Hostile Takeover

Page 50

“Nestle Tollhouse?”
“Is there any other kind? Hot out of the oven. I’ll be back.”
As Cass rose and moved to the kitchen, Savannah picked up another ice cube. Marcie had been listening for the tiny clicks of her manicured nails against the bowl, each time anticipating the first really cold touch of the frosted ice, then that combination warm-cold feeling as it melted against her skin, the beads of water working their way down, both agitating and soothing the welts. Savannah took this one on a different track. After she circled it over her buttocks, she pressed it between, a slow, slow glide into that crevice, over the rim, and then down, down, toward the aching center core.
Marcie’s fingers tightened on Dana’s, her thighs trembling, wanting to loosen. “What…”
“It’s all right.” This from Rachel, whose hands were still working their magic. “Just feel, Marcie. Enjoy. Do whatever your body wants you to do.”
“But…” Her Master hadn’t given her permission to enjoy this. To experience this. Given the night’s events, though, it seemed a fair trade. She made a noise of sheer ecstasy as Rachel’s strong hands worked a particularly good spot.
“There we go. That works, doesn’t it? Roll with the feeling.”
“Spread your legs out, if that’s what you wish to do,” Savannah said.
Tentative, Marcie shifted. Dana made a warm sound of approval. The black woman had shifted to her knees by the lounger, and her kiss on Marcie’s palm this time became something more. She teased Marcie’s pulse with her tongue, followed the vein.
“Ah…” A soft sound escaped as a result of that stimulation, as well as what Savannah was doing. The ice moved between her legs, Savannah tracing her labia, letting the tip of the ice slide between and letting it go, where it would melt, the drops following the path of gravity to drip over her clit. Another click in that metal bowl and Marcie’s hips lifted to her, asking for more. She couldn’t help it. Was she really doing this?
Yes, she was. Her sister had left the room, knowing they could provide this, knowing what she needed.
“I think it’s time for you and me to change positions, Ice Princess.” Dana directed that at Savannah. “If you think you can roll you and the mighty Matt mite in this direction.”
“You are the only one who gets away with calling me that.”
“Afraid to punch a blind girl?”
Savannah snorted, didn’t answer that. “I don’t need to roll,” she said with dignity. “As long as I get a push from behind.”
Marcie tilted her head to see Dana do just that, her hands incredibly gentle as she helped Savannah to her feet. She noticed Dana also caressed Savannah’s swollen belly under the silk tunic, and Savannah’s lips curved at the gesture. Matt’s wife had always been the more austere aunt of the K&A family, even when Marcie eavesdropped on those tea parties. Cass told her it had taken Savannah far longer to trust their female circle than the other women, but that it had taken the K&A men a long time to win her faith as well.
“You understand him, don’t you?” Maybe it was the moment, feeling like nothing was off limits, but that austerity that always kept her somewhat at arm’s length with Matt’s wife felt a little less restrictive right now.
Savannah paused long enough that Marcie was about to apologize, retreat, but then the elegant fingers wrapped around hers, tightened.
“I give Ben a great deal of credit for what he made of himself. When I met Matt, the official story about Ben was that he’d spent most of his formative years in New England, and he and Matt had met at Yale. Nothing about him suggested otherwise, as if he’d internalized that version of himself. They protected his past, not to make his life a lie, but so that he could stand away from it, not be defined by it, though of course emotionally, he still is.
“It is a mortal wound, when you realize that your parents don’t love you. Don’t want you. What dies is hard to resurrect, because we learn faith and trust on the foundation of our parents’ love. Even if Ben carries such a wound, his behavior tonight seems extreme to me. However, my father’s coldness was buffered by a house, servants, physical safety. A lack of material want. Ben didn’t have any of those things.”
“Okay.” Marcie squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. Both for asking and for the fact that happened to you. I’ve loved you since I met you, even though you’ve always been a little intimidating.”
“She needs to come to the next Jell-O-shot night.”
“Don’t you have something you should be doing over there?” Savannah asked, narrowing her eyes at Dana. But when Marcie looked up at her again, Savannah’s expression softened in a way she hadn’t seen before. She touched Marcie’s forehead. “They resurrected me,” she said. “All of them. Don’t worry, it will work out.”
Marcie drew in her breath as Dana put another ice cube on her ass, only she was a little bit more forward about it than Savannah. She parted her buttocks, slid the ice right up against her anus, setting off a whole series of flashbacks. Ben’s tongue there, his fingers, his cock stretching her. She whimpered, digging her nails into Savannah.
