MORE THAN A HUNCH Page 4

  My tongue read the tastes and textures of velvet and steel, silk and bone. Soft and so sweet, powerful, potent. His testicles were drawn up tight between his legs, but I lapped my way down his cock and drew each one into my mouth, tongued the solid mass within, suckled each ball and learned its shape and texture.

  Martin lay back, one knee bent and resting against the soft cushions on the couch, the other leg over the edge, foot firmly planted on the floor. His hands lightly massaged my scalp. He was obviously still in complete control, even as he gave me free access to do with him as I wished.

  I wished to do a lot.

  Even after two sensational climaxes, passion still simmered, hot and untamped, in my soul. I wanted more of him, more of the tastes and textures of his body.

  I took Martin's straining cock back into my mouth and kneaded his hard buttocks much as he'd massaged mine. I lifted his hips and built a rhythm, my tongue, teeth and lips adding texture and the occasional nip for emphasis.

  My fingers found the crease of his butt, the tight, puckered muscle filled with nerve endings. I massaged that as I suckled him.

  His hands grabbed tighter to my hair, grasped my scalp.

  Could his amazing control be slipping?

  I suckled him even deeper, licking and nipping, my hands rubbing and squeezing his tight butt, my fingers probing his ass. He moaned and bucked, his hands suddenly grabbing my shoulders and I knew he intended to push me away, to keep control of the situation.

  I thought of the cocky grin on his face after he'd brought me to climax the second time and for some reason my competitive nature kicked in. I licked the length of his shaft and followed it with one hand, my fingers squeezing and massaging the entire distance, rubbing the tiny drops of pre-cum from his tip to his balls.

  I drew one of his testicles into my mouth and he groaned, bucking his hips against my hand as I found my own rhythm...gentle pressure on the testicle in my mouth, more pressure with my fingers as I stroked his penis from crown to base.

  I knew he fought for control, but I felt the clenching in his groin, sensed the climax in his hesitation, the catch in his breath. He stilled a moment, that last struggle before orgasm. At that moment I penetrated his ass with my finger, clamped gently down on his testicle between my tongue and the roof of my mouth and squeezed his rampant cock between my fingers.

  He shouted when he came, an incoherent cry of release that ended on a shuddering sob, a frantic gasp for breath, a harsh burst of laughter.

  Long moments later, he rose up on his elbows and grinned at me.

  I will always treasure that look—one of shell-shocked satiation.

  "My god, woman. Are you trying to kill me?"

  I grinned back at him from my position, still kneeling between his legs. He grabbed me, pulled me across his chest and tucked my head just under his chin.

  "Who, me? Nah...just didn't want you to get too cocky."

  "I'll get as cocky as I want. Give me a minute so I can get cocky again."

  I started to say something about him not getting cocky for at least a week, when I realized his erection had never totally faded.

  Realized that's what I felt swelling against my belly, long and hard and already gloriously erect.

  I raised one eyebrow and stared at him. He shrugged, as sheepish a look as a drop-dead gorgeous, perfectly cocky middle-aged millionaire who knows he's gonna get laid can have. He kissed me, then reached for the pants I'd casually tossed on the floor.

  "This time," he said, pulling a foil wrapped packet out of his pocket, "we're going to do things my way."

  I rolled off of him and watched while he carefully slipped the condom over his fully erect penis

  "It's about time," I said. Already my muscles were clenching in anticipation, my breasts tingling, the nipples hard and swollen.

  I decided I really liked it when Martin wanted to do things his way.

  He started slow and as far from my crotch as he could, kissing my mouth with an intensity that belied the fact he's just come all over his leather sofa. I've never been explored before, but that's what Martin did, in a most exquisite fashion.

  His tongue teased my lips and tangled with my tongue. He kissed his way along the line of my jaw, blowing light puffs into my ear. I scrunched my shoulder up in reaction to his tickling breaths and he laughed.

  He began to work his way across my breasts. I got the giggles. Everything was so sensitive! My skin tingled wherever he touched, my nipples puckered and tightened under the soft caress of his lips, and when he kissed my belly I squirmed away in protest.

  "No more," I said, laughing and pulling my knees up to my chest. "I can't take anymore."

  I really didn't mean it.

  Thank goodness, Martin didn't believe me.

  He picked me up and carried me out of the room. I had no idea where he was taking me until I was suddenly deposited in the middle of a huge brass bed.

  Practically lost in the thick down comforter, I sat up and brushed the hair back from my eyes. Martin was bearing down on me, a pair of expensive neckties in each hand, his condom-clad erection bobbing against his belly.

  I scrambled across the bed but he caught me. I was laughing so hard I couldn't even fight him off when he loosely tied my hands and feet to the bedposts.

  I glanced at the knots. If I struggled too hard, they'd come untied.

  Okay, so I'd struggle just a little bit.

  This time he started with my breasts. He suckled first one, then the other, drawing each of my nipples into his mouth, nipping each one in its turn with his teeth, laving the tortured little buds with his tongue. The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of pleasure and pain exquisite.

  I tugged lightly at the silk neckties holding me spread across his bed and realized Martin had fulfilled a fantasy I'd not even realized I had.

  He sat back on his heels and smiled at me. I wondered if he was thinking of the dreams, the fact we'd never consummated the sexual act in any of the fantasies.

