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…Ana stepped to the window. From a nearby table, she snatched her lightweight, yet efficient, Takami 3000 with the telescopic lens— her best and dearest companion. She took her usual position beside the bedroom curtain, drew a deep breath, and waited… Seconds later—a span of time that seemed an eternity—a smile twisted her lips. “Good morning, Sundance. You’re right on time,” she whispered against the window, her breath momentarily fogging the glass. As always, the tempo of her heart accelerated as her nearest neighbor appeared on his second-story deck— In all his naked glory…
ALSO BY PARIS DIXON Cry Merci Lechery For The Devil Passion Knows No Boundaries
With Catherine Snodgrass (writing as Caitlyn Willows) Déjà Vu Treasure Hunters White Lies
MORNING RITUAL BY PARIS DIXON
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com
MORNING RITUAL AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC Http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2003 by Paris Dixon ISBN 1-59279-097-6 Cover Art © 2003 Trace Edward Zaber Rating: NC-17 Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To Laura Abbott—the best editor in the world!
MORNING RITUAL
CHAPTER 1
Anastasia Hunter anticipated the alarm clock’s warning even before it cut through the morning quietude. She had just finished her light breakfast of a whole-wheat bagel and freshly squeezed orange juice when her internal alarm clock coerced her out of the kitchen chair and propelled her up the staircase. Sure enough, as she entered her bedroom, the buzzing from the clock on the nightstand began. She tapped the OFF button and eyed the “6:45” emblazoned in red letters across the digital readout. In truth, Ana had been awake for several hours, anxiously awaiting this moment. Ever since moving into the rented beach house along Georgia’s coastline, it had become her habit. Setting the alarm, that is. Before returning to her native state for a much-needed vacation, she had grown accustomed to rising before the sun. Her job as the lead photographer for Celebrity Parade Monthly kept her dashing to airports in the wee hours in order to get a jump start on whichever movie, TV, or rock star happened to be the magazine’s featured cover model or 1
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major news story. Therefore, her internal alarm clock stood perpetually at the ready, waking her usually between the hours of 3 and 4 AM. This whole “digital alarm clock business,” however, which she started just after her return to Georgia three weeks earlier, had simply become her added insurance so she wouldn’t miss the day’s main event. The main event, she thought, with a tranquil yet eager sigh. Ana knew this “morning ritual,” as she had deemed it, had taken over her life. Every action she performed, whether jogging along the sandy coastline, taking a dip in the invigorating waters of the Atlantic, or reading on the deck, watching the boob tube, or napping away the hours of self-imposed solitary, seemed mere filler. Like an alcoholic performing mundane tasks until that special moment each day when a drink touched their lips, Ana simply killed time before the next morning’s ritual commenced. But what could she do now? With a wry chuckle, she wondered if a support group existed for her particular obsession, then dismissed the comic notion. After all, what young, hot-blooded female—straight female, she amended—could resist the temptation she faced every day? And who would want to stop the habit anyway? With that thought in mind, Ana stepped to the window. She peered at the neighboring house—a rambling, two-story affair, constructed of dark wood and finished with white oyster-shell tabby. From a nearby table, she snatched her lightweight, yet efficient, Takami 3000 with the telescopic lens—her best and dearest companion. She took her usual position beside the bedroom curtain, drew a deep breath, and waited… Seconds later—a span of time that seemed an eternity—a smile twisted her lips. “Good morning, Sundance. You’re right on time,” she whispered against the window, her breath momentarily fogging the glass. As always, the tempo of her heart accelerated as her nearest neighbor appeared on his second-story deck— 2
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In all his naked glory. “Oh, Lordy, you never disappoint, do you, hot stuff?” Per usual, she raised the camera to her eye and adjusted the focus. That’s it, perfect, she decided, when his facial features came into crisp view. As the thirtyish man studied the ocean and greeted the day, he ran both hands through his sleep-mussed hair, the russet-brown locks straggling nearly down to his broad shoulders and undulating in the balmy breeze. The rising sun painted an opalescent blaze in his lambent, almond-shaped eyes, while his generous lips curved upward, revealing a devastating, pearly white smile that said, “it’s great to be alive.” With its intelligent brow, strong jaw and chin, and perfectly proportioned nose, his face compelled Ana like that of a movie star’s. Indeed, on the morning following her arrival, the day she first glimpsed her naked neighbor through her camera, she looked at the handsome face and bushy mustache and immediately likened him to a darkerhaired Robert Redford, similar to his appearance in the movie, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Ana instantly christened her neighbor “Sundance,” and from that moment, her obsession began. Click, click…click, click…click, click… For the next five minutes, the Takami 3000 catered to Ana’s every demand, capturing images of Sundance. He stood on his deck, as proud as a hale and robust panther, stretching his lean, muscular frame like he did every morning, rain or shine. His outrageous masculinity arrested Ana’s eyes. She feasted on this particular breakfast fare; every inch of his bare flesh seemed a gourmet chef’s masterpiece, forged for the sole purpose of receiving her hungry kisses. His long, sinewy limbs, broad back, and firm, round buttocks, all deliciously flexed as he twisted the kinks from his body. His torso, sculpted from vigorous exercise and covered in a downy pelage of dark brown hair, practically screamed to be sampled and savored. And the sight of his meaty cock, at least six inches in length in its flaccid state, 3
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redoubled Ana’s ferocious appetite. She ran a moist tongue over her lips and added to her mounting collection of photographs, whispering silent commands toward the house more than a hundred feet away. “Turn to the right, Sundance— oh, yes, that’s it. Now to the left—good boy. Now let me view those firm cheeks—oh, baby, you know what I like to see…” Click, click…click, click…click, click… Never in all her years as a photographer—or even as a woman—had Ana viewed a man who looked so perfectly comfortable in his skin. Without any hint of modesty, he flaunted his nudity to the world, as if thanking Mother Nature for her generosity. And why shouldn’t he? Never had Ana photographed a creature with such an extraordinary physique—a body that seemed magnificently designed for sex—nor had she shared her bed with such a creature. Fire started in her loins when she imagined laying her hands, her mouth, her tongue, on a man like that… Click, click…click, click…click, click… “Yeah, that’s it, Sundance, let me see those beautiful balls…” As if he had heard her urgent plea, the man raised one leg and planted the heel of his foot on the deck’s wooden railing. He brought his arms together in a diver’s stance and stretched forward, his huge, low-hanging testicles coming into titillating view… Click, click…click, click…click, click… Soon he lowered the leg and lifted the other, repeating the stretching process. Ana immediately zoomed in, focusing the lens on that part of him she craved to touch, to kiss, to suck, to feel pounding deep inside her already-throbbing dampness… Click, click…click, click…click, click… And then it ended—or rather, round one came to a successful finale. Round two, however, the most salacious half-hour of each morning, had yet to begin. 4
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Panting, Ana wiped sweat from her brow. She blew a stream of air down her floral-patterned bikini top, cooling her ample cleavage, noting how her hard nipples tented the thin polyester. Concurrently, she squeezed together her thighs, longing to touch herself, to deliver muchneeded satisfaction to her aching womanhood. But no, her inner voice dictated, not yet…not yet… With a knowing smile, she centered the camera on the first floor of the adjacent house, the wall facing her made up entirely of windows. She forced herself to employ her marginal patience. Thankfully, she didn’t have long to wait. As expected, Sundance strolled into the large recreation room, crammed with electronic gadgets, cushy furniture, weight-lifting gear, even an old-fashioned pinball machine. Also as she expected, the second part of the morning ritual had already started, and she quickly focused the camera on his penis, now more elongated and plumper than a few minutes earlier. He switched on the TV, slipped a tape into the VCR, then settled onto the plush, black-leather sofa. After a moment fiddling with a remote control, his eyes glued to whatever images poured from the television screen, he smiled and rested against the sofa cushions. Ana zoomed in on his crotch and watched his erection take glorious, full-blown shape. Before long, at least eight or nine inches of vein-laced, blood-engorged penis filled the camera lens. Saliva poured into Ana’s mouth, while the throbbing between her legs began anew… Click, click…click, click…click, click… Sundance wrapped one hand around his beefy cock and began to stroke himself. Slowly, at first, then increasing in tempo. Ana pulled back, capturing his solid chest and six-pack abs in a series of shots. How she longed to wrap her lips around each of his dark brown nipples, now beginning to harden as he rubbed his free hand up and down his torso, creating ever-changing patterns in his chest hair… Click, click…click, click…click, click… 5
