Page 29 of Stoker's Serenity
“No need around here. Town knows who we are.”
“Oh. But what about all the people not from town?”
“We don’t worry about them, the locals would tell us if something was up. We take care of each other here.”
I stepped into the dimly lit and much-cooler interior of Stoker’s home and it was a definite time warp. The wood paneling on the walls, the carpet on the floors, and even the décor was straight out of the nineteen-seventies.
“Yikes,” escaped my mouth before I could stop it, and I clapped my hands over my lips.
“Hey, no,” he laughed. “Not offended. Not in the slightest. I told you the place could use a touch like yours.”
He closed the door on the bright sunshine and the hustle and bustle of the beachgoers and the little town outside and I felt more tension melt out of me.
I put my sunglasses up on top of my head and looked up at him somewhat shyly, but I’d like to think more in anticipation.
I wanted him to kiss me so badly and he didn’t disappoint, lowering his mouth to mine and kissing me like he was ravenous and I was a banquet laid out before him.
I leaned into him enthusiastically, letting my cares and worries fall away for the time being, concentrating solely on his hands on my body, his lips against mine; submerging myself into the sensations of his attentions.
“Gonna have to get you in the shower,” he murmured playfully against my lips.
“Oh?” I played along. I was not exactly feigning innocence, but more I didn’t understand the leap of logic.
“Mm, I want to taste every inch of you – just without the chemical tang of sunscreen.”
I laughed and whispered, “Lead the way.”
He did, walking me backwards, deeper into the house, his hands on my hips, leaving his flip-flops behind with a couple of strides, shrugging out of his leather vest and hanging it on a closet doorknob as we passed it. He slipped my kimono off my shoulders and hung it on the knob of the bathroom door as he walked me inside.
“Don’t judge.” He winked at me, going for the drawstring on his orange board shorts.
I giggled and said, “I wouldn’t dare.”
“I was talking about the bathroom,” he said with a broadening grin and I let my jaw drop with an indignant sound.
“You going to look at it?” he asked, when my eyes hadn’t wavered from his.
“Can’t,” I murmured, and pulled myself closer to him. “You look so good I can’t take my eyes off of you.”
“Pretty sure that’s supposed to be something I’m supposed to say,” he breathed against my mouth and we were kissing again. His shorts dropped to the ugly off-white and green linoleum.
He backed me against the bathroom counter, that faux marble-printed Formica that was chipped and even burned in a couple of places, though from cigarettes or a curling iron or whatever, I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t important. What was important was his hands running up my ribs, his fingertips rough with guitar callouses skimming lightly over my body until he encountered my bathing suit’s top and hooked his fingers beneath the band.
I felt a certain sort of thrill that I was about to have my top off in front of him. I was concentrating very hard at not staring at his cock which was flush and resting against his body, turgid and long, the girth – at least for me ? seemingly manageable, the length more than slightly intimidating, reaching nearly to his belly button.
God, he had one of those magic, long and lean torsos that went on for seemingly forever, that carved ‘V’ of flesh and bone drawing my eyes right to his length, which easily had to be nine inches or more.
“You alright?” He stepped between my legs, arms going around me, pressing my nude upper body against his, his cock, thick and hot, pressing against the bottoms of my swimsuit, the lycra material the only thing between us in that most intimate of places, driving me wild, my pussy giving a tortured little throbbing ache of anticipation.
“Fine,” I whispered shakily.
“You need me to stop, all you gotta do is say the word,” he whispered close to my ear and it was sohot.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whispered back and turned my head in his hands to press my mouth tightly against his.
We made out, me sitting on the counter, for several minutes, his cock growing hotter the longer we made out. I gathered my courage and wrapped my fingers gently around him and he moaned into my mouth. I stroked him in my hand, long, sure strokes, gripping firmly but gently, the arousal from him slicking the palm of my hand as I rubbed it gently over the head.
He sucked in a breath between his teeth and shuddered, moaning, his breath rushing back out, fanning the side of my neck, the warmth of it sending a blush of tingling erotic energy out over my skin.
