Thigh High (20 page)

T
he images Carrie created swirled again and suddenly the men were naked. So was she. Naked on a soft warm platform, arms and legs stretched wide but not bound. Open and vulnerable, she understood all the men surrounding the platform were at her command. Cocks hard and glistening with drops of pre-cum under dim candlelight, they waited for her instructions.

She couldn't see their faces, just their lips and jaws, square and handsome. Their hands, large, competent, continued the swirling patterns around her body, coming close to her areas of need but never touching. Except for the cold, deeply entrenched fingers she felt inside. Hot on the outside, cold on the inside, she shivered.

Her nipples beaded hard, her pussy dripped onto the soft, padded platform. Mouths and lips and tongues roamed so close, gently swirling, tasting, tempting….

She felt tracers of heat across her mons, in the curved hollows at the top of her thighs. Her outer lips opened, her inner lips bloomed, her heart pounded and her ears thudded as her blood rushed. Still the fingers traced and teased. The cold inside was gone now, leaving her empty and open.

Oh God…so open. Empty. A hollow woman, unfilled and unfulfilled, she wanted to weep with the realization.

Her life stretched behind and ahead of her, with nothing but her career in sight. She shuddered at the vast emptiness and knew she had to get out of this fantasy turned ugly.

But the mouths suckled and licked and took her places she'd never been.

If she didn't pull out of this now, she might embarrass herself, cry out or moan like a cat in heat. She pulled her shoulders away from the wall to stand upright, away from the cloying heaviness of the curtains. They dropped away from her and she could open her eyes again.

She looked quickly behind her, uncertain what she'd see. Arms in the draperies that held her there? Hands that slicked along her secret crevices to bring desire to life? Fingers that entered her slick and cold?

Nonsense. She was tired, needed a moment to collect her thoughts, had got turned on by the sight of so many buff men in tuxedos. And she'd had a glass or two of wine. She couldn't be sure how much she'd had because waitstaff wandered around with a bottle and topped off her wine with each pass.

She set her flute down on an occasional table and smoothed her palms down her thighs. Oh, she was turned on. Electric with need.

She wasn't certain how long she'd been in the grip of her fantasy, but the parade of men was now over. She'd missed Matt's arrival. All the men were now circling the women, weaving in and out of cliques and groups, chatting with some, patting the arms of others. One woman smoothed her palm across a man's butt. He had his hand on her waist. Old acquaintances, she guessed.

Finally! Matt at four o'clock. She pivoted toward him and sighed her way into a welcoming smile. Older than the college men, younger than the jaded pros, he was perfect in every way. All the desire she'd felt for him in the driveway rushed back.

Intelligent gaze, broad shoulders, great hands that looked honest and capable rather than manicured and pretty. The man looked real all over. Real and hot and ready. Yes, a glance at his crotch told her. He was definitely ready.

Her mouth watered as he approached, deep-set eyes poring over her hair, face, mouth. Taking inventory. Liking what he saw. Wanting what she had.

And she wanted to give it to him. At this moment, in this house, she'd give him everything and anything he wanted.

Her need grew as each step brought him nearer. He dodged other women who sent him admiring glances, sidestepped a waiter who suddenly moved across his field of vision, nodded to one of the other men who changed direction when it looked as if he, too, was making for Carrie.

She thrilled at the focus in his eyes, at the way he ate her with his gaze.

By the time he stood kiss-close, she was ready to lay herself out and hand him the key.

Oh, baby, drive me. Drive me hard.

He looked deep into her eyes, set a fingertip to her cheek and traced a line down the side of her face. His eyelids drooped in sexual invitation as he tracked a feather-light line along her jaw. Unable to deny him, the delicate skim ended at the hollow at the base of her throat. She melted into her panties in a flood of heat and feminine need.

No college boy could interest her after this.

His eyes heated and glazed with desire. She leaned in close to catch a scent of hot need rising from the skin of his neck.

“Hello, Carrie,” he said, with a tilt to his head and a focused stare at her mouth that said he wanted to taste it.

She shivered in feminine response. “Hello, Matt,” she said, when what she wanted to say was
Do me. Do me now.

Something told her he heard her loud and clear.

Carrie let his name fill her mind, finally accepting what her body had known all along. He was the one she needed. Matt was perfect. If she could read anything, she could read horny. He looked so fucking randy, he was barely able to think.

His crotch was deliciously tented, his lips hard. His eyes carried that male focus that centered a man on a woman and wouldn't let go.

She was a professional journalist, he was a professional escort. She shouldn't be locked on him this way. And he should be getting busy with the most wealthy woman here. She looked far from wealthy with her department store silk and bargain brand shoes. He'd even seen her in her jeans and fleece!

But in spite of all the reasons he shouldn't have zeroed in on her, he was locked on like a heat-seeking missile. If she were smart, and she'd always thought of herself that way, she'd take advantage of his sex-addled mind and get some answers, but for the life of her she couldn't remember a single question.

Whatever questions she'd wanted to ask were gone like mist in the sun. She found nothing in her mind but a need that matched his. Which in itself screamed questions.

Neither of them should be in this condition. Not under normal circumstances. Had the wine been spiked?

She glanced around. The room swirled in a kaleidoscope of impressions, so she tried to focus on the people within a few feet. That much she could manage. The frat boys had the too-horny-to-wait look, but she put that down to hormones.

The older men, the jaded ones, seemed relaxed and comfortable. They stood with a couple of women who had much the same attitude. They all looked prepared to enjoy themselves and each other in due time, while she and Matt were ready to devour each other.

