Sticks and Stone (9 page)

Dermot rested his hands on her
thighs,
pressing lightly to keep them spread, and used his thumbs to delve between her
slick folds. When he brushed her swollen clitoris, she moaned and thrust toward
him.

He dipped his thumbs in the wellspring of liquid pooling
within her, making her shudder and moan again. Then he slid his wet thumbs over
and around the tight bud until she thought she’d go insane.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she chanted, not knowing what she was
agreeing to now, only that he made her feel so good that she never wanted him
to stop.

And then his thumbs were replaced by his tongue. Eileen
gasped. He swept a wet caress around her sensitive bud, and then surrounded it
with his mouth.

“Oh,” she moaned. “Yes.”

She plunged her fingers into his thick hair, cradling
his skull and holding his mouth right there while she bucked against him,
trying to deepen his kiss. He began sucking on her bud, still flicking it with
his tongue.

Eileen writhed madly against him, clutching his head and
pumping her hips.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Her whispered litany was broken by
sharp gasps and low moans as his skilled mouth and tongue brought her closer
and closer to climax without giving her release.

He cupped her ass with one hand, supporting her as he
plundered her with his mouth. Then his other hand reached past what he was
doing with his tongue and found her vagina.

He teased her, slipping one, then two, then three
fingers just past the sensitive ridge of muscle. She shook, trembling under his
onslaught, and locked her thighs around his neck.

“Yes. Yes. Please.
Now.
Yes.”

His fingers thrust deeply into her vagina just as his
teeth bit lightly on her clitoris. Eileen came in a blinding rush, all light
and heat and wave after wave of fluid pouring out of her that he lapped and
suckled.

She
floated,
Dermot’s skilled
hands and mouth keeping her body hot and excited while her mind and spirit spun
in wheeling ecstasy. Gradually, her passion cooled, and she returned to
awareness to find
herself
fully clothed and sitting
cradled in Dermot’s lap on the back seat. His free hand was tucked beneath her
shirt, softly caressing her breast.

“Welcome back to Earth,” he whispered. “Did you have a
nice flight?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Oh, yes.”

She closed her eyes and leaned against his wool-clad
chest, wishing his suit coat and crisp shirt were gone so she could feel his
heated skin beneath her cheek. She heard the steady beat of his heart, and
snuggled closer.

His hand closed over her breast, as if he wanted to feel
her heartbeat as well, and he held her quietly. The only sound was the gentle
swell of violins, building to the final crescendo of the music.

The limousine lurched, rocking them forward then back
against the upholstery. Eileen lifted her head to look out the window. They
were turning onto a narrow street, almost impassibly cluttered with double
parked cars. Scraggly trees struggled for life amid the exhaust fumes, their
narrow circles of dirt imprisoned within larger squares of concrete. People
bundled in heavy coats strode briskly along the sidewalk, their heads down and
shoulders hunched as if they battled a strong wind. The buildings’ brown and
gray polished marble and granite walls reflected distorted views of the cars
and pedestrians.

The limousine lurched again, turning to squeeze between
two marble pillars flanking a cobblestone circular drive that passed underneath
one of the buildings. Bumping over the uneven surface, the limousine slowly
drew even with an elderly black doorman liveried in the same brown and gray as
the building.

Dermot released her, sliding her onto the seat beside
him. The limousine slowed to a stop and the electronic locks popped open. No
sooner had she heard the click, than the doorman swung open the limousine’s
door.

The tiny doorman peered inside the car. “Good evening
Mr. Stone, ma’am. Would you like a hand?”

Eileen thought it was more likely that she would pull
the man into the car than that he could successfully pull her out of it.

“I can manage.”

He nodded his head and stepped aside, holding the door
so that it wouldn’t swing back and hit her as she exited. Dermot followed her
out of the limousine a moment later.

“Good evening, Clarence. Has your grandson heard back on
his audition yet?”

“Not yet, sir.”
He shut the car
door and hurried ahead of them to open the glass door into the building. “By
Tuesday, they said.”

“I hope he gets it.”

“I’ll tell him you said so, sir.”

Feeling completely ignored, Eileen walked up a short
flight of brown marble steps to a bank of elevators. The nearest one was
already waiting with the door open.

She stepped inside, joined a moment later by Dermot. He
slid his key into the slot at the top of the elevator panel and turned it. The
letter “P” lit up with a pleasant chime.

He removed his key, finishing just as the elevator doors
closed, and turned to take her in his arms.

Eileen sidestepped him. “What was that about?”

“Clarence’s grandson is a talented musician. He’s trying
to get into one of the orchestras. They’ve already called him back once.”

“That’s nice. But I meant, why are you all over me as
soon as we’re alone, but when we’re where anyone can see us, you act like you
hardly know me?”

Dermot’s eyes widened, as if she’d asked why water was
wet.
“Because anyone could see us.”

“And…?” she prompted, feeling foolish but needing to
know his reason. Did he want to keep her his guilty secret?

He sighed, and leaned back against the elevator wall.
“Images sell stories. The news rags won’t invent a scandal if they have no
pictures to support it.”

The elevator chimed again. When the doors slid open, she
darted through them, into a brown and gray marble foyer. Two glass-topped
tables, each filled with a massive floral arrangement in a marble urn, flanked
the single door.

Dermot unlocked the door and ushered her inside. She
pushed past him into his black leather and wire-work living room.