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She pulled back even more, adding his face to the frame, his features contorting in apparent rhapsody. Ana craved to press her lips against his mouth, to thrust her tongue into his throat and feel that mustache tickling her nose. How she yearned for his lips to envelop her nipples, for his mouth to work her breasts with kisses, and use his tongue to pleasure her most intimate spot… Click, click…click, click…click, click… Again, she zoomed back and refocused, including Sundance’s muscular legs, even his perfect feet, in another group of shots. Yes, she thought, the heat between her legs reaching volcanic intensity, she desperately desired to relish every inch of him, to work his crotch with her mouth and help him perform his current task… Click, click…click, click…click, click… She couldn’t take any more. Holding the camera with one hand, she wedged her other hand into her bikini bottoms. When her fingertips touched her swollen labia, she squealed her satisfaction. Keeping one eye plastered to the lens, she slipped two fingers deep inside her heat, the moisture oozing out of her in a steady stream of carnality. In and out her fingers darted, matching the rhythm of Sundance’s strokes until she brought herself once, twice, then again to the very peak of orgasm. But she couldn’t thrust herself over the edge—not yet—not yet— Ana knew the correct moment had arrived when Sundance tossed back his head and his jacking hand increased tempo to become a furious blur. Only then did she caress herself in that special way. As she watched what seemed like a never-ending river of seed blast from Sundance’s cock, the pristine whiteness coating his furry chest and belly, she plunged her fingers into her core. Within seconds, she flicked herself into an orgasm so Herculean and numbing, she had to kneel beside the window before her legs gave out. Gasping for air, but intent on completing today’s mission—always the professional—she forced her hands to remain steady. While 6
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Sundance released his still-hard organ and began running his hands back and forth over his sperm-glistening torso, massaging the creamy fluid into his skin, Ana focused the camera one final time… Click, click…click, click…click, click… She collapsed beside the bedroom window and closed her eyes, proud that she had captured at least one hundred new shots of the ultrasexy man relishing his own nudity and acting upon his most primitive desires. It was a photographer’s job to capture humanity, after all, and one couldn’t get more human than that…
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CHAPTER 2
Late that morning, a shrill ring whisked Anastasia from a blissful nap. Her first instinct had been to grab the phone on the nightstand, but then she recalled the notice she received in the mailbox the day before, stating the phone company would be working on the line and service would not resume for another 24 hours. Since she had also grown used to the obnoxious shriek of her cell phone, she decided that whatever had awakened her must have been in her imagination. But then the sound came again. She sat up in bed, blinking the sleep from her eyes until it finally dawned that the doorbell had awakened her. Funny, she thought, this was the first time she had ever heard that particular ring. In the three weeks she had been at the beach house, no one had ever come to call. Actually, the only neighbors she had spotted in all this time had been an elderly couple strolling along the beach one day. And then, of course, there was Sundance. 8
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But apart from the morning ritual, Sundance never seemed to be at home. And Ana was absolutely certain of that, to her mounting frustration. Several times during her first week back in Georgia, when lust for him began to consume her, she had summoned her courage and rung his doorbell under the pretext of simply paying a neighborly visit or borrowing household items or food staples. Anything to finally meet her obsession face-to-face and, hopefully, screw the shit out of him. Every visit proved unsuccessful. Afterward, Ana started watching his house day and night, soon establishing his pattern of movement. Within an hour after his morning ritual, he would exit the house, carrying a briefcase and donned in casual yet spiffy attire, and speed away in his cherry-red BMW. Not once had she seen him return before midnight. This happened every day, including the weekends. Frustrating as all hell, she decided. On the bright side, she’d never seen anyone visit him, either—or more specifically, no woman appeared on his doorstep or roamed through his house as if she owned the place. A hot beast of a man with no string of women constantly available to satisfy his sexual needs? The idea seemed absolutely ludicrous. Ana could easily imagine that a handsome, well-built stud like him could probably fuck any woman who crossed his path. Yet, if he had a woman in his life, why would he continue his morning ritual? No, Ana had quickly grown convinced that Sundance miraculously had no woman to satisfy him, which gave her hope that one day she would actually catch him at home—and needy. Now she just had to pray he wasn’t gay! Again, the shrill ring sounded, yanking Ana back to the present. Still attired in her bikini bathing suit, she raced out of her bedroom and down the stairs, her hands working the soreness from her stiff 9
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shoulders. When she got to the door, she ran her fingers through her waist-length, jasper-colored hair, brushing the wavy tendrils off her face and shoulders. And when she finally opened the door, she nearly fainted. There on her porch stood Sundance. Ana suddenly realized, not one of the photographs she had taken of him could compete with the magnificent creature looming before her. His loose black tank top exposed a wealth of swirling chest hair, the hint of a nipple on one of his well-developed pecs, and the corded muscles of his arms. His cut-off jeans, tight as sin, clearly advertised the extensive package tucked behind the zipper. Ana’s gaze unwittingly traveled down his long, sinewy legs to his bare feet, large and superbly chiseled, then back up again. Raw sexuality seemed to ooze from his every pore, and Ana could barely contain the urge to throw herself into his arms and smother him with voracious kisses. From beneath his mustache, a lopsided smile formed, which cut an appealing dimple into his cheek. “Good morning,” he said, his fullbodied tenor crisp and resonant, his Southern accent unmistakable. “I live just next door. I hate to bother you, but I was wondering if I might use your telephone. It seems mine isn’t working at the moment and I need to make an urgent call.” Ana swallowed the lump in her throat and cleared her voice. “The phone? It’s not working…I mean…mine is also not working and…” She mentally chastised herself for babbling like an idiot and forced herself to concentrate on his current dilemma, not her own libidinous desires. “I’m sorry, what I mean is that the phone company sent out notices that service would be down throughout the neighborhood. They’re working on the lines or something…” “Shoot. I must have missed that letter. Did they say when service would resume?” She fidgeted, her eyes glued to the other nipple that came into view 10
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when he tugged on his shirt. How she thirsted to taste the dark-brown orb. Think, Ana, think, you stupid oaf. “Ah, yes, a day or so. I’m guessing all will be working by tomorrow morning. I’m sorry, Mister…?” “Saunders. Beauregard Saunders,” he said, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. He extended his right hand to her, large and wellmanicured. “But you may call me Beau.” Ana placed her palm against his and squeezed his hand—the same hand she had seen him using so masterfully every single morning for his private pleasure. Heat poured onto her own cheeks. “Nice to know you…see you, Sundan…umm, Beau…I mean, my name is Anastasia Hunter, but my friends call me Ana.” “Then I pray, Ana, you will one day count me among them. Please forgive me for my lack of Southern hospitality. I would have welcomed you to the neighborhood when you moved in several weeks ago, but I’ve been absolutely swamped with work and deadlines, rushing in and out every single day—” “No need to apologize, Beau. I know how all-consuming work can become.” She realized how his hand continued to engulf hers, and it sent tingles of desire along her spine. “Oh, what a fool I am. Now I beg your forgiveness. I have a cell phone you may use.” He finally released her, victoriously raising his fisted hand in the air. “You do? Fantastic, Ana! Thank you!” His smile dazzled her, while his midnight-blue eyes glinted with mercuric brightness. “And I’m an idiot for leaving my own cell phone at the office last night. Murphy’s Law strikes again!” His deep-throated chuckle tickled her eardrums. Ana stepped back and happily allowed him over her threshold, her eyes transfixed to the graceful movement of his butt cheeks, legs, and feet as he walked. A medley of aromas teased her nostrils—soapwashed skin, Joop cologne, and raw masculinity. Good God… She pointed to the living room. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll 11