Matt. She looked at him again. Her plan had been to get one of these guys alone and arouse him to fever pitch before she asked a few subtle questions. If she could remember what her questions were, she'd be fine, but she was just as aroused as Matt. And just as befuddled.

He hovered close, his mouth an inch from hers. Oh, the strain of not meeting his lips could kill her where she stood. The women nearby were pairing off with men they were interested in, so why couldn't she? She wanted to blend in, be one of the crowd. It made sense to cut one of these guys out of the herd for herself.

“Are you, umm, feeling all right, Matt?” she asked, almost afraid of his reply.

“I'm—” He shook his head, looking confused. He frowned, pulled himself back. “Sorry, no, I don't feel right. I'm pumped, primed, ready to pop. It's as if I've been slipped a—”

“Me too,” she said quietly, interrupting him.

He slid his lips next to her ear. His breath stirred tendrils of hair at her neck sending sensation overload down her neck, and spine. The hair he disturbed tickled her flesh and even her hair follicles screamed
Do it!

“Do they have a pill for women?” he whispered.

“For performance enhancement? Not yet. At least, I don't think so. Not one with this effect.”

His eyes flared and his voice went deep. “And what effect is that? Tell me.” His breath smelled of mint and good scotch, and she wanted to taste his mouth. To know the feel of his lips and tongue. Heat bloomed deep in her recesses.

The spice of telling him what her body was going through enticed her. Maybe if they talked about it, the incredible need would ease. She set one palm on his upper arm to steady herself while she leaned up to his ear. He tilted his head down toward her. His arm felt hard and muscular under her testing hand.

“My nipples are hard,” she whispered, feeling them tighten more with each word. “And it feels as if my skin's on fire. Like I'm screaming inside. I've never been so turned on in my life.”

He nodded. “My blood's running hot, like coals banked before bursting into flame.”

She let her eyelids droop so she could better imagine what he described. “And?”

“My balls are so tight I could howl.”

She already knew he was fully erect. Her thigh kept swaying toward contact, but she managed to hold back. She dropped her hand from his arm. “If I touch you again, we're done for.”

“If you
don't
touch me again, I'll die.” He glanced around the crowd. No one else seemed as intent for each other as she and Matt. “The others aren't warmed up enough to enjoy a live sex show, and while I'm willing to be auctioned off, I have my limits.”

Auction. She needed to focus on the auction. The bachelor auction for charity. Right. “I was told these things make a lot of money,” she said.

“Do they?”

“For the charity, I mean.”

“Right. The charity.” His mouth dropped close to hers again. “I want to touch you. Taste you. In private, where I can caress and lick all I want.” His eyes burned bright as flame, and his skin glowed with a sexual flush she responded to immediately.

His voice went deeper, huskier. “I need to kiss you.”

She backed up a step, fighting with her inner fire all the while. The draperies caressed her back, warming it, heating her.

“What else is happening to your body?” he demanded. “Tell me more.”

His gaze pulled at her, sucked her in, tore her away from her surroundings so that they were alone in the crowd. She didn't know him, didn't trust him, didn't think he was in control of himself. But then, neither was she.

“I'm wet,” she whispered so quietly she doubted he heard. “Down there.” As she spoke more moisture built in her channel and seeped ever so slowly into her panties. Inside, she trembled.

“Are you dripping right now? Into your underwear?”

She nodded.

His jaw clenched and a muscle jumped. “Are your lips hot and full?”

“Yes.”

“Your clit plump and rubbery?”

“Oh yes.”

“I'd love to taste you, dip my tongue into you.”

“Ahh.” Her whimper leaked out between her pursed lips. She couldn't hold in the tremble any longer.

“You're shaking.”

She nodded, nipples throbbing.

“I want to roar and rampage around the room, strip off your clothes and eat my way from your pussy to your mouth. Then back again.”

“Oh my God.” Blood rushed south of her waist, making her lightheaded with achy need. She backed away from him, desperate to regain control of her body, her own thoughts! The draperies enfolded her. The arms she'd fancied before enveloped her, tugged her deeper into the folds.

Matt followed and leaned in close, trapping her in the reams of heavy material. She was caught, unable to move. Didn't want to move.
Do me! Do me!

He swirled the draperies around them, cocooning her. He turned again and suddenly they were through the drapes and in the half moon of a good-sized bow window.

The party continued on without them.

The area cried out for a window seat, but she was relieved to see nothing but an ancient wicker rocking chair with shortened rockers. A person wouldn't be able to rock much. More like gentle rolls.

The idea caught hold, and images of wild sex on the chair whizzed through her mind. A man on the seat, a woman, gloriously naked, straddling him. Speared by his cock, she rolled her hips while the chair moved, heightening the experience.

The musk of sex scented the air in the small space. The images faded, leaving her mind clear and her body humming.

Matt stared hard at the chair, as if he'd seen the couple too. Then he turned to her, his nostrils flared.

“May I touch you?” Matt asked on a husky plea. The sounds of the party were distant, muffled by the velvet. Light came in through the window, weak and secretive.

“Yes, please,” she whispered.

“I'll apologize now, because once we start, I won't stop.”

She tilted up, and finally his mouth did what it had been threatening to do.

It took. Demanded. Ravaged.

Hot, hard, his lips crushed hers, his hands clasped her forearms and held her tight. She struggled against them, but not to escape, to move closer. She needed full body contact, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, hips aligned and pressed close.