The open wire shelves held an entertainment system,
including a home theater, easily a hundred CD’s, and hardcover business books,
interspersed with small sculptures and decorative glass bowls and vases that
provided the room’s only color. The couch and accent chairs were all
upholstered in black leather. Sheer panels of black and white gauze draped over
the sliding glass door leading to a roof garden.

He closed and locked the door, then turned to face her.
“My driver will leave your luggage in the foyer.”

“Am I your secret scandal, Dermot? Is that why you
weren’t officially at the airport to meet me?”

 
“No!” He pushed
his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Waving one hand at the couch,
he told her, “Sit. This will take a while.”

She glanced at the soft leather cushions, and was
immediately reminded of the back seat of his limo. “I prefer to stand, thank
you.”

Dermot prowled around the perimeter of the room, as if
seeking the perfect position from which to deliver his argument. Finally, he
leaned his hip against one of the shelving units and faced her.

“When you didn’t call, I wasn’t sure how you felt about
seeing me again. After all, I was the one who gave you my card. You never
volunteered your number. Maybe that night didn’t mean anything to you. You
might have done the same for any man you rescued from a dryad.”

Eileen opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his
hand and cut her off.

“Since I wasn’t sure of your feelings, I thought it
prudent to act as if you would not be interested in furthering our
relationship. I told no one that we’d met. You have a room booked in your name
at the
Niko
. Officially I was not at the airport so
that, if you wished to deny our previous encounter, there would be no awkward
questions for you to answer.”

Eileen swallowed to clear her tight throat. Do no harm.
He’d arranged everything so that he would do no harm. His motives couldn’t be
any plainer than that.

“It’s sorry I am to have doubted you,” she said. Darting
across the room, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Dermot curled his arms around her waist, pulling her
hips tight against his, and deepened the kiss. Opening her mouth, she allowed
the sweet invasion of his tongue. He tasted like mint.

Twining her tongue with his, she sucked lightly. He
groaned. He rubbed his growing erection against her abdomen, and when that
wasn’t enough, grabbed her by the ass and lifted her to straddle his swollen
cock. She locked her legs around his waist and rocked against him.

His cock pressed against the seam of her jeans, teasing
her with the light touch. Still joined together, he turned them away from the
shelving unit, until he had Eileen’s back pressed against the wall.

He ground his hips against hers, digging his cock harder
and harder into the cleft between her legs. She whimpered, needing to feel him
inside of her instead of this torturous tease through his slacks and her jeans.

Breaking their kiss, she labored for breath,
then
asked, “Why are we still dressed?”

Before he could answer, the
door bell
rang; two deep, sonorous tones.

“Because we’re waiting for your
luggage.”

Eileen reached underneath his suit coat and ran her nails
down the back of his shirt. He arched into her stroke with a groan.

“You don’t need your luggage just yet,” he said
hoarsely.

“Oh, but I do.” She scraped her nails down his shirt
again, eliciting a throaty groan. “There’s something in there for you.”

He pulled up the hem of her sweater, exposing her
stomach, and reached for the snap on her jeans. “It can wait.”

“It’s a branch from the dryad’s
wych
elm.”

He stilled immediately, his cock no longer pressing
insistently against her.
“The dryad?”

“Certified dryad free.
It’s just a tree
branch.
A very long, supple, springy tree branch.”
She
slapped his ass for emphasis.

Dermot trembled against her. “Would you…?”

She gazed into his eager face and smiled. “You made me
incredibly happy on our way over here. Now it’s my turn to make you happy.”

Eyes shining, he swallowed twice before he was able to
speak. “Let’s get that suitcase now.”

Dermot smoothed his hand over his hair out of habit as
he hurried to the door. Eileen’s suitcase was waiting in the hall, his driver
having delivered it and then departed.

He grabbed the handle and swung it inside. After closing
and locking the door, he carried the suitcase to the guest room and tossed it
onto the navy and gold bedspread.

Eileen followed him in a moment later, pausing in the
doorway to glance around the room. “You paid someone to decorate your
apartment, didn’t you?”

Dermot appraised the gender-neutral guest room. The bed,
chair, and pillows were covered in navy and gold brocade trimmed with gold
braid. The headboard, nightstand, and dresser were made of pecan with gold
accents. Navy gauze panels tied back with gold tassels draped over a decorative
pecan rod, unifying the theme. The look was completed with three still-
lifes
bordered by wide navy mattes in slim gold frames. It
looked elegant, without being ostentatious.

“She did a good job.”

Eileen smiled. “It’s pretty enough, true. But it’s not
you.”

“This is the guest room.” Dermot grinned, anticipating
her reaction to the designer’s safari look in his room. “Wait until you see the
master bedroom.”

Eileen unzipped her suitcase, flipped it open, and
tossed aside a sweater to reveal a slender gray branch, about two feet in
length, tapering from an inch in width at the foot of the branch to the tiny
twigs at its tip.

Dermot swallowed, unable to tear his gaze from the
innocuous branch. He remembered the feel of the dryad’s hands whipping his ass,
the glorious pain that transported him to the faerie realm of indescribable
beauty.
The ecstasy that had nearly killed him.

He reached for the branch, and saw that his hand was
shaking. Quickly, he clasped his hands behind his back before Eileen could spot
his tremors and have second thoughts.

She lifted the branch out of her suitcase and whipped it
back and forth in front of him. It whistled as it cut through the air.

Dermot’s entire body trembled with eager fear. His cock
hardened and jutted forward, making a tent in the front of his pants and
pulling the fabric tight against his ass. A soft whine escaped his throat, like
a dog whimpering for a promised treat.