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fetch the phone.” In a flash, she returned from the kitchen with the instrument in hand. “Help yourself.” He took the phone from her, punched in his number, then began to pace the length of the room. Again, Ana scrutinized his every movement, noting how his cutoffs lusciously gripped his buttocks and genitals with every step. She wondered how he would react if she suddenly knelt before him, stripped him of those tight cutoffs, and gave his crotch a meticulous tongue bath… “Hi, Maggie,” he spoke. “I would have called earlier, sweetie, but my phone’s out and a neighbor was kind enough to let me use her cell. How are things going?” A twinge of unwarranted yet murderous jealousy flared through Ana. So he did have a woman in his life after all. Damn it… “Thanks,” he said. “Please do me a favor and reschedule my appointments for next week. Also tell Thompson he should chair the meeting for me this morning with the distributors. I won’t be in for the next few days.” He paused. “You heard correctly. I’m taking off the entire weekend to play beach bum and…” Ana breathed a sigh of relief. So this woman was his secretary or employee. Thank God! Hope still remained, especially hearing how he planned to be at home for at least several days. Just think of all the headway she could make with him. Or rather, she thought, as her gaze traced the outline of his cock and balls through his jeans, just think of all the head she could give him… Suddenly, Beau’s shoulders slumped in mock dismay. For a moment, he held the phone away from his ear and rolled his eyes heavenward, then flashed Ana a light-hearted smile before resuming his conversation. “Yes, yes, I know, Maggie, but the company will survive. As the owner, I think that gives me a license to take off whenever I please, don’t you? Besides, that’s why I have all you knowledgeable and capable people working for me. Now save those patented lectures for your newest grand-baby, darlin’, and leave me in peace.” He 12
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laughed, then pressed the pad of his thumb over the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry this is taking so long, Ana. I don’t mean to interrupt your daily routine.” “No problem. Take all the time in the world,” she said, her mind devising a plan to keep him in the house as long as possible. Once he resumed talking, Ana dashed to the kitchen, where she poured two tall glasses of lemonade from a pitcher in the refrigerator, topping them off with several ice cubes. As she stood beside the archway connecting the rooms, she watched Beau pace the living area. She took a long drink from her glass, hoping it would help cool her. Although the tart liquid refreshed her parched throat, it did nothing else. Beau’s presence kept her hot with savage desire, especially when she viewed him lift his tank top and absently scratch his furry abs. Just the notion of slipping her tongue into his belly button rushed additional heat to her crotch. When she heard his call coming to an end, she grabbed the drinks and entered the living room. He clicked off the phone just as she extended a glass toward him. “Care for some? The day promises to be a true Georgian scorcher.” “Much obliged,” he said, taking the drink from her. When he drew a sip, moisture beaded the hairs of his mustache. Ana nearly offered to lick off the residue, but stopped herself from voicing her desire. “And since I couldn’t help but overhear your plans for playing hooky, I thought you might like to kick back and relax with a cool drink before you go back to doing—” Images of his morning ritual rushed through her mind. She felt flush. “Ah, doing whatever it is you do. Please, have a seat.” With a nod, he settled into a fan-backed wicker chair and stretched his sinewy legs toward the dark mahogany coffee table. His toes delicately traced the floral carving along its solid base. “As you probably heard me tell my secretary, I simply felt the urge to do 13
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absolutely nothing for a change. And now I find myself surprisingly blessed—what better way to do absolutely nothing than to share some quiet time in the presence of such a beautiful and charming neighbor.” He lifted his glass to her in a salute of thanks. She returned the gesture, and basked in the heat of his generous compliment. “Although I must confess, I feel more than a tad guilty about shirking my responsibilities at the office. Owning a successful electronics company seems a never-ending task. A gargantuan, overwhelming task, at times.” His brow momentarily creased in concern. “Let me ask you a question, Ana—after repeating the same routines day in and day out, did you ever just want to break from the norm and do something completely different, or perhaps just nothing at all?” “Of course,” she replied, sitting on the sofa across from him. When his gaze briefly touched on her cleavage, she tingled in delight. “And there’s no reason to feel guilty for putting yourself first every once in a while. That’s the very reason I rented this house. My job grew so allconsuming, not leaving me a moment to relax and simply enjoy life. I just had to get away from it all.” “Then you do understand. Good, good…” Looking somewhat mollified, he nodded and drew another sip of his lemonade. “Oh, I understand, all too well.” She found herself telling him about the stress of being a well-known photographer for a popular magazine, how the constant rushing from one location to another without a break in three years had finally taken its toll on her mental health. She did hold back from adding that because of her hectic lifestyle, she had never been able to forge a lasting relationship with a man, nor could she recall the last time she’d been laid. “So as you can see, I, too, needed to do something different for a change, Beau. To break away from the norm before I went utterly 14
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insane. To concentrate for a time on my needs.” The wicker chair crackled as Beau rested back and sighed. By now, the lines of worry had completely vanished from his intelligent brow. It pleased Ana that her words had helped assuage his feelings of guilt for playing hooky. It also pleased her that he seemed as relaxed in her presence as she felt in his. They engaged in cheerful small talk for the next fifteen minutes—or fifteen years—Ana couldn’t quite be certain. Beau’s robust good looks and healthy physique completely mesmerized her, while his affable smile and the rich, dulcet tones of his tenor acted as a tranquilizer to her soul. It seemed like forever since last she’d shared the company of such an enchanting man, let alone one this drop-dead gorgeous, and she quickly found herself floating on a cloud of undisturbed bliss. She came crashing down to Earth, however, when he twisted sideways to place his empty glass on a nearby table, then sat back in his chair. What unsettled her, at least momentarily, was that because of Beau’s movement, she could now see one of his balls peeking out from the leg of his cutoff jeans, as if attempting to escape the material’s overly crammed confinement. It took all of Ana’s willpower to not stare at the large, furry testicle, when all she had yearned to do for the past three weeks was lovingly taste it, along with its partner. Renewed images of Beau’s morning ritual flashed through her mind, a kaleidoscope of lustful moments captured on film, photographs Ana had studied while masturbating at least once every single day. With the unknowing model—her handsome obsession—now sitting before her and involuntarily giving her an appetizing preview to a part of his treasure, she found herself salivating, while her clit began a delectable throb against the polyester of her bikini bottoms. But how do I get him to move closer, damn it? The perfect answer came in a horny heartbeat. She set aside her lemonade, then slid a thick portfolio across the 15
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coffee table and flipped open the cover. After paging through it for a moment, she located the relevant photograph. “Speaking of taking a break from routine, this might amuse you,” she said, tapping the page and praying her plan would work. The first part of her scheme proved successful, because Beau rose from the wicker chair and hunkered beside the coffee table to examine the photo in question. Again, a mélange of various aromas filled her nostrils, the hardiest being his alluring male musk. When his bare knee brushed against her thigh, the throbbing in her crotch increased. Beau’s laughter resounded through the room. He eyed the photograph from various angles. “Is this who I think it is? Is this legit?” “Of course it’s legit. I snapped the picture myself.” “Well, you’re very good at your craft.” He turned to her, a look of astonishment twisting his features. “If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. Who would have thought?” The photograph that had so amused and amazed him was of a world-famous celebrity known for her prudish, self-righteous, and hoity-toity ways, frolicking naked on a beach with not one, but several hunky, naked—and fully erect—men. “I took that shot after one of our correspondents phoned in with his report on her—hmm—extracurricular activities. I whisked myself to the Riviera, headed for the private nude beach, and sure enough—there was ‘Miss Morals’ herself, acting like the same type of woman she condemns at every available opportunity.” Ana chuckled. “But of course, her lawyers stopped the magazine from publishing any of the ‘Orgy In The Sand’ photos. I kept this one as a remembrance.” Beau gave a low whistle. “Now that certainly is a break from routine.” His accompanying smile sent shivers of longing down Ana’s spine, while his knee continued teasing her thigh. The throbbing between her legs grew insufferable. Unable to curb her desire any longer, Ana leaned forward and took 16
