No Time for Romance

(David and Bernadette together again for the first time. What began as an erotic spanking ends with . . . something else. This story is a sequel to "Taken by Surprise," found in the Fetish section.)

* * * * *

Bernadette didn't walk across the lobby of the casino. She glided. She flowed. She slithered. A vision in a scarlet mini-dress. A hot coal, a ripe strawberry, a valentine. With legs.

And David watched. Jesus, how did she get into a dress that tight?

And what was it about high heels that was so sexy, he wondered. "Oh right," he remembered, watching the hypnotic rock and roll of her succulent round ass when she sauntered to the cashier window. She curled slender fingers around a roll of chips, and turned toward the blackjack table, stopping short when she caught sight of David sitting at the bar. He raised his glass in a silent toast, then turned away.

Still he monitored surreptitiously as she ambled to the blackjack table and hoisted her cute derriere onto the elevated stool. He knew it was cute; he'd become intimately acquainted with it last week when, the first time he'd laid eyes on her, he'd pinioned her over his knee for a sound spanking. In fact, he had done little else but think about that sweet ass for the past week. He shook his head to clear it of the blood-warming image of her taut but yielding bottom. He was supposed to meet an out-of-town client—out-of-towners always wanted to meet in a casino. Going into the conference room with a raging hard-on wouldn't help win the bid on a building contract.

Bernie's dress had crept up her sleek thigh, revealing more leg and causing a lot of squirming and adjusting of crotches among the men at the neighboring table. David couldn't help smiling to himself; the little minx knew exactly what she was doing: teasing every cock in the room that was attached to a heterosexual. Including his own, dammit.

Her pink mouth pursed in a little pout when the dealer took the last of her chips, and she moved in slow motion, easing one long slender leg off the stool—could that skirt ride up any higher and still be legal? Then the other leg, and for a second her legs parted just enough to hint at a promising dark shadow at the apex of those silky thighs. Nobody saw anything, but every man in the place would swear that he did. She bent her knees in a little dip, tugged at her hem with both hands, and did a little one-two twitch of her hips to straighten the sleek lines of that impossibly red dress. A collective groan—inaudible but unmistakably understood—emanated from the male population in the casino.

David was done watching this show. Screw the client, screw the appointment, screw the contract. He tossed back the rest of his drink and stepped in front of Bernie. It was like stepping into the path of an oncoming train, but David Duvane was undaunted.

She bumped right into him and he put his hands on her waist to steady her, kept them there. She didn't try to pull away. He liked that.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"My boyfriend was supposed to meet me. He didn't show. Now he's my ex-boyfriend."

"Any idea the effect that dress is having on every able-bodied man in the room?"

She looked down at herself as if she just noticed that her luscious curves had been poured into the clingy red knit. Mischievous brown eyes sparkled up at him from beneath smoky dark lashes. "Yes."

He couldn't help the chuckle that spiraled up from his chest. He still gripped her waist, making sure that the hard bulge straining at his trousers brushed her flat belly. Aware of the eyes all around them, he took her elbow and steered her to a door marked "Private."

The bleeps and clangs of the slot machines faded behind them as David guided her through several turns of the dark, quiet hallway to the conference room where his meeting was to have been held. The door was locked.

"Damn," he muttered.

She leaned back against the wall, her hands behind her back, a smug smile playing at her mouth. "Problem?"

He practically snarled, studied her sexy little smirk for half a beat, then hooking his fingers into the low neckline of her dress, yanked the bodice down with one efficient motion. He wasn't even sure the tight fabric would budge, but Duvane was never afraid to take a risk, and was rewarded when two creamy tits sprang out. She arched her back, offering her tits to him. He cupped a breast in each hand, raked his thumbs over the nipples that puckered like dried cranberries, watched her clear brown eyes go dark and cloudy.

Jesus, her blood was as heated as his.

Her hand went to his cock, rubbing him through the fabric of his trousers. Skilled fingers had eased his zipper halfway down before he gained control, seizing her wrist and pinning her arm against the wall over her head. Her little frustrated whimper gratified him. His other hand still teased the hard nipple of one breast. He leaned into her, their breath mingling. his mouth hovering over hers, one millimeter away from taking her mouth in a crushing kiss.

Dammit, he wanted to fuck her, not romance her.

No, he would not allow himself to be lost in a sumptuous, soul-claiming kiss. Instead, he gave her erect nipple a rough pinch, pleased at her surprised gasp, then snaked his fingers under the front hem of her dress to probe with one fingertip the outer folds of her warm pussy, not at all surprised to find that she wasn't wearing panties.

He held her eyes with his while he worked his fingers deftly. She rotated her hips, trying to twist her greedy cunt onto his fingers, which he kept just out of reach...watched the frustration build in her dark eyes...felt the desire in her moistening cunt.

"Back in college we called girls like you 'easy'," he whispered against her hair, his lips skimming over her ear, her neck, her breasts, to seize her waiting nipple and draw it into his mouth.

"And now?" she panted.

He lifted his head to gage the response in her expressive eyes. "Now we call girls like you "slut'."

