under the chair while Devon stared at the flashing cursor on his laptop. Trent’s PI adventures held no appeal for him. If he had to write another sex scene for the hapless detective, he just might puke.
He switched files and brought up the catalog copy he was working on for Midnight Fantasies, one of three sex-toy manufacturers who bought his product pitches. The last item he’d described was the Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee combination nipple clamp and personal waterproof vibrator. He absently rubbed his still tender nipple.
According to the technical jargon, the apparatus could be used by either sex. He picked up the innocuous-looking blob of lime-green, sparkling soft gel shaped like a bee with an unusually large wing span and flicked the little red stinger. Glancing at the spec sheet, he pushed the bee’s nose, activating the “stinger,” touching it with the tip of his index finger. A not unpleasant buzz of low voltage current warmed the tip of his finger.
“Wonder where you’d use that,” he mused and then activated the fluttering wings, holding the bee close to his bare chest. The wings vibrating against his nipples shot an unexpected surge of arousal to his extremities.
A guilty glance at the chair confirmed that Killer was still lost in dreamland. Slowly, in an effort not to disturb the dog, Devon stood and let his shorts and boxers fall to the floor with a soft plop. Killer twitched but resumed snoring.
Devon looked down at his erection casting a shadow across his keyboard. No doubt about it, something had to be done or he’d never get any work done tonight. He thought of Jamie, frustrated to see his cock grow and swell at just the memory of his time with her. Whacking off would be faster, but he needed to do research for the catalog anyway, so why not.
Slowly moving the fluttering wings down his abs, he watched his penis twitch with anticipation. The gel wings lapped at the length of his cock, reminding him of the eager tongue of a lover. A dry tongue.
He grabbed his glass of iced tea and fluttered the wings in the cold liquid before putting them back on his now iron-hard shaft.
“Aahh!” He shuddered and resisted the urge to close his eyes and savor the feeling of the cool wet gel gently slapping the sensitive skin. Research. It was research, and he needed to make mental if not physical notes.
The gel wings lapping at his engorged head had his hips pumping in a lazy rhythm, the old leather desk chair creaking with each thrust.
He noted that the wings felt especially erotic on his clenched balls. His excitement ratcheted up another notch.
Gripping his erection, he pumped, slowly at first and then gaining momentum. The wings continued their sensual torture. He found it added to his excitement to allow them to flutter against the head of his cock while his other hand continued to pump.
The pre-climax built, tightening the muscles progressively up the backs of his legs. Too soon. He wanted to fantasize a little longer about his new neighbor.
Slackening his grip, he fumbled with the bee to push the button that would halt the fluttering wings.
A searing jolt of electricity shot into the tip of his penis, streaking clear up to his belly button. He screamed and contracted with the pain filling his abdomen.
Wrong button.
6
Jamie tossed and turned on the softly worn sheets, tangling her feet in them. She kicked them away and flopped to her stomach, punching the pillow into submission.
Visions of Devon standing naked in her bedroom, moonlight combining with the light from the courtyard spilling in to bathe his naked sex in a warm glow. His hard, erect, naked sex. Hard and erect and pulsing for her.
She shifted in a failed attempt to ease the ache between her legs.
She’d blown it. Totally ruined the moment by freaking out. But she’d been so sure she’d seen something at the window. Something with eyes. Fred had immediately flashed into her mind, but now that she’d had a chance to calm down she wasn’t as sure of what she’d seen.
Fred may not have found her or been the one peeking in her window, but she didn’t fool herself. If he wasn’t around, he would be soon. He always found her.
A glance at the still partially open shade confirmed that no one was at the window. She should get up and let it down, just in case. But to do that required more energy than she had at the moment.
She flopped onto her back and watched the faint shadows on the ceiling, the lazy rotation of the ceiling fan. One night. All she needed was one full night’s sleep. Sleep uninterrupted by the man who haunted her days and now invaded her nights.
Her mind went to Devon, and the constriction in her chest eased. Her muscles relaxed. She smiled. Who would have guessed that under the frumpiness was a body of a god? Her hands covered her breasts, absently rubbing the hardened nipples through her threadbare University of Michigan nightshirt. It had felt so good, so right, when he’d sucked them. She gave the hard buds a little tweak, moving her legs restlessly on the sheet.
What would Devon think of her body, her real body? She’s seen the way his eyes had practically bugged out of his head when he’d eyed her cleavage. Yet he hadn’t seemed to notice the disparity in size when he’d held and suckled her.
She ran her hand under the nightshirt and massaged her aching breasts. Ever so slowly, she dragged her hands down her rib cage, past the indention of her waist, over the flair of her hips. She traced a line over her thighs and up, up until her fingertips brushed her intimate moisture. Tightening her stomach muscles, she raised to look at her genitals in the shadowed light and then ran her fingertip over the petal-soft, ultrasensitive skin she’d exfoliated that morning.
Relaxing against the pillow, she dipped her fingertip into her moisture and then spread it with lazy motions over her labia, imagining Devon’s tongue tracing the same path. The thought made her squirm, made her hips want to buck off the sheets in an age-old plea for sexual appeasement.
Ache. She ached for him. Planting her heels on the mattress, she spread her legs. The coolness from the fan bathed her heated center. It wasn’t enough. Reaching between her legs, she cupped her sex and ground the heel of her hand against her mons. Instead of subsiding, the ache grew stronger. Hand still cupped, she lightly slapped at the ache. A pleasant twinge zinged up into her womb. Another slap brought her to the brink of…what? An orgasm? She had to find out.
Dipping her finger again, she swirled her juices over her heated skin, her heart rate increasing with each stroke of fingertip to smooth, hot skin. Two more stinging slaps, each one a bit harder, and she was gasping, panting, yearning for release.
Desperate, she plunged her finger deep. Her inner muscles clamped around her finger, the plump walls hot and slick with her excitement. It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t divorce the sensation of something filling her from the knowledge of what she felt like inside.
With a frustrated groan, she rolled onto her stomach, rubbing against the sheet in an effort to find release. Instead, her frustration mounted.
She stuck her hand beneath her, flicking her distended labia, rubbing her swollen nub, the pressure of her knuckles against the springs of the mattress taking away some of the awareness of exactly where her hand was and what it was doing. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes shut tight and focused on the feeling of her most private area being petted and teased….
Her