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his face in her hands. Before she gave herself time to think, she pressed her mouth against his. His lips brooked no argument, but seemed to welcome her. As she had imagined, his mustache tickled her face as he returned her kisses with equal and burgeoning enthusiasm. “What was that for?” Beau asked in a throaty whisper when their lips momentarily parted. His midnight-blue eyes sparkled with gratifying surprise and prurient excitement. “Simply another example of breaking routine,” Ana replied, then gave him another round of passionate kisses. This time, the tip of his tongue playfully jounced with hers, and she wondered what it would feel like digging into her slit. But after weeks—months—of starvation, her hunger for him took precedence. She rested back, pulling him onto the sofa in such a way that he ended up kneeling on the cushions, straddling her waist. Now with his crotch just inches before her face, she could clearly see the outline of his genitals, bulging against the faded-blue material. She pressed her cheek against the hardness, and could actually detect the pulse racing through his still-expanding cock. With her teeth, she mischievously gnawed over the length of him, back and forth, from root to tip, her tongue leaving damp trails in the fabric along his entire front. How the flimsy fabric kept from tearing open under the pressure of his massive, steely hardness begging for escape, she could not imagine. Ana closed her hands around his firm buttocks and pulled him forward, crushing his groin against her mouth. His deep groans of pleasure acted as music to her ears. She worked her lips in a chewing motion around the material encasing the head of his cock. Before long, she needed to replace the taste of cotton with that of his flesh, and frantically unfastened the button at his waist while tugging down the zipper with her teeth. The thick tangle of dark brown pubic hair came into view. For a moment, she rested her nose in his bush and sniffed deeply, inhaling 17
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the scent of Beau’s extreme maleness. She ran her tongue through the fluffy, kinky hairs and slid her fingers down the back of his cutoffs, snatching handfuls of his round ass cheeks. He waggled his crotch against her face and rested one of his hands on the back of her head, drawing her closer. Her fingers gripped his waistband, and she drew the cutoffs completely off his hips. The cock she had admired from a distance now appeared before her eyes. It sprang forth, slapping her on the cheek in its haste for freedom. She wrapped her lips around it at the base, her tongue finally tasting the flesh for which she had so hungered. Languidly, she worked her way up Beau’s majestic organ, painting a trail of saliva along each pounding, purple vein. A thin stream of clear-colored juice oozed down the underside of his shaft, meeting her upward route. Ana lapped up his pre-come, the slight saltiness more satisfying to her taste buds than the tart lemonade she had earlier consumed. Finally, her long journey came to an end. For several minutes, she waggled the tip of her tongue over his moist crown, savoring additional droplets of pre-come that generously issued from his tool. Greedily wanting to drink even more of his essence, she wrapped her lips around his knob and gently sucked. Beau’s fingers entwined in her hair as he thrust forward, filling her mouth with several inches of his meat. She happily accepted the invasion, and drew even more of him into her gullet, as much as she could take. Beau let go of her head to strip himself of his tank top. Ana’s gaze traveled upward, crawling over every inch of his muscular torso. She released her hold on his buttocks and ran her hands over his ridged belly and up onto his pectorals, her fingers alternately combing his chest hair and drawing circles around his dark nipples, turning them into stiff points. Her mind delighted in the contradictory textures— velvety smooth flesh concealing rock-hard muscle, hair simultaneously downy and crisp against her palm. 18
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All the while, Ana continued bathing Beau’s cock in her sucking mouth, coercing more juices from the thick shaft, and rejoicing in the flavor of him. Never had a man tasted so utterly delicious, and Ana couldn’t get enough. His quick jabs into her throat swiftly became a steady rhythm, one bordering on urgency and savage desire. Despite her hunger, however, Ana didn’t want the moment to end just yet. She released him from her mouth and went to work on his testicles. Transferring one of her hands from his pecs, she used it to hold his heavy ball sack while she continued her fun. She laved his balls with her tongue, scooped one, then the other, then both into her mouth. His gasps and sighs attested to her proficiency in satisfying him, and she continued lapping at him, gingerly sucking, as his cock bobbed against her forehead. Several times, she took a moment to tongue-tease his inner thighs, tugging at the hair with her teeth, then went back to fondling the sack she had worshipped from afar through the camera lens. When, in a hoarse whisper, Beau begged her to return her attention to his cock, she happily obliged. She stroked his erection with one hand and began milking his beefy head with her mouth. More juice coated her tongue, and she moaned her contentment. Suddenly, Beau reached down on either side of her head and slipped his hands into her bikini top. His fingertips gingerly squeezed her sensitive flesh. At the same time, he pulled his hips backward, tugging his cock out from between her lips. He made a game out of bringing his erection toward her mouth and backing away just as she meant to lap at it. Several times he wiggled his hips, his penis lightly batting her cheeks, nose, and extended tongue. Every time Ana managed to snatch hold of his knob with her mouth, she groaned a victory before the game resumed. All the while, his hands massaged her breasts, her nipples now hard peaks of passion. Finally, she captured his cock once more, but this time he made no 19
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move to release himself. Instead, he started pumping forward, meeting her downward thrusts, so his tip stabbed the back of her throat. “Ana,” he gasped. “Do you normally allow your lovers to come in your mouth?” She shook her head, “No,” and by way of invitation, increased her suction. “Good…then here’s…a break…from routine…” Waves of creamy, salty juice exploded from his cock, filling Ana’s famished mouth and throat. She swallowed as much of the thick seed as she could, and cursed herself when she felt a stream of it leaking from the side of her mouth. Nevertheless, she persisted, sucking Beau’s penis as more blasts issued from him. She joyously devoured his manly nectar, while his wild howls of orgasm filled her ears. Little by little, she milked him dry. Then, feeling especially wanton, deliciously naughty, she used his softening cock as a tool, scooping up the juice on her chin and neck, licking him clean. Finally gratified, she smiled and looked up into his face. Beau’s blue eyes blazed with unrestrained lust and eager retaliation. Within moments, Ana found herself divested of her bikini swimsuit, while his mouth and hands tenderly roamed over every inch of her bare flesh. He suckled her breasts, then tongued her belly button. Before long, he planted juicy kisses down the length of her legs and nibbled each of her toes. His fingertips, smooth and slippery from his saliva, grazed her heated skin or plunged into her most intimate place, promptly driving her mad. After he sank to his knees before the sofa, Beau’s expert tongue finally dug deep into her aching heat. Ana’s shriek of pleasure echoed off the walls of the sun-swept living room. Like a surrogate penis, Beau’s tongue darted in and out, up and down, back and forth, draining from her the moisture she produced. She clutched handfuls of his wavy hair, and delighted in his thoroughness, hoping—praying—somehow the sensations would last forever. 20