“Yeah, he has that effect on a woman.” Dana’s amusement had a sultry, serious purr to it, one that kept everything humming. Her slim fingers drew provocative circles on the marks. “He switched you good. Did you like it?”
“Yes.” Marcie swallowed over her raw throat. She was going to have a permanent rasp from these past few days. “I like everything he does to me, and I just want more. The only thing I didn’t like was how he was feeling, what he was feeling.”
“Yeah. The boy has issues. Think we need to skip all this childhood therapy shit and just have Peter bash his head against a brick wall a few times.”
“He has a very hard head.”
“That ain’t all.”
The switch from grim amusement to mischief was welcome. An unexpected little giggle bubbled up in her. She must be feeling punchy. “The other night…I lost count of how many times he came. What guy can do that?”
“He’s a cranky young god. Thor has his magic hammer, Ben has his hundred-horsepower cock.”
Rachel chuckled while Savannah shook her head. “A long time ago, I told Dana that Ben wants a woman’s soul, not her heart.”
“Because the devil can take your soul,” Dana added, brushing her mouth on the small of Marcie’s back. “But he can’t take a heart. It has to be given, and usually requires one given in exchange.”
Marcie was pretty sure Ben already had her soul, but there was another caveat. In order to give a heart, someone had to accept it. Dana started kneading Marcie’s buttocks, creating that low-level discomfort that made her shiver, made her want more. “Yeah, you like that,” the blind woman observed. “You’re a pain junkie. No wonder you’ve fucked with Ben’s head so well. Let’s get you up on your knees, little sister.”
She didn’t know what to say to any of that, but she didn’t have to do so. Instead, she was clutching Savannah with both hands, because Dana slid one of those hands beneath her, enough to lift her a few inches off the lounger, and put her mouth between Marcie’s legs. She’d never had a woman there, and the soft mouth, the feminine licks, were a different experience entirely from Ben’s strong mouth and penetrating tongue. But Dana was focused, probably using her knowledge of what pleasured herself to bring Marcie to a different place, where thinking was no longer an option. She licked the cold labia, heating them up, stroked the clit with a broad then curling tongue. Two separate, dragging sensations. She tugged on the clit ring, making Marcie undulate against her with a moan.
Both strong brown hands now moved to Marcie’s hips, thumbs nudging her inner thighs to spread her open. Marcie adjusted without thought, seeking more of that feeling, planting her knees out wide on the lounger.
She was propped on her elbows, and still holding Savannah’s hands. When Savannah switched their grips, moving hers to Marcie’s wrists, the suggestion of restraint was enough to send Marcie up another few notches. She could imagine Ben sitting in a corner, watching these women pleasure her, all at his command.
Rachel was no longer giving her a massage, at least not that kind. As she slid her hands under Marcie, Marcie dropped her forehead to the lounger. Jon’s wife cupped her breasts, fingers closing over her nipples, tweaking the piercings.
“Oh…God…” It didn’t take any time at all. She was pushing against Dana’s face, her fingers now grabbing Savannah’s wrists so they were holding each other. Then Rachel’s touch slid back to her shoulder blades, up into her hair. At the key moment, as her lower belly was coiling up tight, tighter, Rachel dug into her scalp, pulled hard on her hair. The way Ben would if he was fucking her, to pull her head up and back.
She came hard, intense, fast. It shuddered through her, head to toe. It was a purely physical release, but there was an emotional purging involved, something the women obviously knew she needed. Taking out the trash, so tomorrow she could look around the psyche and see what was there.
She threw her head back farther, neck arching with the power of the climax. It was then Rachel caught her jaw, taking that kiss Marcie had wanted at her house that day. It was so startling and unexpected, Marcie stilled, quivering in the aftershocks even as she explored the shape and pleasure a woman’s lips could offer, an easy girl kiss. It was like cotton candy at the fair, a treat perfect when the environment was just right, and in this moment, it was. When she murmured something incoherent, Savannah’s fingers joined Rachel’s in her hair. She stroked gently while Rachel kept giving her tugs that made those aftershocks a steady bump of little waves through her body.
Slowly, they eased her back to her stomach, Rachel breaking the kiss to sweep her hands over her back and shoulders, resuming the massage. Savannah kept stroking her hair. She was falling into lassitude, until a sharp pinch made her yelp. Her gaze snapped down to Dana, who gave her an impish look. The woman picked up another piece of ice, soothed the little bite of pain.