She moaned and chewed on her lower lip. Good. She didn't slap him. That was a promising sign, a sign that she really was a slut, and knew it. Her breathing was already ragged, and still his fingertips played with her engorged pussy lips, brushing light strokes over her clit that was standing up and demanding attention. She wriggled against his teasing hand. Her liquid brown eyes did the talking, and they said, "fuck me."

David laughed derisively and rammed two fingers into her wet cunt, felt the walls of that channel seize his fingers. Just as suddenly, he withdrew, watching the silent plea in her eyes as he left her needy cunt bereft. Her sweet pink mouth moved silently, her tongue peeked out to lick her upper lip, and he slid his two fingers, wet with her juice, into her waiting mouth.

Bernadette sucked greedily, her eyes closed, her hips still rotating, questing for the fulfillment of their unspoken agreement.

She was so open, so vulnerable, and yet her body held strength, promise.

Her sweet warm mouth tugged at his fingers and her lively circling tongue brought him closer to his own personal brink. He broke the suction of her hungry lips and thrust his fingers back inside her pussy, thrust deep, nudged the spot that he knew would draw a response, and she didn't disappoint him. Her eyes flew open and she cried out. He clamped his other hand over her mouth.

"Be quiet, Bernadette," he commanded through a breathy chortle, "You're going to get us thrown in jail." David wasn't one to display his sexual prowess for a crowd, and fucking her in this secluded hallway was as public as he wanted to go.

Her eyes laughed in merry agreement. The naughty witch would probably love to have a couple of casino security guards for an audience. Jesus, she was maddening.

She nipped at his hand with her perfect white teeth, and he lowered that hand to cradle an exposed breast, her flesh cool against his warm palm. All the while, he reached ever deeper with his stiffened fingers, sliding in and out of that velvet passage, his fingertips memorizing every fold of slippery flesh, every spasm of that sweet, secret cavern.

He wanted to make her wait. Wanted to make himself wait. But then her hand reached again for the aching bulge between his legs, and he groaned with lust. He saw her gloating response in the arch of an eloquent eyebrow, and, routing his defenses, grasped her shoulders and spun her around to face the wall.

Insinuating his knee between her thighs, he spread her legs, clasped her hips against his throbbing cock, and pushed her upper body forward, so that she had to brace herself with her hands and forearms against the wall. She was off balance now, and that's just where he wanted her.

He grabbed the hem of her dress and bunched it up around her waist. A moment of silence ensued while he regarded her stunning bottom, paid silent homage to the god of tits and ass, and cupped each round cheek in a firm hand. She tried to look over her shoulder, and he snickered at her futile efforts.

His hands roamed over those smooth butt cheeks, learning the slope of her curves, the indentation where ass meets thigh. A delightful visible shiver caused her back to arch when his strong fingers reached down to cup her damp mound while his thumb brushed lazy circles over her anus. Once again he slid rigid fingers into her dripping cunt, swept his other hand around to clutch her heated mound from in front, so that his hands possessed her quivering pussy inside and out, in front and behind. She was his now, her body gyrating in sync with his driving, controlling hands, rocking and swaying at his command, to the rhythm of his choosing.

When he released her and stepped back, she cried out in anguish, dropping her head onto her forearms. As he unzipped his pants and seized his cock, he made a final appraisal of his ready target and gave a quick reverent nod to the god of high heels and long legs.

Again she craned her neck in a futile effort to look over her shoulder and see what he was doing.

"Be still, Bernie," he growled, and nudged her legs further apart with his hard-muscled thigh. Then he rammed his cock home.

She was halfway through a long low wail before he got his hand over her mouth again. He was on the verge of a primal roar himself, what with her ass pitching and swaying in front of him like a ripe peach about to fall from the tree, the soft-ridged walls of her cunt clamping his cock like a vise.

The time for waiting was done, and David plunged into her, found his rhythm. They didn't move as one; they moved as mirror images of one another, and Bernadette's motion was the perfect yin for his yang. She was biting hell out of his hand, but at least she wasn't yelling, and the smarting in his hand only spurred him to pound into her even harder. She was pumping too, slamming her ass against him, and when he slid his other hand around to palm her flat belly, clutching her hard against him, she opened for him, took him into her, held him while he swelled and released and spilled over inside her.

His cock still hard, he gripped her hips in both his hands, hammered again and again against the deepest wall of her cunt until her neck arched, her back stiffened, and her legs tensed, her mouth open on a silent cry.

When her tremors gave way to tiny shivers, he drew out of her, sucking in air between clenched teeth when the sensitive head of his cock raked across the rim of her cunt. He gathered her long brown hair into one hand, dragged it aside to reveal the slender column of her neck, pulled her back against him, still kneading her belly with his other hand. Her hands went up to protect her naked breasts in a gesture at once innocent and erotic. She dropped her chin to her chest, exposing more of that delectable neck, and there was nothing for him to do but press his lips against her nape and breathe in the spicy fragrance of her hair. He felt the involuntary shudder along her spine when his mouth touched her skin.

What the hell--a little romance never hurt anybody.

Readers: Don't forget to vote—it's easy and feeds my ego. Thanks, Sabrina