What She Needs
by Cris Anson
Older widow Delia Barnes greets fellow authors before an erotic romance convention sporting a black eye, which she explains away with “I didn’t say ‘Yes Master’ quick enough.” Sitting at the bar, burned-out ad executive and former Dom Kurt Reinhardt overhears that comment once too often and interrupts to suggest, “Maybe you need a new Master.”
Urged by her friends to accept the younger man’s invitation to learn some D/s basics—hey, an author needs to do her research, right?—Delia joins him to get first-hand experience at being submissive, starting with removing her panties in a corner booth. Later, she learns more than she bargained for when she spends a weekend at Kurt’s home with his eager business partner added to the mix.
But an innocent misstep brings Delia’s world crashing down around her. Can she trust Kurt with her heart…and her life?
Reader Advisory: Delia gets up close and personal with a delectable m/f/m ménage.
“A woman could get spoiled very quickly here.”
He moved in close, kissed her temple. “Exactly what I had in mind.”
His scent, an exotic spice—applewood smoke and fresh air—intoxicated her. “Kurt…”
“I know. I can’t wait another second.” He lifted the glass from her nerveless fingers and set it as well as his own on a side table. His thumbs caressed her cheeks as his fingers tunneled through her hair. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a whole week now.”
“Kurt,” she repeated, her ability to string two words together suddenly deserting her.
They were almost of a height with her three-inch black pumps and his bare feet. His gaze bored deeply into hers, and it felt as if he were staring into her soul, searching for her most profound yearnings. The intimate penetration caused her lower lip to tremble. His eyes snapped to the subtle movement and he moved those last few millimeters between them and touched his mouth to hers.
Tiny explosions detonated around her lips and she softened, opened to his touch. His tongue took instant advantage, exploring the perimeter then stroking over hers, thrusting and sucking in turn until she was wild to feel him aligned against her. Yet he held himself apart, nothing touching except their lips, and his hands in her hair.
So Delia took the initiative. She snaked her arms around Kurt’s waist and arched her back, rubbing against him, thighs to thighs, hips to hips, silently berating her lack of foresight in not removing her suit jacket when she’d handed him her car coat. She wanted to feel his chest against her breasts, skin against skin. Heat bloomed inside her, seeking an answering heat. After all the phone sex she was primed for the real thing. His kisses, the solid reality of his body against hers, were dangerous to her sanity.
“Delia.” Kurt’s voice was ragged, his erection pressing hard against her as he took her upper arms in his grip and gently disengaged their bodies.
“We have all weekend,” he continued smoothly, apparently having regained his control. “I will teach you that a little anticipation, a little withholding of ecstasy, can be most rewarding.”
She couldn’t suppress a delectable shiver at the thought. Her only worry was what his reaction would be when he saw her body with its more than four decades of wear and tear. Not that she lacked self-confidence. She had it to spare. But this was entirely new territory for her.
“You’re cold,” he said. “I’m a terrible host. Here, let’s get you into the Jacuzzi. I’ve set it at ninety-nine degrees. Did you bring a swimsuit? Or would you be comfortable lolling around in your birthday suit?”
Delia blinked. This was the moment of truth. Was she a cougar or not? Did she want sex with this man or not?
Go for it! She could hear Judith urging her to grab the brass ring. Still, he was the first man she’d kissed—and what a toe-curling kiss it was!—since Robert died four years ago, and no one else had seen her naked in twenty-two years.
“Delia. Your Master is asking you to remove your jacket and skirt. Will you do that for me?”
Yes. That’s what she needed, to have the decision taken from her after all the myriad decisions she’d made at the office. And that’s why, she reminded herself, she’d removed her prim white blouse just before leaving said office. She had to take a deep breath for this. Yes, she’d dressed for seduction, but actually doing it took all the nerve she could muster.
Slowly she undid the three fabric-covered buttons from her gray faux-suede jacket and slid it off her shoulders, revealing a silky, cobalt blue bra that molded her B cups perfectly to create a gentle cleavage. His eyes flared but he said nothing as he reached out a hand for the garment. She draped it over his arm.
“Now the skirt.”
She could do this, no sweat. Just think how all the other cougars would handle it. Undo button. Slide zipper down. Wiggle hips to let the skirt slither down her legs.
He inhaled a harsh breath.
A part of her rejoiced that she could elicit such a reaction from him at the sight of her. Thigh-high sheer gray stockings rode her long legs. Bikini panties, matching the bra, barely covered her scar.
Reaching out a hand to him for stability, she lifted one leg to remove a black stiletto.
“No. Not yet.”
Seeing the lust on his face made her spine straighten and gave her a much-needed shot of courage.
“Step out of the puddle of your skirt, take it to that chair in the corner and set it down. Then come back, walking slowly.”
Was that a wobble in his voice? Perhaps he wasn’t as unaffected as he portrayed.
As she followed his instructions, she couldn’t help but notice the involuntary sway of her hips, the catwalk saunter that suddenly felt the right way to walk, to tease Being an exhibitionist was a high she hadn’t expected.
“Sit here. On the edge of the tub.”
She did, lowering herself gracefully.
He knelt before her, lifted her left leg and slid her shoe off. Began to massage her foot, gently kneading her sole, the arch, each individual toe. Delia closed her eyes in bliss. His fingers strayed higher, to her calf, the back of her knee, the outer muscles of her thigh.
“Let’s get this off, shall we?”
Her eyes snapped open. He tugged at the elasticized lace garter, rolled the stocking down to her ankle. Then set his lips on the indentations of her skin where the elastic had constricted her all day. He licked and nipped, skimmed his fingertips across her mound as he massaged the skin.
The sight of his black-haired head so near her crotch sent a shock of cream drizzling through her pussy lips to dampen her panties.
“Don’t move, Delia.”
She didn’t even realize she had shifted her hips to bring his mouth closer to the spot between her legs that throbbed so heatedly.
After a few delicious minutes of torture, he moved to her right leg and performed the same combination of magic and teasing. Delia felt her breathing go shallow. He’d spread her legs and knelt between them. He couldn’t not smell her arousal, so close to the source was he.
“Delia. Delicious Delia. You smell of ambrosia.” Kurt’s fingers delved beneath the elastic of her cobalt panties, one hand on each side, and he slowly slid them toward each other. Hesitated. Continued until both index fingers met at the juncture that hid her clit.
“Bare. I like bare. Thank you, Delia, for that gift.” His fingers stroked abstract designs on the sensitive skin surrounding her nether lips, and Delia was glad she’d acted on a whim and shaved all of it, not just her bikini line.
Kurt dipped his head then, stroked her through her panties with firm pressure of his tongue. Delia almost jumped, but his grip on her thighs reminded her not to move. Such delicious torture, his mouth sucking, tongue delving, fingers probing, and she unable to flex her hips for more. She gripped the crown of the tub as she felt her muscles tense, her insides clench. Oh god, it felt so good, it had been so long, she was going to—
He leaned back, still on his knees. “Stand up.”