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All the while, his fingers danced along her torso, gently tickling and teasing her breasts. Unlike the majority of Ana’s former lovers, Beau’s fingertips merely grazed her hard nipples, the way she preferred, bringing no pain from squeezing or groping, but delight from velvety, butterfly-soft strokes. When his tongue connected with the special part of her begging for release, she tossed back her head and yelped her much-needed satisfaction. She gripped his head and crushed his mouth to her pussy, wiggling her hips and wordlessly pleading with him for additional fulfillment. As if he had read her mind, Beau moved her portfolio to the sofa, then in a flash, swept his arm across the coffee table. Last week’s TV Guide and Soap Opera Digest, age-old copies of Vanity Fair and Photographer’s Monthly, and yesterday’s already-yellowing newspaper fluttered to the floor. Out with the old, in with the new. Within seconds, Ana found herself placed atop the table, her bare back caressing the dense mahogany, her buttocks covering the space on which her portfolio had lain. Beau reached into the small pocket of his abandoned cutoffs and produced not one, but several packets of condoms. He had certainly come prepared, Ana thought absently, her mind consumed with his resplendent nakedness. After he ripped open a condom packet with his teeth, Ana stopped him from going forward. “Allow me,” she said, throaty with passion, yet willing to divulge the absolute truth. “I’ve never done this particular trick before…” She plucked the rubber disk from his hand, then positioned it over his cock head. With her lips and mouth, she began to stretch the condom over his expanding length, eventually unrolling it over the top half of his full-blown erection. In triumph, she grinned up at him, clearly viewing the approval in his eyes. Leaning back, she spread her legs, giving him a clear path to her 21
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ravenous womanhood. He stood beside the table for what felt an eternity, staring down at her crotch and stroking his organ, licking his lips in anticipation. Ana found herself arching her back, lifting her crotch, silently begging for him to fill her. He reached toward the table beside the wicker chair. The clanking of half-melted ice cubes rang through the room when he lifted his abandoned lemonade glass to his lips. He slurped one of the cubes into his mouth, chewed, then set aside the glass. With a smile, he bent over her crotch. Using his arctic tongue, he slid the ice shards against her aching clit. Ana gasped as chills gusted through her entire body, turning her hot skin to goose flesh. His tongue provided lazy, glacier strokes, making her grasp the edges of the coffee table with trembling hands. How long Beau continued this delightful torment, she had no idea, since her mind had become an eddy of sexual bliss. All she knew was that she had never felt such animal desire for another human being, and she found herself bucking against his mouth, especially when his ice-cold tongue plunged deep into her heat. When she stared down at Beau, his twinkling eyes meeting hers, she half-expected to see steam rising from her crotch. He eventually withdrew his masterful tongue, then came to loom above her, his hands planted beneath her armpits, his body positioned as if to perform a round of push-ups. The tip of his engorged cock playfully stabbed at her entrance, while his teasing smile rained down on her. “Would you say, Ana, a fuck on a coffee table is another break from routine?” In reply, she snatched his hips and yanked downward, ramming his entire length into her tingling heat. Simultaneously, she raised her torso and captured one of his hard nipples in her mouth. In long, sure strokes, Beau filled her again and again, while Ana groaned her joy and suckled him. As his chest hair brushed against her 22
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face, his cock seemed to probe depths within her never before touched by male anatomy. She wrapped her legs around his waist like a human vice as his rhythm increased. Before long, her lower body completely lifted from the table. She hung on to him for dear life, while her soul began to float on a cloud of carnal ecstasy. Without warning, an internal furnace ignited within her core. Surge after surge of heat gushed through her veins, pumped into her limbs, with a violence so utterly foreign to her she wondered whether her body might explode. But with the volcanic heat also came wave upon wave of delectable shudders, mind-numbing tremors that seemed to catapult her into virgin heights of rapture. Shrieks of satiation poured from her mouth, mingling with her lover’s moans of satisfaction. When she finally began floating back to Earth, she shook her head in disbelief and blinked tears from her eyes. Ana rested her head on the mahogany, gasping for breath, while the tempo of Beau’s adept strokes accelerated even more. His chest hair and mustache shimmered with beads of perspiration. The veins popping up along his neck, the bulging of his arm and pectoral muscles, completely mesmerized her. She clawed his sides and belly with her fingernails, urging him on to climax. Suddenly, his movement stopped. His gaze sought and found hers. “Have your lovers always climaxed inside you, Ana?” “M—mostly. Why?” she asked, wholly intrigued. “Seeking another…break from routine?” “Something like that…” With a devilish smile twisting his lips, Beau dragged his cock from her groping vagina and stood beside the table. He tore off the condom and whipped it aside, then began to stroke himself. Ana watched in utter fascination as he worked his organ in the same wild abandon as she had daily viewed through her camera lens. Only this time, with his beautiful cock and blurred hand just inches above 23
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her, with his lustful gaze firmly fixed on her face, she found the closeup demonstration much more satisfying to her prurient desires. She couldn’t help but lift a hand and gently squeeze his tightening ball sack, slithering her index finger between his legs to tickle him. He exploded. In what seemed a torrent, his creamy seed landed on her heaving breasts and streamed down the valley between them. More rivers formed as he continued to blast, the warm fluid sprinkling her neck, then her belly. Finally, his outpouring lessened to a pearly white trickle and his hand released his erection. Ana eagerly wrapped her fingers around the pulsating flesh and milked him of every last drop. The copious gratification on his handsome face pleased her even more, and she tossed back her head and laughed. “Yes,” she said between giggles, “definitely another break from routine.” He repositioned himself on the table, then lowered himself. As he ground his semi-erect penis against her pubic mound, their torsos squished together with mutual perspiration and his slippery sexual offering. When their salivating mouths united, their tongues engaged in a savage outpouring of passion that left Ana completely breathless and hungry for so much more. She dug her fingers into his broad back, hugged him with her legs, and luxuriated in the warmth of his soft skin, hard muscles, and raw masculinity. Before long, she felt his penis stir yet again against her crotch. She gasped in amazement. But then, why should she have been surprised? After all, just that morning while observing her neighbor through her camera, she had concluded that nature had gifted Sundance with a body designed for sex. And here he was in the flesh, proving her right. Nevertheless, Beau’s unwavering prowess not only amazed her, but engendered her own libidinous desires. Every part of her, from her heart down to her clit, started to pound with renewed anticipation until 24
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she thought she might die if she did not feel him inside her once more. Ana nipped at his mouth, chin, and neck, then nibbled and bit into his shoulders and upper arms, all the while clutching handfuls of his hair with one hand and one of his butt cheeks with the other. Beau slid his cock between their slick bellies in a mock coupling, bringing himself to another prodigious erection. Ana groaned her zealous approval. As incandescent lust assailed her with brutal intensity, her entire body trembled. Beau lifted himself off her, then stood beside the table. With her gaze focused on his erection, she barely noticed him snatch another condom from the floor and clasp the packet between his teeth. She held out her arms to him, beckoningly. “Not here,” he whispered around the condom, then bent forward. “Hang on…” Before she could utter a sound, she felt herself being scooped up into his strong arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted her lips against a vein in his throat, enraptured as she felt it pulse against her mouth. “Which way to the shower?” In response, Ana could only point down the hall. Within moments, Beau had whisked her into the bathroom, the row of potted ferns beside the open windows dancing in a balmy ocean breeze. He lowered her feet to the tiled floor of the walk-in shower. Blasts of tepid, soothing water jetted over Ana’s heated skin as Beau twisted the tap and joined her inside. He snatched the bar of soap, then slipped the condom packet from between his teeth and set it inside the empty dish. Beau covered her breasts with his large hands, his circular strokes soon creating a froth of soapy bubbles. Down her torso he languidly moved, his hands sexual loofahs, leaving behind a trail of white lather until his slippery fingers slid between her thighs. Ana bit her lower lip when his fingers invaded her. She massaged 25
