Stories for When the Sun Goes Down (Sexy Anthology) (5 page)

I turn away and screw up my eyes.

He pushes more urgently inside me, circles
my clitoris with his thumb and I feel the start of an orgasm building. “Get in
me,” I say, tugging my trapped arms in frustration. “I want you.” I pull at the
tie and it sinks deeper into my flesh. My hands tingle with lack of blood

“It’s not about your fun.” He nudges my
legs apart with his and climbs on board. “You’re at work, remember, you’re
doing this for my pleasure not yours.”

“Whatever, just be a man will you.” I give
up politeness
—
I’ll say
anything to feel that hulking big penis hit the spot. “Fuck me now, damn it.”

He obliges by removing his hand and with
one long, deep thrust penetrates my swollen, aching hole with his glorious
cock. His pubis rocks up against my hungry clitoris and his shaft whacks
against my G-spot. “You feel so good for a dirty old whore,” he grunts into my
hair. “So good.”

I want to wrap my arms around him, hold
him close, but I can’t, I’m tied up and at his mercy. The best I can do is
twine my stockinged legs around his thighs and force myself into his
scratching, heaving chest, position my pelvis so it hits just right. “Don’t
stop,” I grunt but know instantly it’s a mistake as I feel him withdraw.

I’m flipped onto my stomach. Arms
stretched above me, backside in the air. I whimper a protest. I can’t even get
my hands down to do it myself.

“Patience is a virtue,” he mutters. His
hand slides a lazy journey from my shoulder blades, into the dip of my lower
back and then on through the crack of my buttocks. I feel his fingertips pause
and begin to ring the ridged skin around my anus.

“That’ll cost extra,” I manage, though
right now I’m not really bothered about negotiating, I just want it any way I
can get it

“How much extra?”

I pluck a figure out of the air. “Five
hundred.”

“Fuck that,” he says removing his finger
and sending it lower. “There’s a perfectly good hole here, lubed and paid for,
waiting just for me.”

Head on my forearms and up on my knees, I
remain submissive, restricted by the tie. I feel big hands wrap around my hips
as his thighs edge between mine.

“You’re gonna take it all now,” he says.

“Oh, yes.” I wriggle my butt. Invite him
in.

“I’m gonna fuck you really hard, reckon
you can take it, whore.”

“Yes, yes, I can take it.”

“No more Mr. Nice Guy. He’s gone.”

“I don’t want Mr. Nice Guy,” I say as I
feel his fingers parting me and his dick sliding in. “I want it hard… now.”

His grunt is pure Neanderthal as he shoves
into the hilt and his hips jar against my buttocks. I can feel him pushing at
my womb and I let out a yelp of pleasure. He’s amazingly thick and long,
filling me to absolute capacity and rubbing all the best spots in just the
right way.

I pull at the tie, once again wanting to
get my hand down to my clit. Fortunately he takes pity on my struggle and sends
the pads of his first two fingers around to rub me. It’s exactly the right
pressure and combined with the thrusting feels like Nirvana, Paradise and
Heaven all calling me at once.

His breaths are coming thick and fast,
same as mine. He has one hand pinned to my left hip keeping me steady as he
shunts forward with increasing power and determination. I brace hard with my
arms straight out and clutch the slats the tie is looped around. “Oh, God, don’t
stop.” I hear myself beg into the eiderdown. “Don’t stop, Jack, don’t stop.”

“No fucking names, whore.” He slams all
the harder for my mistake and I feel his hand move from my hip and begin
circling my anus again. I whimper with delight and let myself catch the orgasm
rollercoaster, no longer needing to search it out because it’s here, taking over,
covering my body in pleasure, and the moment he shoves not just one but two
fingers up my back passage it roars through my veins like an earthquake. Both
holes filled I can do nothing but surf the spasms of bliss, clench and tremble
and scream out in ecstasy.

He curses violently overhead and I feel
him bashing high up inside me, urgent and desperate. His cock is as hard as any
cock can possibly go. He’s near to the edge and I let myself be impaled by his
pleasure. Use it to eke every last drop of satisfaction from my glorious climax
as he comes within me. Pours his seed into my body and lets out an unholy
praise to the Good Lord above as he does so.

