Vodka On Ice
Her naked body was incredibly lovely. It turned his guts into liquid fire, and his cock into a long, thick rod of steel. Standing between her and the door, he watched her as he casually unbuttoned his shirt and nonchalantly toed off his shoes.
"I never thought of you as a whore," his voice softer now, trying to calm her. "I did think you were an exceptionally lovely surprise when you visited. No one has ever come to my office to strip for me." He unbuckled his belt, and advanced on her.
She heard the zipper open and was mesmerized as she watched his pants come off. She inhaled sharply at the sight of his muscular chest fully outlined in a T-shirt, but one look at his swollen cock straining against his briefs did her in. Oh god! He's huge! What was I thinking?
It took a great deal of willpower to restrain from grabbing her, throwing her down on the bed and fucking her through the mattress. Nick moved into her space and gently cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples, making them taut.
"You have a beautiful body, Sacha," he whispered. One hand came up to caress her face. "And even more so without your mask." Bending down, his mouth sought her throat and when she arched her head back, he sucked the soft spot in the hollow of her neck. "My sweet, beautiful Sacha."
"I'm not your Sacha," she murmured, giving in to the sensations his mouth was causing.
"Yes, you are," he murmured back. "You sought me out, you lured me, you're mine now."
"I'm not yours... not anybody's," she insisted in a low voice, her arms snaking around his neck.
"You're mine tonight."
"Do it now," she whispered. "I'm ready."
"Do what now?" he teased, his tongue tracing the outline of her jaw, moving up to her ear. "What are you ready for, Sacha?"
"You know what I want."
"What do you want? Tell me," he insisted.
"I want you. I want you to fuck me. Do it now, before..." Her mouth opened, her breath heavier.
"Before what?" he asked quietly, nerve naked as he watched her mouth.
"Before... before... how can I think when you're kissing me?"
"Before you lose your nerve? Before you change your mind?
Before what?" he asked, his voice raw with desire.
"Before I melt in a puddle at your feet," she gasped.
Nick chuckled in relief; she still wanted him as much as he wanted her.
He lifted her, positioning himself between her legs as he lowered her to the bed. "I want you, Sacha Ella Brody. I want you," he breathed into her mouth, one hand moving to her face, the other slipping between her thighs.
"You are so wet," he eased his fingers under the thong, stroking her lightly.
She arched up against his hand, "Now, Nicholas Sergei Skovetz, please... fuck me now. Please," she moaned.
"Soon, Sacha Kushla, soon."
"It means sweet one."
"I know what it means. How did you know...?"
"My parents came from Russia," he said smoothly as his mouth sucked her lower lip, nipping it lightly.
"Where in Russia?" she asked when she could take a decent breath. Her thighs parted further and her hips moved closer to his hand.
"Georgia," he replied, his mouth seeking her breast, his fingers under her thong, stroking her labia.
"Ah... that's why your... other name is Sergei. My parents... came from Ukraine." She could barely take a decent breath and couldn't believe she was having a conversation about their lineage while he was doing what he was doing.
"Ukraine? Peasants?" he teased and sucked a nipple into his mouth, his fingers moving to her clit.
"Georgian? Cossacks?" she snorted in a most unladylike fashion and then gasped. His fingers pushed inside her just as his teeth gently bit her nipple.
He laughed softly, ending the discussion by scraping his teeth over that nipple and then the other.
"Now, Nick. I can't wait any longer."
"Soon, Kushla, soon."
"Now!" she demanded, pulling at his T-shirt.
He lifted his head to look at her. "Did I mention what happens to naughty little girls, Sacha?"
"No, and I don't care. Fuck me! Fuck me now, damn it!"
In the blink of an eye, he pulled her up, and turned her over his knee, the thong suddenly history. His hand came down and smacked her ass hard. Over and over, his large hand pummeled her bottom, the color swiftly turning fire engine red... then a deep crimson.
"What the hell are you doing?" she had yelled, wondering how she was suddenly face down over his knee. "Are you a sadist?" her indignation swiftly turning to painful cries.