  "You're mine, you know. No woman invades my nights, hell, even my waking hours, with the kind of sensual assault as you have and gets away from me."

  "Do you have any idea what happened?" I tugged lightly at the neckties, praying the knots would hold.

  Martin shook his head. "Haven't got a clue. But I know what's going to happen next."

  He was big and thick and hot and he fit as if I'd been designed exactly for his cock. He filled me, moving slow enough to drive me mad until I arched my back, pressed my hips against his and took him completely inside.

  He closed his eyes a moment, then leaned close and began to move, his sheathed penis sliding easily within me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him. Hell, I wanted to wrap my legs around him, too, but the silken ties held me spread out and helpless.

  I've never enjoyed helpless so much in my life. Martin found the perfect angle, thrusting in and out of me so that he dragged his cock across my slick clitoris with each stroke. I wanted this to last, wanted to watch him come while I was still in control but the sensations were too much, the pleasure too intense.

  I concentrated on the sounds, the soft sucking noise as he withdrew, the gentle slap of his balls against my ass with each forward thrust. I was doing just great until he leaned over and dragged his teeth across my left nipple, suckled it into his mouth and bit down.

  I felt the jolt all the way from breast to crotch. Every cliché from every romance I'd ever read popped into mind and just as quickly popped out again.

  Gasping, crying, clutching at the neckties holding me captive, I shuddered and screamed out my release.

  Still Martin pounded into me. Too much, I thought. It's too much. Then I felt that familiar coil of desire, that deep clenching that starts in your belly and centers itself in your clit and I went over the top again.

  This time Martin went with me.

  Eyes closed, cords in his neck straining, the muscles in his powerful arms bulging, he completely lost the cool, urbane control
I thought of as his trademark. Lost it with a rasping cry of release, a harsh shout that curled my toes with pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  Pleasure and a sense of power, to know I could command him such.

  I easily slipped my hands free of their bonds and wrapped my arms around my lover's back. He nuzzled his beard-roughened chin against my collarbone and sighed.

  "Will any of this ever make sense?" he mumbled.

  "Probably not," I said, barely able to form the words around the broad grin on my face.

  "Delgado had me thrown into an empty storage room when they turned off Melinda's air. I found something on the floor. I think it belongs to you. It's in my pants' pocket."

  Curiosity consumed me as he pushed himself up and left the room. I quickly untied the neckties and was sitting in the middle of the bed when Martin returned.

  He held out his hand, that beautiful, long fingered hand that made my body sing. Lying in his palm was my missing diamond stud.

  * * * * *

  Hunches are one thing, but what happened between Melinda and me was something else altogether. There’s a bond between us that’s stronger than the bond most mothers and daughters share.

  There’s a special bond between Martin and me, too, though the dreams have ended. Even the hot flashes aren't as bad, but that could be the result of an active sex life. I'm convinced getting laid on a regular basis cures most of anyone's ills.

  It's done wonders for mine.

  I don't miss the dreams because I have Martin, but I’m not sure about the marriage thing. He's very insistent and I can't imagine life without him after this. Maybe some day. My sixth sense tells me I haven't got much choice in the matter, but I'm not willing to capitulate so easily.

  Martin can be such a control freak.

  It's an especially attractive personality trait in the bedroom.

  We never did figure out how my diamond stud ended up in Delgado's quiet room. A room padded and sound-proofed, designed for holding prisoners. I told Martin the first time I noticed it missing was the day we rescued Melinda.

  The day I took him in my mouth, first in fantasy, then in reality.

  Some questions just don't have easy answers.

  At least Martin and Melinda are safe. The bales I hid behind held enough cocaine to put Delgado and his crew behind bars for a long, long time, and kidnapping's always been a capital offense.

  I still find myself drifting off in thought, remembering that night as if I'd watched it happening to a lousy actress in a B movie.

  When I think of what came later, my first real night with Martin, it's more like a fantasy, a Twentieth Century Fox big screen spectacular. The most wonderful movie I've ever seen in my life and I get to play it over and over and over.

  There will always be questions without answers. I left out a lot of details during the investigation and told the DA an old-fashioned reporter’s hunch led me to Melinda’s prison, a hunch and some things I overheard Delgado say.

  Martin's response was a knowing grin, a smile that melted my bones. He didn't mention the dreams we'd once shared, the link that had brought us together in the first place.

  He didn't have to.

  He did, however, reach up and flick my ear lobe where the diamond stud glittered.

  The DA was satisfied with our explanation though; too busy reveling in his newfound role as hero to worry about the details.

  It wasn't often, he said, he got the chance to not only kiss two beautiful women in one day, but to have everyone thank him for it.

  Melinda was too disoriented at the time to even care how we explained her rescue. At least she accepts me in her father's life without question. She's a busy young woman and she's getting on with her own life, putting as much of this behind her as she can.

  One of these days, though, I'm going to ask her just how much she remembers. About me, about the light and the tunnel, and the people gathered there.

  One of these days I'll really need to know, really feel a desire to once again get to the bottom of the story, to ferret out the answers, to follow up on my hunches. Then I'll ask Melinda the question that still bedevils my mind.

  I wonder if she saw Elvis?

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