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her breasts, getting her hands slick with soap, then wrapped her fingers around his rock-hard erection. Eventually they built a glorious rhythm between them, he poking her, she stroking him, until their moans of pleasure echoed off the shower walls. As if by mutual request, they released each other before either reached the point of no return. Beau pulled her flush against his sinewy frame, his penis crushed between their bellies. Their mouths met in gluttonous harmony while their lathered hands worked each other’s backs and buttocks. “I want you again, Ana,” he whispered into her ear. “Good God, I want to fuck you—all day, all night long—like you’ve never been fucked before.” Ana certainly loved the sound of that, for that was exactly what she had fantasized ever since first spotting him through her camera three weeks earlier. By way of response, she guided Beau directly under the showerhead, ogling as the water cascaded over his flesh, rinsing the froth from his hairy torso and crotch. She planted her hands on his firm pectorals, then slowing sank to her knees. Her mouth followed the trail of hair down his belly and past his navel. As ravenous as before, she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. Her tongue performed an enthusiastic waltz along the underside of his plump shaft as she began to suck. But as much as she yearned to drain another load of seed out of him—and as much as she sensed that he, too, would allow her to do so without protest—she needed to feel him pounding inside her even more. Reluctantly, she pulled her mouth off him, then grabbed the condom packet from the soap dish. She ripped open the package and yanked out the rubber disk. Before sheathing his erection, she flicked her tongue over the crown, capturing the pre-come issuing from his slit. She just prayed the small sampling of salty nectar would somewhat appease her feral hunger. 26
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After coating his hard flesh with the rubber, she stood, then rinsed herself one last time and turned off the shower. Beau reached for her, his eyes questioning. She shook her head. Not here, she thought. She wanted him on a bed where he could make good on his earlier promise, and where, at her leisure, she could satisfy her every caprice. Playfully tugging his erection, she pulled him from the stall and to the counter. She handed him a large, fluffy towel from a freshly laundered pile, then watched his muscles work as he dried his head and chest and— The laundry room! Her gaze darted to the door beside the bathtub. Closed, thank God! She hastily buried her face in her own towel so Beau wouldn’t see her sudden blush. The adjoining room not only housed the washer and dryer, but also contained her photo-developing equipment. Indeed, hanging this moment from a web of clotheslines were prints of the photographs she had taken just yesterday of her new lover as he masturbated. Dozens of them. What would Sundance think of her if he stumbled upon her lecherous—and felonious—secret? Needing to flee the bathroom as soon as possible, she tossed aside her barely used towel and once again wrapped her fingers around Beau’s erection, still hard as steel. “Come with me,” she said, gently tugging him into the hallway. His deep-throated chuckles filled her ears, breaking through the sucking noises as their wet, bare feet moved over the varnished pine floorboards. When they started up the staircase, it became difficult for her to hold onto him. She released his cock, but soon felt it brushing against the back of her leg. About halfway up the stairs, Beau gripped her hips, halting her. “You know, Ana,” he said, coming to stand on the step below her, “I have always been a ‘butt man.’ And you, my dear, have the finest butt 27
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I’ve seen in many a day.” A thwack rang through the stairwell, punctuating his compliment, when he slapped one of her buttocks. Ana giggled, then felt his thick erection wedge under her butt cheeks and in between her legs. The rubber-encased crown brushed against her clit, tormenting her. His hand moved from her hip to cover her pubic bush, his fingertips guiding the cock toward its target, already tingling at the impending invasion. “Grab the banister, my dear.” She did as instructed, and not a moment too soon. Beau thrust forward, filling her with at least half of his erection. Shrieking her pleasure, Ana clutched the railing for dear life. Beau gently lowered her torso so that her rigid nipples grazed the medallionpatterned stairway carpet. Another thrust into her provided additional inches of his meat; a third attempt filled her with his universal length. He crushed her to him, his pubic hair grinding against her shower-damp buttocks. When he delicately waggled his hips, his shaft danced against the walls of her moist tunnel. Again, time crashed to a halt for Ana. How long Beau kept her impaled on his unrivaled hardness, jabbing her in tiny yet delectable thrusts, she had no clear idea. She just knew she wanted to sink onto him in wild abandon, without fear of plummeting down a half-flight of stairs. With that thought in mind, she aversely forced herself up another step, freeing herself from the cock she wanted so desperately. Ana bolted to the top of the stairs and entered her bedroom, now tinted a fiery sienna by the rays of the early evening sun. She threw herself face down onto the mattress. By the time she rolled over, Beau had sauntered into the room, his cock firmly in hand. He stood beside the bed, stroking himself, slowly, tantalizing her. A wickedly sexy smile formed below his mustache, turning Ana’s insides to pure mush. Flinging her wet hair off her face, she knelt at the edge of the mattress, facing him. Beau released his cock on a downward stroke. It 28
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bobbed inches before her eyes, and kept bobbing as he tightened his groin muscles, giving her a lewd show. When she lowered her open mouth toward him, he again made sport of avoiding her seeking tongue. But more than determined to gain a quick victory in this renewed game, she almost immediately captured the tip of his cock between her lips and clamped down, foiling his escape. She sucked him hard for several minutes, refusing to relinquish her prize, despite the condom’s bland, rubbery taste. How she yearned to savor Beau’s flesh instead, from handsome head to perfect toe. But all in good time, she decided, the nub between her legs throbbing, begging for immediate attention. Yes, all in good time. When she released him from her mouth, she grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. He landed on the bed beside her, the mattress creaking from the added weight. His laughter filled the bedroom as she tossed one of her legs over his body. To hold him prisoner, she dug her knees into his waist and sat down. His cock pulsed vivaciously beneath her moist clitoris. She moved her hips forward and backward over the length of him, relishing her control, ignoring his pleas to skewer her. When she finally lowered her torso, his chest hair tickled her tender, peaked nipples, making her shiver. Beau’s mouth felt smooth as silk as he bathed her cheeks, her chin, her lips in delicate, lingering kisses. His hands ran up and down her sides, his fingertips and palms barely touching flesh, horripilating her skin. He mashed the underside of his rod against her dampness in a promise of impending satiation. No man had ever worked her body like this, had ever possessed the power to make her this crazed with carnality. As much for her sake as his, she reached between them and encased the head of his cock within the swollen folds of her labia. Immediately, Beau clutched her buttocks and thrust upward, impaling her with his entirety. Ana cried her joy into his open mouth before his tongue drove 29
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forward, effectively silencing her. Planting her hands on his shoulders, Ana rode him with wanton ardor. She lifted off him, tossing back her head and shrieking her delectation. Beau hammered into her, each precise and determined thrust accompanied by a guttural grunt from deep within his chest. He poked her from various angles, as if to guarantee that no part of her needy core remained untouched. Displaying his own hunger, he raised himself up on his elbows and snatched one of her nipples between his lips. Gingerly he suckled, while his cock ravaged, two opposing sensations that swiftly projected Ana to the brink of delirious climax. As if sensing her imminent release, Beau began bucking like a bull in heat. Ana clenched her feminine muscles around his pistoning shaft, murmurs of pleasure spilling from her lips. Her entire body began to tingle; her head began to hum. Beau’s tongue continued its caressing magic on her nipples, driving Ana insane with cupidity. Like lightning, heat shot along her spine and through her extremities. She closed her eyes and saw sparks behind the lids, gasped for air, and rocketed into a delightful heaven. Her mind in a daze, her entire body went slack. She sank onto Beau, using his quaking body as her pillow. The mattress squeaked in protest as Beau hastened his tempo. With the combined musk of their perspiration and lovemaking overwhelming her nostrils, Ana pressed her head against his furry chest and flicked her tongue over his nipple. His heart thumped a steady gallop against her eardrum. When she reached over her buttocks and stroked his testicles and the base of his erection, husky grunts rumbled through him, shaking him and rocking the bed even more. He squeezed her hips in his hands and plunged into her a final time. Ana could feel his cock spasm inside her, and suckled his nipple until his body went pliant beneath her. Only minutes later when Ana snuggled in Beau’s sturdy arms, her head on his shoulder and their legs intertwined, did she realize just how 30
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much energy she had expelled on their lovemaking. The blissful day of realized fantasies had even drained from her the ability to think beyond the moment. But she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was rejoice in the afterglow and the warmth of her lover’s lean, muscular body. As her fingertips dug into Beau’s forest of chest hair, she closed her eyes and floated into pacific slumber.
