Part 18 (2/2)
”Oh, baby, that's right, that's what I need. G.o.d, how did you know?”
Grinning, Dishra angled her palm up to a wonderfully prominent c.l.i.t while she wiggled her fingers, getting them wet and ready. From her back pocket she removed a small packet of lube. ”Do you know what I'm going to do to you?”
”Whatever it is, you know I want it.”
She tore the packet open with her teeth as Peggy sang about Romeo and Juliet. With a s.h.i.+ft of her hand, the tips of two fingers sank into the increasingly slippery and sodden woman. This was her diva, her songbird G.o.ddess, and it was perfectly natural to get down on her knees to wors.h.i.+p at the only shrine that mattered.
With a growl she locked her lips around the beautifully peaked and straining c.l.i.t, and the noise Mariah made was the kind of music Dishra had wanted to hear for years. She squeezed the packet of lube and knew some of it missed her hand, but most of it went where she wanted. She was slick past her wrist, and Mariah might say she didn't know what was about to happen, but from the way she planted the stilettos and spread her legs, it was clear she had expectations.
Captain Smith and Pocahontas were burning in the fever as Dishra pushed all of her fingers into Mariah's delicious p.u.s.s.y. She was getting sweet wetness on her s.h.i.+rt, on Mariah's dress, but nothing was going to stop her from giving the moaning woman what she needed.
”Sing for me, baby,” she said, low and intense, as she tucked her thumb and pushed firmly.
”Oh, oh, oh, baby!”
There was no time to pause in awe at the sight of the beautiful black-fringed c.u.n.t clasped around her hand, to wonder what an artist would make of the hues of cocoa, caramel and rich, l.u.s.trous red. This wasn't art, it was s.e.x, and the way her hand was being squeezed and molded, obviously needed and enjoyed, had blood pounding in Dishra's ears.
She leaned in to slip her other arm around Mariah's hips and pushed gently up, once, twice, then harder. ”I'm going to f.u.c.k you right off those pretty shoes.”
Long fingernails dug into her scalp, then slid away as Dishra's tongue flicked over the swollen, gleaming c.l.i.t.
”That's right, you f.u.c.k me. f.u.c.k me good. That's what I need, d.a.m.n it.”
Every thrust of her arm was met by responsive, powerful muscles that pulled her hand in deeper, then threatened to push her out.
”No, you don't. I'm not done. I like watching my wrist go in, and then slide back out. You are so incredibly beautiful. You do give me fever, baby.”
Mariah grappled for some kind of balance against nearby boxes after Dishra went in so hard and deep the stilettos slipped. ”Harder,” Mariah begged. ”Harder!”
”Come on my hand.” Dishra sucked the hard c.l.i.t between her lips again as Mariah finally sang the high note she'd always imagined. Mariah's c.u.n.t shuddered around Dishra's hand until she pushed it out with a hoa.r.s.e cry. She surged against Dishra's mouth, violently scrubbing her c.l.i.t across Dishra's chin and lips. Her tight curls reddened Dishra's cheeks. Tomorrow, she thought, I'll look like I got too much sun, but this was a much, much more lovely way to burn.
”Jesus Christ,” Mariah gasped as she started to go limp.
”I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I have to go.” The applause was rising, and Dishra knew ABBA was milling around off stage, wondering what to do.
G.o.d, I'm a mess, she realized, wet and sticky from my nose to my fingertips. She grabbed a T-s.h.i.+rt from the defects and discards pile and wiped her face and arm as she ran for the door. Peggy was just coming off stage, flushed and pleased.
”You were great. Wait right here for the results after our last act. Girls, stand right here, now do your entrance!” Dishra pushed the trio of jump suited platinum blondes toward the spotlight, then hurried back to the little room where she'd left that hot, beautiful woman.
When she opened the door she saw her girlfriend, Becka, perched on a stack of boxes. One stiletto dangled from her fingertips as she ma.s.saged her toes.
With a lopsided grin, she asked, ”Did you make it in time?”
”Yeah, baby, just in time.” Aching with affection and grat.i.tude, Dishra pulled Becka to her feet to hug her.
”You smell like s.e.x,” she murmured into Dishra's chest.
”So do you.”
”Not as much as I'd like.” She leaned back to give Dishra another of those looks. ”Mariah got really f.u.c.ked, baby, but now I'd like something of my own.”
The stage speakers pulsed out ”Waterloo.”
”I promise to love you evermore,” Dishra said, ”but this is pure Top Forty, baby, and the song is only three minutes, including the applause. I can't do everything I want in what's left.”
”You can kiss me then.”
No hards.h.i.+p, that. Dishra brushed her lips to Becka's, then went in for a long, wet kiss that promised more later. ”Thank you, darling, for dressing up for me.”
”It was all my pleasure.”
The singers were finally facing their Waterloo, and Dishra knew she had to let go of Becka. ”Why don't you join the others backstage when you've caught your breath?”
”Okay.”
At the door, Dishra looked back to watch Becka slip her delicate foot into the killer stiletto.
Becka looked up and grinned. ”Honey? We can keep the outfit until tomorrow, can't we?”
There was only one thing to say to her pa.s.sionate, playful girlfriend in reply to such a perfect idea.
”I adore you.”
Easy Loving Radclyffe ”How many propositions did you get while I was in line for the restroom?” Honor Blake sat down on the end of the lounger while a few hundred women danced and parried on the pool deck.
”Not a single one.” Quinn Maguire pulled Honor higher between her legs and leisurely traced her tongue along the edge of Honor's lip. ”I was just sitting here missing you.”
”Really?” Honor skimmed her mouth over Quinn's ear. ”Blonde, twenty, big b.r.e.a.s.t.s, thong bikini.”
”Oh,” Quinn murmured. ”Her.”
”Uh huh.” Honor leaned back, surveying her lover. Even wearing loose khaki shorts and her favorite T-s.h.i.+rt bearing the name of the girls' soccer team she coached, Quinn looked deadly s.e.xy stretched out under the stars. Honor had observed more than a few women taking note of Quinn's Black Irish good looks and athletic body. ”Did she drool anywhere?”
Laughing, Quinn lifted aside the red-gold strands of Honor's shoulder length hair with one hand and nuzzled her neck. ”She asked me to dance, and I told her I reserved that pleasure for my wife.”
Honor tilted her head back so Quinn could kiss the spot below her ear that always made her instantly wet. Not that she needed any special encouragement this week. The excitement of finally being on vacation, just the two of them, left her constantly h.o.r.n.y. Being able to have Quinn whenever she wanted only made her hungrier for her. ”You'd better have told her you save all the pleasures for me.”
”I think the word wife did the trick.”
”I guess your wedding band isn't big enough.” Honor nipped at Quinn's chin. ”Come on. Want to dance again? It's almost eight back home, and we'll need to head inside soon to call Arly.”
”So let's just make out for a few minutes instead.” Quinn s.h.i.+fted her focus to the area exposed by the open b.u.t.tons of Honor's sleeveless blouse and kissed the soft triangle of skin between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
”Oh, no.” Laughing, Honor braced both hands against Quinn's shoulders and pushed her away. ”We didn't travel four thousand miles to do what we could just as easily do in our backyard.”
”With half the neighborhood, one mother-in-law and a nine-year-old daughter likely to traipse through at any moment, there's no way we can do in the yard what I have in mind right now.” Quinn grabbed Honor's hand and pushed it under her T-s.h.i.+rt, trapping it against her stomach. Reflexively, Honor stroked Quinn's abdomen, coaxing the muscles to contract. Quinn leaned her head back with a satisfied smile. ”That's a start.”
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