I keep my back arched as he trembles and
shakes for several long seconds. With his fingers deep inside me and his penis
pulsating within I can’t remember when I last had such naughty fun.

“That was…” I don’t bother to raise my
head as I speak. “Intense.”

“Just a bit,” he replies, removing his
fingers from my arse and his dick from my swollen folds.

He flops on the bed next to me and I twist
my neck to look at him. A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead and tiny
droplets have formed on his top lip. His eyes are shut and his breaths are
still fast and jagged. I look at his chest and see his dark curls of hair
matted and stuck like miniature coils. He’s truly a fine specimen of a man and
this is the best I’ve seen him all evening. It makes me hot for more. “Untie
me,” I say quietly.

He rolls to his side and reaches for the
constricted knot. “Bloody hell, you pulled this a bit tight.”

“You were teasing me.”

He pokes it loose and it slides from my
wrists. “Sorry about that.” He rubs the reddened skin as though he can erase
the marks of our passion.

“It’s OK, it’ll be gone by morning.” I
flex and un-flex my hands to encourage a return of blood flow.

“I hope so.” He drops back down and scoops
me against his chest. I can hear his heart pounding strong and steady against
his ribs.

“I take cash or cheque,” I say as I finger
the curls around his flat nipples. “Either is fine, but with a cheque I require
a banker’s card.”

A rumble of amusement bubbles from his
stomach and I raise my head to look into his eyes. “What’s so funny?” I
question with a frown.

“I’m afraid I’ve already spent your
earnings.”

“What.” I push up and glare at him. “On
what?”

“Well you know that trip to Florida you
and the kids have been on about for ages.”

“Yes…” I tilt my head and can’t help but
smile in hope.

“Well it’s all booked, we go next month.”

I whoop with delight and hurl myself on
top of my husband. “Oh, Jack, I can’t believe it… you’ve really booked it,
really…?”

“Yes, really,” he laughs and rolls me over
to contain my excited wriggling with his body weight. “It’s the least I can do
after you agreed to act out my fantasy.”

I grin and give him a deep, lingering kiss
on the lips. “Well, it was hardly a chore.”

About the Champagne Whore

When I wander central London I play a
private game. I try to view things as a tourist might; the imposing streets,
the grand palaces, and the eclectic mix of people. Doing this always gives me a
sense of ownership and pride even though I actually own nothing in the
glorious, sprawling city.

I did live London for a time with a cute
boyfriend (who I went on to marry). We were poor, working hard and playing
hard, but we were happy. I remember one night we went to bed with the luxury of
a borrowed gas heater and woke up covered in sticky floral wallpaper. It had
literally slid from the walls overnight because of the extreme dampness in our
little flat
—which six months later was condemned
and pulled down!

Having progressed from the meager student
days and hauling ourselves onto the career ladder, a few years ago my husband
took me to a charity dinner at The Grosvenor House Hotel. I knew very few
people, and as he chatted with colleagues I was content to sink into a leather
chair in the Champagne Bar and indulge one of my favourite
pastimes—people watching.

The ambiance was muted. Men kept their
voices hushed and ladies sipped golden bubbles with their little fingers
poised. A pianist tinkled in the background and the bar staff were attentive
yet discreet. It struck me that with all the elegant dresses and finely suited
men, a passing time traveller would have had difficulty guessing the year, or even
the decade, we were socialising in. There were no mobile phones, no bluetooths or
iPads on show, just chic people on their best behaviour.

Perhaps a glance out of the window at the
cars slicing through dark puddles would have given a clue; Limos, Lexus’,
Bentleys and Mercs rushing the rich and famous, royalty and celebrity to other
Park Lane venues surrounding us.

As people arrived in the Champagne Bar and
greeted each other it became hard to tell who was catching up with old friends
and who was being introduced for the first time. I studied my husband in his pristine
tux and holding a thin flute of champagne. He laughed at something someone said
to him, nodded and turned and caught my gaze. I returned his smile and wondered
what it would be like if ‘we’ were just being introduced for the first time.