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CHAPTER 3
Ana awoke to a flood of sunlight and the sound of a bird’s morning song. Yawning, she stretched her aching muscles and patted the empty space on the mattress beside her. Blinking open her eyes, she found her new lover standing beside the window. The sun’s rays painted his bare flesh a glistening bronze. Ana’s gaze raked over him before focusing on the six inches of flaccid meat dangling from the juncture of his thighs. She salivated, licked her lips, and allowed her mind to wander. So entranced by Beau’s athletic frame and assaulted by tasty recollections of yesterday’s activities, she didn’t comprehend what he was doing until he fully faced her— With her Takami 3000 in hand. Gasping, she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding a sudden hurricane. Play innocent, she instructed herself. Just play innocent. Ana drew a deep, calming breath, then finger-combed the hair from 32
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her forehead. She forced a smile, hoping it would mask her panic. “Go—good morning.” Beau’s midnight-blue eyes settled on her for a long moment. His gaze darted down to the camera in his hands, then out the window, then back at her. He arched an eyebrow. “Take photographs of anything interesting lately, Ana?” Heat poured into her cheeks. She stammered for a response. “Th— that’s my job, Beau. You know that. I showed you one of my portfolios yesterday and—” “What? There’s a few celebrities lounging around the Georgia beaches, perhaps? I thought you said you’re on vacation from work, no?” “A—a vacation? Oh, from the magazine, yes. But—but as a photographer I—” “You’re always on the hunt for new and interesting subjects to capture on film, I suppose.” He chuckled. “Anastasia Hunter…your name certainly fits your profession, my dear. But what new and interesting subjects could a world-renowned photographer possibly find along this rather barren stretch of beach? Breathtaking sunsets, maybe? Possible. Or gulls lazily banking and wheeling above the dunes? Likely, I suppose.” His lips twisted into a devilish smile. “So truly your work is never done, correct?” “In one respect, I—I guess you could say that.” “I wonder what might be stored inside this fine piece of equipment just waiting to be developed…” “Oh—a lot of things, probably.” She scrambled off the bed, her stomach churning. He squinted in thought, then lifted the camera to his eye and looked out the window. “Wow! I can actually see even the smallest details of my house from this vantage point. So crisp and clear—and unobstructed. It’s as if the camera lens was focused recently with the sole intention of photographing—what? Hmm. An intriguing mystery. 33
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Not my house, that’s for certain. What could a photographer find of interest there?” Still attempting to hide her monstrous embarrassment, Ana made a casual grab for the camera. “Ah, not so fast.” Beau’s hands swept to the other side of his tall frame, keeping the camera out of her reach. “Oh, please, I adore mysteries. Let me attempt to solve this one, my dear, I beg of you.” “Beau, please…” “Please what? Give you the camera? I apologize, I didn’t realize photographers felt so possessive regarding the tools of their trade.” Though he presented an air of calm solemnity, mischief twinkled in his eyes. One corner of his mouth quirked, as if battling back a smile. Did he know? Had he guessed? When he lowered the Tamaki into her grasping hands, Ana felt a surge of relief. But no sooner had she settled the camera onto the bedside table when he grabbed her wrist. “Come with me.” Before she could utter a sound, he gently tugged her from the bedroom and down the staircase. At the landing, he released her, then entered the living room, where he gathered their discarded garments from the floor. “Slip these on. Hurry…” He tossed the bikini bra and panties to her. She caught the pieces and did as instructed, watching in confusion as he slid into his cutoffs. “What are we doing, Beau? Where are we going?” He flung his tank top over his bare shoulder, then pulled her into his arms. His mouth met hers, giving her a brief, but fierce, kiss. “I need to show you something you might find—amusing? Perhaps even ironic?” “What?” His response came in the form of a wink. More baffled than ever, she took Beau’s hand and allowed him to 34
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lead her out the front door. Cool, morning dew licked at her feet as he escorted her over the patch of lawn separating their properties. When he stepped onto his driveway, his pace quickened until they came to his door. He tugged her through the entranceway and down one hallway, then another, at breakneck speed, so fast she could make out no details of what appeared to be a beautifully appointed home. Only when he guided her into a large room could she get her bearings. Her eyes took in the black leather sofa, the weight-lifting gear, the pinball machine, and what appeared to be hundreds of various electronic gadgets. The recreation room she had viewed through her camera every day for the past three weeks. “Come,” he said, patting the sofa cushion, the very cushion on which he sat each morning to perform his ritual. “Relax. I have something to show you that you might find very—enlightening.” Her brow creasing in bewilderment, Ana parked herself on the sofa and watched him as he slid a video into the VCR. A tingle of desire stirred her loins, however, when Beau faced her and she viewed the huge bulge taking shape at his crotch. He unbuttoned his cutoffs and lowered the zipper. The beautiful cock that had brought her such pleasure sprang forward, growing by leaps and bounds before her eyes. He kicked off the jeans, then walked to the sofa, where he settled his long frame beside her. With one hand, Beau grabbed the nearby remote control. With his other hand, he lifted one of her wrists and rested her palm over his now-mammoth erection. Ana could feel the heat rising from his hard flesh, scorching her fingertips. Without prodding, she began to stroke him tenderly as he pointed the remote control toward the large-screen TV. After a single click, the entertainment center across the room sprang to life, a re-run of The Honeymooners filling the screen. The unmistakable voice of Ralph Kramden trumpeting, “Bang, zoom,” 35
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blasted from the speakers. “What are we doing?” asked Ana, her mouth thirsting to suck the cock beneath her fingers. “You’ll see, my dear,” replied Beau, chuckling mischievously. “You’ll see…” He clicked another button, then tossed aside the remote control. Instantly, another image appeared on the TV screen, this one devoid of sound. Ana blinked, trying to focus. Trying to make certain that what she saw was real and not a figment of her imagination. When the reality of the images finally registered in her mind, Ana gasped. Beau caught her hand before she could move away from him. He pressed her palm to his crotch. She turned to face him. “But…but…how…” A resplendent smile appeared below his mustache. “You see, my dear, being the owner of an electronic company has its advantages.” He pointed toward another row of equipment. Only then did Ana see the item standing beside the wall of window glass— A video camera—aimed directly toward her house next door. She looked back at herself on the TV screen, her one hand holding her Takami 3000 to her eye while her other hand disappeared into her bikini bottoms to masturbate. Now she knew exactly what he watched every morning while having his personal fun. And now it also made sense why he had arrived at her home yesterday with a pocketful of condoms at the ready. Beau chuckled. “I have one morning ritual, you have another…and mine, my dear, was done entirely for your benefit.” “Then you knew all along?” “Not from the start, but I spotted you snapping pictures of me several days after your arrival, so I decided to ‘turn the tables,’ as they say.” “And yesterday—” 36
