of the lessons I’ve learned in the SEALs.”

With water running down her upraised face, she asked, “What? Chinese water torture?”

He laughed. “No. Another type of torture.” He took a washcloth and folded it over into a triangle, then folded that several times until he had a narrow band. “I want to blindfold you. Will you trust me?”

She hesitated but only for a second before nodding.

Once he’d tied the washcloth over her eyes, he lifted her arms so that she could hold on to the showerhead above her, which caused her breasts to arch up and out.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, then groaned.

“What?” she asked.

“Have I told you how much I like your breasts?”

“Only about a thousand times.”

Her breasts were large, like halved navel oranges, with pretty pert nipples that were slightly uptilted, but they were especially attractive because her rib cage was narrow and her waist small. And then, as if to counterbalance the weight on top, her hips swirled outward.

Her belly was flat, leading down to the wet, black curls that formed a nest between her thighs. No Brazilian wax for her. Which was kind of nice. Old-fashioned. He’d seen all kinds of pussies. Bare, bare except for a narrow landing strip of hair, short cut, trimmed into a heart shape or
a diamond, adorned with jewelry, tattooed, pierced, and even braided, of all things. He was probably biased, but he liked Em’s best. Not that he would be telling her that.

“You’re so quiet. What are you doing?”

“Just looking.”

“Is that part of the torture?”

“Do you feel tortured?”

“A little bit.”

“Good,” he said, and picked up the bottle of shampoo sitting on the ledge. Pouring a huge dollop into his hand, he smiled. Lemons.

He shampooed her, and then he soaped her arms and underarms, her breasts and belly and butt, her legs, from her ankles, up one thigh and down the other. Then her cleft.

“This really is torture,” she said, squirming.

“Good.”

She sniffed the air then. “Are you shampooing my entire body?”

“Yep.”

“Why? There’s soap there.”

He was rinsing off all the lather now, including between her legs, which caused her to squirm some more. “Yeah, but I wanted the lemon flavor.”

She hesitated before asking, “Why?”

“The better to eat you, my dear,” he growled and went down on both knees before her. He realized his mistake immediately as his bad knees protested in pain. Thinking quickly, he said, “Hold on tight, darlin’. This is gonna be a rough ride.” On those words of warning, he edged his shoulders between her legs and stood all in one motion.

“Yikes!” she yelped and held the showerhead tighter. “Are you crazy?”

With a little adjustment of her knees over his shoulders, he looked at the palate before him. And grinned.
Man, I am good!

“Let me down, Justin. I don’t like this. I have no way of bracing myself.”

“You mean, you’re too open, too vulnerable?”

“Exactly,” she said with relief, fully expecting him to let her down.
Foolish girl!
That was just how he wanted her.

His hands were on her butt, holding her up, but his long fingers were able to come at her from between her thighs, spreading her folds. “You are so pretty here, Em. All pink and slick.” He licked her up one inner fold and down the other.

She moaned.

“Was that a good moan or a bad moan, honey?”

“Bite me!” she snarled.

“Okay,” he said and nipped at her inner thigh.

“I didn’t mean that literally.”

“I know.”

“I swear, I am going to kill you.”

For that he flicked her Bic with a wide swath of his tongue.

She went stiff and silent.

“You liked that, didn’t you, Em? No answer? That’s okay. I can take it from here.” And he did.

Using a forearm to brace Em’s rump, he used the other hand to enter her with a long middle finger until he found her G-Spot. Only then, when he was palpating that knotted muscle, did he take her clit in his mouth and begin to suck softly.

She screamed as her orgasm began. He could feel the spasm around his finger. Then she wailed one continuous
“Ohohohohohoh!” When the oh’s ended and the inner spasms stopped and he could swear she ejaculated around his finger, he kissed her clit, then eased her back down to her feet.

Immediately she sank to her knees and ripped the blindfold off her eyes. “You!” she said, handing him the folded washcloth. “Your turn.”

She could scarcely speak for the anger or deep satisfaction she was feeling. He wasn’t about to ask which.

“You heard me. Blindfold yourself and,” she repeated his words back at him, “hold on tight, darlin’. This is gonna be a rough ride.” She was still on her knees and she was staring at his cock, which was erect and ready to boogie. It took him only a moment to understand. Then he smiled. If what she planned was intended as a punishment, let the pain begin.

He blindfolded himself and held on to the showerhead, which was eye level to him.

“Stop smiling.”

He could tell she was standing now. Damn! Then he heard a squirting sound. The shampoo. Okay.

She started with his head and shoulders and chest. Good thing she didn’t start at the bottom coming up or this show would be over real quick. He’d already held off too long, and he didn’t have any condoms in the bathroom. The shower had been running for so long that the water was turning tepid, but that was good because he was so hot.

She remarked on certain body parts as she went along, which distracted him somewhat from what he really wanted to concentrate on. Blowing his wad.