"That's for teasing me with your luscious body," he growled, his hand spanking hard, her bare bottom burning. "That's for making me hot for you," he continued, making sure he swatted her sit spot and her upper thighs. "And this..." His hand came down several more times. "This is for good measure!"
"You miserable son of a... I'll..."
"You'll what, Sacha?" He flipped her back over, slapping her hot cheeks once again. Before she could protest, he buried his face between her thighs.
All rational thought flew from her mind. Life was reduced to the sensations centered between her thighs - nothing else mattered. His warm mouth engulfed her, his breath rolling over her flesh. Nick's lips roamed, rubbing, kissing, sucking, learning her secrets, giving her pleasure.
Sacha was on fire. Nick had spanked her hard, but her juices were flowing. A light tap on her butt had always made her so damn hot, but he had blistered her bottom to boiling. By all rights, she should be screaming at the top of her lungs but she couldn't remember ever being so wet before. Her hands grasped his shoulders, his neck, his ears, his head, anywhere she could gain purchase. She was climbing, climbing... reaching... almost... Her hips arched up.
"Please," she moaned. "Please."
His tongue teased her clit, swirling around it, licking it, and finally, he sucked it into his warm, wet mouth. He cradled her fiery ass in his palms when the waves pushed her over the edge, his chin resting on her thigh, feeling the shudders from her orgasm. The last wave crested and dropped her... in slow motion, down... deep... her body fully stretched, tense... then, soft... and relaxed.
It was such a good feeling. It didn't last long enough.
He came up onto his knees, lifted her hips and pushed into her. "So hot, Kushla... so hot and wet," he gasped, trying to get air into his lungs. "So hot, my Sacha... so tight," He advanced and retreated, pushing hard inside her.
She pressed her feet into his back, pulling him closer. Her arms tightened around his neck, her hands in constant motion, caressing his shoulders and his back. "Fuck me, Nick... Nick Skovetz. Fuck me hard."
He was close, very close to the edge and thrust into her again and again. His body hovered over hers, his mouth capturing hers, his breath escaping between their lips in a hiss. He plunged once more, exploding into her - his tongue filling her mouth, and his warm thick semen flooding her womb.
"I feel an urge to blister your sweet ass again... so hard... you're not going to be able to sit until next Tuesday." He drew in a gasping breath. "As soon as I can breathe..."
"How sweet!" she murmured, taking long, slow breaths. "I'll bet you woo all your ladies with that kind of talk."
"I don't want to hear you curse," he growled. "It's not attractive coming out of your mouth."
In spite of the burning inferno in her bottom cheeks, she laughed softly and lifted her head to look him in the eye. "I wouldn't have thought you were an old-fashioned kind of guy, Nick Skovetz. I would have thought..."
"You thought wrong," he snapped, then cupped her chin gently. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to come off so... macho, but I don't like to hear words like that from a woman lying in my arms." He caressed her lips with his fingers, his gaze intense. "Besides, I made love to you, Sacha, it wasn't fucking. Understand?"
"I apologize," she said sincerely.
"Accepted," he said softly, his eyes soft and warm. "Kiss me, Kushla."
"I'm going to kiss you and then you're going to spank me again?" Her tone was incredulous.
"I'm not going to spank you. But I will if your language..."
"I can't say fuck but I can strip for you?"
"That's different," he retorted, knowing full well that his logic was askew.
"Kiss me, Kushla."
Sacha kissed his chin, briefly licked the cleft she found there, making him shiver. Her lips moved to his neck, and finally, his mouth. When he let her up for air, she wanted to move further down his body, but Nick's arms were wrapped tightly around her, making movement difficult.
He was sated, relaxed, and content just to hold her. When she remarked she wanted to kiss him some more, he moved his hand to the back of her head, his fingers in her hair. Smiling, he asked, "Where do you want to kiss me, Kushla?"
"I want to kiss your belly and I want to kiss your..." She looked into his eyes. "If I say the wrong word, are you going to carry out your threat?"