I’m pleased to say if we had just met at
that moment, I’d still fancy him like crazy. But what would it be like to play
a game, come back and fool everyone? Would people guess by our familiar body
language that were a couple and knew each other’s deepest darkest desire? And
what about the genteel staff in this sophisticated hotel, would they be so
crass as to challenge our behaviour if we thought up the naughtiest way
possible to become acquainted? It got me thinking and The Champagne Whore is
the product from those musings.

“Have you ever seen a hummingbird dancing
amongst the flowers?” Ray whispered.

“No,” I said in an equally hushed voice.
“Never.”

“It’s beautiful, a wonderful prism of
color flitting around.”

 “Where did you see hummingbirds?” I
asked softly so as not to disturb the marsh harriers slowly making their way
toward us.

“In San Diego years ago, when I was
touring with the bike. Absolutely stunning.”

We were quiet for a moment, concentrating
on the endless expanse of mudflats. I sneaked a glance at him. Like me he was
perched forward, elbows on the windowsill of the hide and binoculars primed in
front of his eyes. I loved the old moss-green hat he always wore—his
lucky charm—and the way his dark curls licked around the edge. From this
angle he was picture-perfect.

“I’d love to go to America,” I said.

“You will one day.”

“I’m not sure, the thought of flying is
too scary. I prefer to stay here, in Norfolk.”

“Flying, scary?” He shifted his binoculars
and turned to me, a strip of sunlight slashed across the silver lines on his
right cheek. “But surely, as a dedicated bird watcher, a committed twitcher,
flying is something you’re fascinated by.”

I huddled lower and drew up my shoulders.
His complete attention always thrilled me, but equally it terrified me. “Yes,
but not to actually fly myself,” I said, feigning a complete fascination in a
common starling that was pecking near the hide.

“Sometimes you just have to go for it,” he
said, his gruff voice held a note of steel.

In my peripheral vision I saw him re-align
his binoculars and settle down again. We were waiting for a sighting of a
spoonbill. Hopefully we would soon be treated to a glimpse of one of my
favorite birds.

“Even if you’re scared or worried, or you
can’t imagine doing it,” he went on, “everyone has to take a risk sometimes and
then deal with the consequences the best they can if it all goes wrong.”

I bit down on my lip as my heart swelled.
Ray had taken a risk and then had titanic-size consequences to cope with. He’d
had a big, mean motorbike, raced all over with his mates until one winter’s day
he’d hit ice. He’d skidded head first into a wall and spent two weeks in
intensive care fighting for his life. The scars on his face were the physical
marks left on his body, but from our talks I knew there were more inside. He
beat himself up over what he put his parents and friends through and the fact
that one side of his face now looked like it had a spider’s web spun over it.

Listening to him talk, as we sat in the
hide, was one of my favorite things to do. It was bi-monthly this meeting of
twitchers, and the highlight of my calendar since Ray and I had partnered up a
year ago.

“I’m not as brave as you,” I said.

“I’m only brave because I had to be.” He
paused as two glossy ibises landed amongst the reeds, their large fingered
wings spreading high as their skinny legs touched down.

I marked their time of arrival on the log
sheet. Something I always did. I liked to be accurate in our documentation.

“If you had to fly to America,” he went
on, “say to see someone you loved, then you would do it, wouldn’t you?”

“I guess.” The thing was I loved Ray. With
all my heart, and he was right here. But I was too terrified to do anything
about that love. He was out of my league for sure. He was so damn cool and had
a rebellious, bad-boy air about him, also he knew so much more than me about
life. I’d always been the quiet bookworm type. Preferring to bury myself in
stories or walk along the Norfolk Broads with my binoculars and notepad. Not
like him, busy roaring around on a Harley, adding to his collection of tattoos
and heading to whichever festival was on that weekend.

“You would fly for someone you loved,” he
said, “I know you would.” Once again he put down his binoculars. This time he
reached for the flask of tea and re-filled our mugs.