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“Was the first opportunity I found to play hooky from work and finally meet you face-to-face. And I truly did need to use your phone, only I did know the phone lines were down and”—he looked a tad chagrined—“my cell phone is actually upstairs in my briefcase, not at the office, as I stated. I was just thankful you also had a cell phone so I could stay around and get to know you better. So, Ana, do you think you can ever forgive me for my fabrication?” Ana gulped. As her shock began to wane, she watched her TV likeness enjoying herself and suddenly felt the urge to laugh. Beau placed his hand over hers, gently pressing her palm against his hot erection, encouraging her stroking to continue. He let out a resigned sigh. “But now, we have a slight problem…” “Problem?” “I guess our individual morning rituals will have to change, considering that our dirty, voyeuristic secrets are now out in the open.” “Ch—change? How?” “Why, for the better, I hope?” Beau started to untie her bikini top and bestowed her with a sexy smile. He brought his mouth to within an inch of hers and ran his tongue along her lower lip. “And you, my dear, can be the judge…”
37
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC PROUDLY PRESENTS PASSION KNOWS NO BOUNDARIES BY PARIS DIXON Clarice Nash has made the purchase of her dreams, buying Riverview, a sprawling 19th-Century plantation house on the outskirts of Savannah that she has admired since childhood. But when her restoration starts on a bedroom mysteriously locked for decades, the hauntings also begin— the hauntings of two lost souls reliving through eternity one night of unbridled passion. At first frightened by the ghostly lovemaking, then growing obsessed as the weeks progress and the visions gain clarity, especially when no one else can bear witness to the nightly proceedings, Clarice locates a descendant of the original owners, determined to solve the mystery and free her home of the lust-filled phantoms. But when she meets Derek Ballantine, great-great-grandson and spitting image of the handsome Esau Lamont Ballantine, the virile male spirit consuming her every waking thought, she’s haunted by desires within herself, cravings she believes only Derek can now fulfill…
Available July 2003!
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC PROUDLY PRESENTS MY LOVER, HER SLAYER BY PARIS DIXON In early 1888, lonely but socially-prestigious Gwenyth Hampshire Corday couldn’t be more thrilled when her parents practically beg her to be courted by the devilishly handsome Denyon Samson Montague, a well-to-do young doctor in nearby London. When the word “marriage” is bandied about behind her back, the intelligent Gwen truly knows her parents have finally grown accustomed to Denny’s courtly habits, despite his various and somewhat-disturbing mysterious activities several nights each month. But later that year, when bodies of prostitutes in the Whitechapel district of London start piling up and a clue to the infamous “Jack The Ripper” murder cases finds its way into her bed after a night of salacious frolic with her beloved doctor, Gwen suddenly wonders if the only man to which she has given herself is nothing more than a predator, a monster driven by sexual perversity… And whether she will become his next victim…
Available September 2003!
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC PROUDLY PRESENTS LECHERY FOR THE DEVIL BY PARIS DIXON After spending part of a lonely evening in her apartment while listening to her favorite band, The Rolling Stones, Cassandra dons her slinkiest black dress and makes for a local nightspot, determined to locate a warm body to satisfy her deepest desires. But when she quickly makes eye contact and begins a daring flirtation with a devilishly handsome stranger named Jagger, a man surrounded by more than a hint of danger, she suddenly begins to wonder if the resulting sparks between them are more than mere coincidence...
“4 hearts!—a delightfully naughty romp that is sure to tantalize the most seasoned romantica reader. Ms. Dixon has a unique writing style that lends itself well to the raw sexuality of the piece without being overwhelming or too lurid…Very entertaining!”—Holly Hewson, The Romance Studio
Available Now!
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC PROUDLY PRESENTS WHITE LIES BY CAITLYN WILLOWS Unloved Sarah Mason flees her domineering parents and manipulative fiancé, embarking to Jamaica on a quest for clues to her sister’s unnerving disappearance. Her quest, however, takes an unexpected and exhilarating turn when she meets the sexy Dominick LaCroix, her sister’s ex-landlord and supposed ex-lover, who not only aids in Sarah’s search for answers, but also helps her explore her heart and sexuality. But can Sarah and Dominick survive not only a killer hurricane, but a dangerous undercover mission to learn the truth about what happened to her sister?—or will they become the next people to mysteriously vanish?
“Hot! Steamy! Sexy!”—Dawn Myers, Escape to Romance
Available Now!
PARIS DIXON
Paris Dixon was born and raised in the “steamy South”—Savannah, GA., to be exact—an undisclosed number of years ago. According to Paris, having grown up in a city filled with countless historical homes and avenues where hanging moss lazily sways from live oaks did much for her vivid imagination, especially after majoring in history in college. Her period of focus has always been the antebellum era of American History. “The decades prior to the Civil War,” says Paris, “have always fascinated me. This was a time when dresses became wider, tempers ran shorter, and a horrific institution called ‘slavery’ was the norm. I’ve often wondered what might have occurred within the walls of some of Savannah’s grand estates and plantation houses when a combination of humid-heavy summers and society’s strict mores played havoc with the urges of handsome young gentlemen and their nubile ladyloves. As personal accounts of the period clearly indicate, courting lovers of the era were wont to raise a glass of mint julep on their shady verandahs and complain about the weather while batting eyelashes at one another in the company of matronly chaperones. But what happened during these heat-filled summers when these passionate young adults with raging hormones decided to ditch these observant sentinels in favor of some ‘alone time’? Unfortunately, I suspect some of the more fascinating history of mankind never made it into the history books.” Paris is the award-winning author of several historical erotica books and the forthcoming Cry Merci (scheduled for release in 2004 by
Amber Quill Press). Moreover, both her short paranormal erotica, Passion Knows No Boundaries, as well as her short historical erotica, My Lover, Her Slayer, are scheduled for release later in 2003 from Amber Quill Press. Additionally, Paris sometimes collaborates on various books in the erotica/romantica suspense genre with award-winning author Catherine Snodgrass under the pen name Caitlyn Willows. The novel White Lies is now available, while the novels Déjà Vu and Treasure Hunters are scheduled for release later in 2003 from Amber Quill Press. Paris loves to hear from her readers, so feel free to email her at:
[email protected] Or visit her website at: http://bythunder.org/ParisDixon/index.html
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