Nick chuckled. "Let's rest for a few minutes. We'll kiss some more later." He rolled onto his back and tucked her next to his side, his arm holding her close.
"What do you do, Sacha?"
"What do I do?"
"What do you do for a living?"
"I make soup."
He turned his head to look at her. He was sure she wasn't serious. "Explain," he commanded.
"Soup. You know, like Campbell's Tomato Soup. I make soup. I supply a couple of hotel restaurants with my chowder." She turned slightly away from his gaze so he couldn't see her grin and warmed to the subject. "I make three kinds of chowder: corn chowder, salmon chowder, and Rhode Island chowder. Sometimes, I make potato soup and mushroom-barley soup. And once in a while, I make cabbage soup."
He didn't believe her. "The best mushroom-barley soup in this town is at the Seasons Restaurant in the Four Seasons Hotel."
Sacha smiled at him. "I'm glad you think so."
Nick gave her a funny look. "And nobody makes cabbage soup like my mother did."
"You haven't tried mine yet," she boasted.
"You went to school for this? You majored in the culinary arts?"
"No, I graduated with a degree in journalism, worked at the Post for a while. But I'd much rather make soup."
Maybe, she did make soup, unlikely as that sounded. "You make a decent living, doing that?"
"Uh-huh. Enough to live here."
There was something about the tone of her voice that convinced him she was lying. "Where do you make the soup?"
"In my kitchen."
He sat up against the headboard, and pulled her onto his lap. "You make enough soup for a couple of restaurants in your kitchen?" he asked incredulously. "Is your kitchen bigger than mine?"
"I don't think so."
He cupped her chin, making her look at him. "How much soup do you make, Sacha?"
"Just one big pot for each restaurant. It becomes the chef's special of the week, and the restaurants get to charge a lot for it because the servings are limited."
"Do you deliver it?"
"No, the pots are too heavy. Someone comes by and transfers the soup to smaller containers and takes it with them," she said with a straight face.
He laughed, grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her back. "You're pretty good at lying, Kushla. Now tell me what you really do."
"I really do make soup," she insisted, and tried to free her arms, but he held them firmly in one hand. "Let me go, you big lug. You're hurting me."
He knew damn well that he wasn't hurting her. Restraining her, yes. But hurting her, no. "Tell me what you really do, Sacha."
His lips were close to hers and she moved her head, trying to reach them. "Kiss me, Nick Skovetz," she ordered.
His hand moved to the back of her head pulling her closer to him, the other hand holding her wrists firmly, keeping her hands behind her back. His tongue darted between her lips and when it did, Sacha caught it between her teeth and sucked it as hard as she could, making him chuckle.
"You want me to love you again," he murmured into her mouth, stealing her breath, and making her hot.
"Yes, I want you to fu...f..." she caught herself just in time. "I want you inside me. Do it now," she moaned, her voice a bare whisper of breath on his lips.
"No? Why not?" She tilted her head back to look at him.
"Tell me what you do for a living and I'll make love to you again."
"Let go of my arms. It's hard to think when you're holding me like that."
"Hard to think? What's so hard about telling me what you do?" "My arms, Nick!"
He released her, but the second she moved her hands toward her lap, he grabbed them again. "What do you do, Kushla?" he asked softly.
"I sell insurance."
"What kind of insurance?"
He glared at her.
She took a deep breath. "Would you believe I sell used cars?"
"I don't." She sighed. "Actually, I design jewelry."
That was plausible.
"What kind of jewelry?"
"All kinds, rings, earrings, necklaces," she rattled off.
"Do you design jewelry, Sacha?" he asked softly, his eyes penetrating.
She shook her head. "If I told you what I really do, you wouldn't believe me."
He rolled his eyes. "Try me."
"I did. You're good," she grinned. "In fact, I'd like to try you again."
He smacked her ass, making her squeal.
"What I really do," she said with great seriousness, "is sew American flags for the CIA." At his look of exasperation, she continued the fabrication. "Hey! Someone has to make the flags. How do you suppose they get made? Betty Crocker's dead!"