“Thanks,” I said when he passed my cup.

“So are we going to stay late again and
see if our friend the short eared owl appears?” he asked.

 A warm glow radiated from my
stomach. I wanted nothing more than to spend the evening in the hide with Ray,
watching the sun go down, drinking tea, studying his mouth as he spoke and
breathing in the delicious spiced cologne he always wore. Afterwards we would
go back to The Cart and Slipper the public house-come-bed and breakfast the
Wirral Ornithological Society always used. Hopefully he’d suggest we grab a
bar-snack and a night-cap and I’d get to sit next to him on the old sofa in
front of the fire and listen to more tales from his past. I’d been lucky enough
to spend several evenings this way. It was lovely sitting next to him like
that, my leg just touching his, his shoulder brushing mine when he lifted his
drink to his lips. I could almost pretend we were a real couple and the
intimacy of sharing personal space was something we were used to and
comfortable with. “Yes, we should stay late,” I said, hoping I kept the note of
absolute excitement out of my voice.

“Great, in that case we’ll have a little
of this in our tea.” Delving into the pocket of his leather jacket that lay
over the back of the bench, he withdrew a silver hipflask. “Here you go.” He
glugged a slosh of whiskey into my cup. “Cheers.” He clinked the rims of our
mugs together. “Here’s to more spoonbill sightings than Nick and Jeremy.

I clicked my tongue on the roof of my
mouth. “Absolutely. Otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it.”

He grinned and creases shot from the
corner of his eyes to his temples and the thin, thready scar that kissed the
outline of his lip disappeared.

I took a sip and the rich, earthy flavor
washed over my tastebuds. It was not the first time Ray had brought whiskey and
I liked how it made my knees feel light and my belly heat. It undid the knot
that too often twisted my tongue and allowed me to tell him my thoughts and
feelings, my hopes and dreams for the future. I wasn’t a drinker normally, but
it helped when my emotions were so powerful and threatened to overwhelm me.

Instead of picking up his binoculars
again, Ray reclined on the bench and rubbed his palm around his jawline. “You
don’t always realize what you’re capable of, Lisa.”

“What do you mean?” I fiddled with the
focus on my binoculars then took another sip of my toddy. He was making me
center of attention, again, and that made my heart race.

There was a sudden pressure on my back,
over the wool of my sweater. He stroked his fingertips up toward my neck and
touched my skin, just the tiniest fraction, like a butterfly brushing it’s
wings over me.

I froze, my mug held aloft as every nerve
in my body went on high alert. That one patch of skin seemingly the only part
of my body.

“You’re never the first one to start a
conversation,” he said, “and I’ve seen you hide away at the back of the group,
trying to be invisible, more times than I care to remember. But that doesn’t
mean you can’t
do
stuff.”

I opened my mouth to speak. No words came
out.

He brushed my amber-blonde hair aside and
the roots tingled. He leaned forward and hovered his lips near my ear, his
breaths washing over my neck and sending a flutter shimmying over my scalp.

“Ray, I…” I was sure he would be able to
hear my heart pounding, echoing around the small hide. He’d never touched me
like that before, never shown any physical affection toward me other than a
peck on the cheek at the Wetland Conservation Christmas party when I’d
accidently found myself under a piece of mistletoe

“Don’t speak, please, let me.” He
swallowed, making a small gulping sound. I could hear his breathing, short,
shallow breaths. “I just really want to tell you. I mean, what I want to say
is… fuck, I knew I’d mess this up.”

“Ray?” I turned, my nose practically
bumping into his. “What is it? What’s the matter?” Why was he so nervous?
Didn’t he want to be my twitcher partner anymore? I would just die if he’d
found someone else he wanted to go spotting with. Bird watching with Ray was my
everything.

Raising his hand, he cupped my cheek.
“It’s just that I’ve been meaning to ask you, for ages now…”

I couldn’t help but want to fall into him.
Into the raw strength he exuded, the heat that radiated from him and the
wondrous way he always made me feel when we were together. And now, with him so
close, touching me…

“Ask me what?” My cheek was tingling
against his big, warm palm.

