Page 77 of Company of Thieves
“Each and every item you just listed sounds like a most excellent suggestion to me. I suggest we start with your breasts in my mouth, and then we can proceed to the others,” Alan said, reaching for me again.
“Bad husband!” I scolded, sliding off the bed. My breasts were unhappy with me, but I promised them much joy to come.
“I am not! I am the very best of husbands, and will prove it to you if you just bring your breasts and hips and that delicious ass back over here so that I may defy such obvious slander. What are you doing, wife?”
He had rolled onto his side to see what I was doing in one of the small chests that had been his sister’s. “You’re getting dressed? Now? Now is the time for bare flesh, Hallie. Now is the time when you allow me to fulfill all those fantasies I have about you.”
“I’m not getting clothes, but I am getting these,” I said, holding up the long scarves I’d had made for me in Tozeur. “I had planned to make a lay of my own with them, because they’re prettier than just the white cloth in the ones I’ve been borrowing, but I think I have a better use for them.” I knelt on the edge of the bed, first eyeing the solid headboard, then the trunk at the end of the bed. The trunk top had two brass rings where leather straps could be attached, keeping it closed while it was being transported.
Alan frowned at the scarves. “I have a feeling that you intend on using those in a manner that I will not at all like.”
“Oh, you’ll like it,” I promised, tying one of the scarves around his wrist, making sure it wasn’t too tight, but sturdy enough for my purposes. I quickly repeated the process with the other one before threading the scarves through the rings on the trunk. “You may not think you will, but I’m confident you will, and I promise that if you don’t like it, I will stop.”
“I’ve told you that I don’t care to be dominated in bed,” he told me, his frown deepening when he tested first one arm, than the other. I didn’t pull his arms straight up, but gave him enough slack so that his hands were around his ears. “If you continue, I’m afraid you will discover that this has the opposite effect you hope for.”
“I’ll take that chance. Now.” I sat back on my heels, rubbing in my hands the little bottle of orange oil that I had found in the bottom of the chest. Before me, Alan lay splayed, every gorgeous masculine inch of him. His eyes watched me carefully as I allowed my gaze to caress him. “You really are fabulous, everything from your nice feet on up your calves, which aren’t scrawny like so many men’s are, upwards to your thighs. Alan, your thighs—I feel like I should sing songs of praise to them. Just look at them.”
Obligingly, he lifted his head and looked down at himself. “I spend a lot of time in the saddle.”
“And for that, I’m thankful, although if you could maintain those thighs without horses, I’d be even happier. And then there’s your belly. We’ve addressed it, I believe, as well as your chest, which brings new meaning to the word ‘magnificent.’ And your arms are so nice without being too bulky. Your arms make me feel very feminine. It’s the strong forearms and the biceps, I believe.”
“Just so you know,” Alan warned, giving the scarves an experimental pull. They held his hands in place. “When you are finished, I will be taking my turn to catalog and torment and tease you within an inch of your sanity, just as you are doing me.”
“Deal,” I said, smiling. “Now, let’s see where this orange oil should be applied. Just here, do you think?”
“Oh, lord, yes, right there.” His hips bucked upward when I poured a little oil into my palms before sweeping up the long length of his very erect penis, making sure to include his balls. The lid on the trunk creaked when he tried to reach me, but I simply moved over so that I was straddling one of his thighs, my hands full of private parts.
“You are so very warm, Alan. Hot, even, and hard as steel, yet soft as velvet. Are you ready for a little tongue action?”
He moaned something in Kazakh, his biceps straining when he tried to pull his hands free.
“Good. Let’s start here.” I touched my tongue to the very base of his penis, tasting the orange oil. It wasn’t sweet, but wasn’t bitter, either. I decided I didn’t mind it and, with a wicked smile that had Alan’s eyes widening, made one long sweeping lick from the base to the very tip of him, making the muscles in his belly contract, his hips move, and his thighs tighten. “That was a pretty impressive reaction, but I think we can do better,” I told him, eyeing the scarves when he tried again to get free. They held, so I dipped my head, and took him into my mouth, trying to remember what sorts of things men enjoyed. I swirled my tongue, I applied light suction, and I rubbed sensitive spots, enjoying the nonstop moans that Alan made, along with the hip thrusts that he seemed unable to keep from making.
“Oh, what the hell,” I said, giving the sensitive underside a swipe of my tongue. “I can’t punish you when you were just doing your job. Let’s try the two knuckles again, shall we?”
“If you have any mercy in your soul, and at this point I doubt that you do, because your torment is almost more than a mere mortal man can survive, you’ll stop torturing me and impale yourself on me,” Alan demanded, his voice rough with passion, and his eyes blazing a blue light at me.
I smiled. “Two knuckles?” I asked, not wanting to push him past what was pleasurable.
He panted at me, his big chest heaving. I had planned on teasing his nipples, but I figured they could wait until I was done at his groin. “You are the cruelest woman I know! You delight in this torture, don’t you? Well, I will not stand for it! Release my hands, woman. You must be punished for these acts of heinous sexual suffering!”
I waggled my knuckles at him in question.
“Yes, fine, after the two knuckles,” he snarled, looking aroused and disgruntled at the same time.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to release your hands,” I said, rubbing the backs of my fingers along his testicles, making sure they were slippery with the orange oil. “I’m enjoying being able to touch you in all the ways I want without being distracted by your hands and mouth and chest and arms and, oh dear lord, your ass. I get to oil up your ass next, but first, it’s knuckle time! Let’s see, where was that magic spot ... here?”
I pressed gently along the part of him that I knew could bring him pleasure, while at the same time sliding my hand along his well-oiled length, my thumb making an extra swirl at the tip of him. “Not there,” he gasped, his hands clutching the scarves, which were stretched taut.
“No? Here?” I slid my knuckles a tiny bit, gently pressing and making small circles.
“No. Dear lord, no. That’s very good, but it’s not the exact spot.” His breath was ragged and every bit as rough as his voice.
“Right. This must be it. ...” I shifted my hand a half inch, leaning down to take the tip of him into my mouth again as I applied a little pressure with my knuckles.
He shot up off the bed. Just shot straight up until he was standing up staring down at me wildly for a moment, the scarves dangling from his wrists. “That, madame wife, was the spot. And now, it’s time to pay for your torment!”
“Oh, shit,” I said, startled for a moment, then giggled when Alan dived onto me, the orange-oil bottle upended on my belly, his hands rubbing it all over me, into my breasts, down into my girl parts, and along my hips. He was soon just as covered with it as he rubbed himself on me, his hands and mouth everywhere, lighting my soul on fire with his caresses. I writhed and squirmed and moaned, my entire body an erogenous zone, and when he finally felt he’d paid me back for my fun with his body, he plunged into me, his movements hard and fast, the intrusion of him making not just my body hum, but every iota of my being sing.
