Quickie: Stir Constantly

            She sang, “‘Get back, honky cat.  Better get back to the woods.  Well, I quit those days, and my redneck ways, and I—’”

            “What are you singing?” he asked, coming into the kitchen and refilling his glass at the tap.

            “Honky Cat by Elton John.”

            “Never heard it.”

            Her jaw dropped, then remembering she had a custard on medium-high, she returned her attention to the pot.  “Well, I think you’re deprived if you don’t know 70’s Elton John.”  She swirled the whisk around the pot to prevent the mixture from sticking.

            Standing behind her now, he looked over her shoulder.  “What are you making?”

            “Chocolate pudding.”

            “You’re making pudding.  It’s not from a box?”

            “Deprived I tell you,” she murmured.  “Not from a box, and it tastes much better.”  He slid his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck through her hair.  “Quit it, you.  I have to stir this constantly until it boils, or it’ll burn.”

            “I can smell it, but you smell better,” he said into her ear and then nipped the lobe before running the tip of his nose down the side of her neck. 

            “I’m not kidding,” she warned and tried to shrug him away from her shoulder. 

            “Me either.”  One hand skimmed under her shirt and under her bra while the other wiggled down the front of her jeans.  Slow, teasing revolutions, perfect tempo, perfect combo.

            Her breath hitched, her legs tensed.  She could feel him, as aroused as she was and pressing against her lower back.  She traded her grip on the handle of the pot for a grip on the back of his neck.  Drawing him forward as she twisted her head to the side, she took his mouth with hers.  Rough, devouring kisses left her panting as she let her head fall back to rest on his shoulder while he drove her with his fingers. 

            She heard the cat meowing, its claws clicking on the floor as he followed the scent of butter and chocolate into the kitchen.  “Shut up, kitty,” she growled. 

            He laughed in her ear, and at the sound, her body broke out in chill bumps.  She arched, tilting her head back even further until their lips could meet again.  He feasted on her – on her heat, her wetness, her moans, the way her body vibrated and pumped, the way it responded to him.  What more could a man want from a mate?  She could make pudding, not from a box, and so he smiled just before his tongue parted her lips. 

            She came hard, with what started as a low guttural cry and ended as a shriek.  “Did you see the cat?” he asked.  “He took one look at us and scampered away.”

            Breathless and dizzy, she opened her eyes.  “No.  I didn’t see him.”  So lost in the sense of touch, she had seen nothing, not even the burgundy of her own closed eyelids.

            He kissed the side of her head.  “I think the pudding is ruined.”

            “Forget the pudding.” 

            She snapped off the burner, set aside the pot, and turned to him.  Grabbing the front of his jeans, she jerked open the button and pushed him backward into the sink.  “Now, it’s your turn.”   

               

Quickie: Herbal Essence

Note: When I'm not writing novels, I am usually writing erotic shorts. This post begins a new collection on this blog that I'm entitling "Quickies." I plan to post some of the old ones and write some new ones. Here is the first. Enjoy!

          In the bathroom of the restaurant, she crossed from the row of stalls to the row of sinks.  She pressed the pump on the dispenser, and the scent of the soap drifted up to her.  Lavender.  As the warm water ran over her sudsy hands, her eyes glazed.  She no longer saw the reflection of her hands or the faucet.

When he entered the kitchen, he stopped at the table.  Overnight, the lavender had dried on the paper towels.  Along with rosemary, mint, and basil, a friend had given him the lavender.  He didn’t know why he accepted it.  No, that wasn’t exactly true.  He picked up a sprig and, after crushing it between his thumb and forefinger, rolled the dried flowers, leaves, and stems, in his hands, fully releasing their aroma.  He dipped his nose into his cupped hands and inhaled.  Closing his eyes, he remembered her. 

***

She was in the shower, her right foot wedged between the thin rim of the tub and the wall.  She used the poof to soap up her upper thigh and knee.  She heard the curtain open, felt the cool outside air displace the cocoon of steam so that the temperature difference sent chill bumps up her back and even to her scalp. 

“You’re letting the cold air in,” she said, smiling to herself.  She knew that stating the obvious amused him.  She heard the curtain shift closed, heard him hum before his hands, his always-warm hands, glided up her back.  “I’m almost done.  Then, the water’s all yours.”

His fingers, now wet, slid over her bottom and then between her legs.  With the simple stroke, she was ready, but he liked to take things slow.  He liked to savor her building pleasure, hear her, smell her, taste her.  Only when he did these things did he receive complete fulfillment.      

He reached forward and cupped her breast, urging her to stand up straight.  Her back pressed against his chest, and the top of her head slid neatly under his chin.  He skimmed his fingers over the top of her thigh and all the way up and between her legs.  He watched as her arm shot out – the one holding the poof – and he smiled as she tried to steady herself with one soapy hand.  He nipped at her earlobe and trailed kisses down the side of her neck as his fingers danced in and out, back and forth, round and round in a rhythm just for her and with just enough pressure to bring her to a quick climax.  He would have liked to prolong the foreplay, repeatedly bringing her up and backing off, until she quivered all over and could hardly breathe.  It teased them both, and made him hard to the point of pain, but this afternoon, he wanted to take her while the water was still hot.

In his left hand, he held her breast, felt her heart thudding against her ribs along the side of his hand and up his pinky finger.  He squeezed gently and rubbed his thumb over her nipple.  Her head slipped to the side and rolled back against his shoulder.  Her mouth open as she panted, as she gripped his finger as it slid inside her.  Tilting her hips, she spread her legs as far apart as the width of the shower.  She bucked and jerked as she grew closer and closer. 

When she made the sound, somewhere between a squeal and a sigh, he knew she hit the top, and he twisted to he could capture her mouth with his.  His finger still moved in quick circles over the small knot of nerves, and she tore her mouth free of his.     

“Now.”  She gave the primal demand that loosed his inner animal.

She bent forward and, reaching back between her legs, found his cock.  With one simple tug, he came forward and slid home.  She moaned with it and, dropping the poof, planted her palms against the front of the shower. 

She had given, and now, gripping her hips, he took.  She could hear him, sucking air between his teeth and letting out gasps as her rump slapped wetly against him.  When she felt the hair of his legs brush against the backs of her thighs, she arched her back and lifted her chin so he could go deeper and deeper.

Water poured over her face, making her soaked hair slick over her eyes.  She smiled, but when his fingers found her swollen clit again, she cried out and moaned until he found release. 

Movement…slowing…stopping.  He pulled her back up to standing.  Still inside her, he kissed her neck, wiped her hair from her face, massaged her creased wrists.  As their breathing returned to normal, he wrapped his arms around her and held her until the water ran cold.

***

Her hands were red from the heat of the water.  She slapped off the faucet and though still in a fog of sorts, she moved over to the hand dryer.  Lavender.  She half-smiled and left the restroom.

He lowered his hands and let the crushed blooms drop back onto the paper towel.  Then, he turned to the fridge to make breakfast.