“Do you think?” He paused, tensed his jaw.
“Do you think you could ever be with a guy like me?”

My heart swelled, adrenaline pumped into
my system. “What do you mean
be
with?”

“I know I’m no oil painting, what with all
of this mess.” He gestured to the left side of his face. “And probably not the
sort of guy you would normally go for, but if I don’t at least ask, then I’m
not the brave man I thought I was.”

I looked at his nose with a slight bump at
the bridge, his soft, ever-ready-to-smile mouth, and his beautiful chestnut
eyes. His pupils were dilated and his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he
blinked. “Ray, I don’t know what to say.”

He shook his head and looked at our knees,
just brushing against each other. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry.
Like I said, I just had to ask. We get on so well, when I’m with you I feel
like none of the crazy shit happened and I can just be me again, so I…” He
dropped his hand from my cheek and rested it on his lap. “I just needed to find
out if you felt the same way, or think you could, possibly, one day.”

Thoughts and emotions tumbled through my
brain, a combination of anticipation, joy and disbelief. “How
do
you
feel?” I asked, trying to keep the shake from my voice. “So I can tell you if I
feel the same way.”

He looked back up, frown lines were
creasing his brow. “Lisa, I lost so much, after the accident, but also I’ve
gained so much. I would never have considered bird-watching before, I would
have been out tearing up the tarmac with my mates every weekend. But now, here,
I’m happy, happier than ever before and it’s all down to one thing.” He paused.
“It’s because I’ve found you and we share this time together.”

I swallowed down a ball of emotion that
threatened to bubble into a sob. My chest was a little tight, my knees felt
weak even though I was sitting down. “Really?”

He cocked his head and pressed his teeth
onto his bottom lip. “Yes, really. Every second weekend with you is the
highlight of my month, the weekends I don’t see you I just find things to do
that pass the time. Anything, it doesn’t matter what.”

My eyes, damn them, were moistening. He’d
just summed up my feelings in their entirety.

We stared at each other.

A gull screeched overhead.

Little beads of sweat popped in my
cleavage.

Ray pulled his eyebrows low, as though
concentrating intensely.

“Well if that’s how you feel,” I said with
a flush of heat spreading up my neck and onto my cheeks. “Then yes, I do feel
the same way.”

“You do?” He widened his eyes.

“Yes, I love our time together, here,
bird-watching, chatting.”

“I love it too, and, and… I love you.” He
captured my cheeks in his hands and brought our faces close, so close I could
feel his breaths on my mouth.

“Ray,” I gasped, clutching his forearm and
hanging onto the thickly roped muscles and tendons beneath his t-shirt.

“It’s the truth. And it’s not like we’ve
just met, and I can’t contain it anymore, Lisa. I want to be with you in a way
that is so much more than looking for rare species. I want to see you on the
weekends we’re not hiding in here. I want to take you to the movies and dinner
and spoil you when it’s your birthday and Christmas. I want you to meet my parents
and friends and then when we’ve done that I want to hold you, all night, make
love to you, wake up with you…”

His lips were so close to mine, a whisper
away. “I want that too.”

“Thank goodness.” He smiled briefly then
kissed me, softly, sweetly, his tongue just skirting into my mouth, the tip
warm and wet and laced with the malty tea we’d just drunk.

“Ah, you taste divine,” he said, pulling
back.

I smiled and licked my lips, drawing his
flavor into my mouth. Reaching up, I traced the scars at the center of his
cheek then followed one of the trails to his nose and over to the outer corner
of his eye. They were smooth on the tip of my finger, flat, they were part of
Ray and they’d brought him my way. For that reason I would always adore them.

“I love you too,” I whispered, “I have
done for so long.” I set down my mug, feeling bashful that I’d said what was in
my heart but also feeling freer because of it.

Suddenly he was kissing me again, harder
this time, more urgent. I opened up and let him in, slid my hands over his
shoulders and hung on tight. My breasts were pressed into his wide chest, my
nipples spiking against my bra. His heat, his scent, his taste consumed my
senses.