“Your body is different than it used to be.”

“I’m seventeen years older. Of course it’s different.” But then he thought. “Don’t you like it now?”

“I like it, but…”

But? She has a but?
“I was a skinny kid when I left here,” he said in a disgruntled voice.

She laughed softly. “Yeah, but I lo… liked that skinny kid. And you have scars now, like this one on your belly. Looks like it was stitched.”

“I got knifed in Kabul.”

She gasped. “And that knotted scar on your thigh.” She seemed to be kissing a place high on his leg, way too close to sex central, and he moaned. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he gritted out. “That was a bullet wound from a Pakistan mission two years ago.”

“Are all your missions dangerous?” She was still kneeling. He felt her breath on his belly.

“No,” he gasped.

“Are you ever afraid?”

Talk, talk, talk. A little less words, and a little more action
, he thought. But he knew when to keep his cool. So instead, he answered her, “Yeah, fear is your best friend. That’s a SEAL motto.”
But, honey, I’m more afraid that your mouth is so close to my cock, and it’s not going to do anything.

She touched him then. Just a fingertip tracing some design, but man, it felt like heaven.

“You have veins bulging out again. Is that a good thing?”

At first, he couldn’t speak as she continued to trace said veins, and he had to huff a few breaths to keep from ejaculating. “A very good thing,” he said finally. “Em, do you remember how I taught you to hold me back then?”

“Like this?” she asked and took his cock in both her hands, one above the other, and began to pump.

He jerked back, hitting his head on the tile, which
caused the blindfold to slip down his face to land around his neck. Glancing down, he saw her concentrating as she worked his cock up and down. “Not so hard,” he gurgled out.

“Oh. Like this?”

He nodded, but then realized that she hadn’t yet noticed that he could see her. “Yes.”

And then she licked the bead off the tip and put the head in her mouth. He almost fainted with the sheer, incredibly intense pleasure. “More,” he encouraged her.

And she did, little by little, until he was in all the way, before glancing up at him. And winking. The little minx knew all along that he could see her.

She worked him then, in and out of her mouth. Not with any great expertise. But that didn’t matter. This was sex at its best, from a male point of view.

When he was unable to handle any more, he lifted her up and kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue, as he came all over her belly. He held her for a long time afterward, just held her.

Then they had to shower again, and it was cold. Neither of them minded, they were laughing so much, on a high of joy as potent as any whiskey buzz.

After that, at 2 a.m., they were both hungry, and they went into the small kitchen, where they warmed up Ella’s supposedly famous crawfish gnocchi, which they ate with a Caesar salad, warmed-up Italian bread, and a bottle of red wine.

They talked while they ate.

“How are you occupying yourself while you’re staying with your grandmother? I mean, you must be busy all the time when you’re working.”

“I’ve had plenty to keep me busy so far. The house, the
yard, and the animals have been a job in itself, and the work’s still not done. Have I mentioned a lovesick dog?” He batted his eyelashes at her.

“Give it up, buddy. I am not adopting that huge dog. Can you imagine the damage it would do down in the shops?”

“He can be trained. Until then, you could keep him in your apartment or down in the courtyard.”

“No.”

“We’ll see.” He grinned suddenly. “Maybe Thad and I will come for a sleepover one night.”

“No.”

“No to me, or no to Thad.”

She just shook her head at him as though he were hopeless. He was when it came to her. Which was probably the reason why he blurted out, “Why did you never answer my letters?”

“What letters?”

They came to the same realization at the same time.

“Your father.”

“My father.”

He tilted his head to the side as an impossible idea nagged at him. In his mind, an image flashed and was gone, but he’d caught the gist. Emelie standing in the driveway of his grandmother’s house, crying as she clutched a packet of letters. “No,” he said. “No, don’t tell me. You wrote me letters but they never made it past my grandparents’ home. Please tell me that isn’t true.”

She said nothing.

“Answer me,” he yelled, then immediately regretted his anger and took her hand in his, kissing the knuckles. “I’m sorry. It’s just kind of shocking.”

“You can’t ask your grandmother about this. Please. Promise me you won’t. She already feels so guilty.”

Cage was an intelligent man, smarter than many people gave him credit for, largely because of the joking, never very serious attitude he’d adopted over the years. But his mind was working overtime now. Her father. His birthday. Her crying over letters that might have been addressed to Cage. The decision not to attend her father’s birthday celebration. Her father’s heart attack. Bernie’s sudden appearance on the bayou. Hell, Emelie’s marriage to Bernie itself.

So many questions.

“But why? Why would my grandmother do that?” He frowned, trying to get the time frame in order. “Or was it my grandparents?”

“I can’t talk about this. Not now. And your grandmother is in no condition to have a breakdown in the midst of her medical crisis. Just let it go, sweetheart.”