Jan Springer - The Pleasure Girl

“What you’re doing feels amazing,” she acknowledged.

“Good. It’s because I am actually seducing you.”

No shit, Batman.

“You’re succeeding.”

“How so?” He returned to nibble on her other earlobe.

“I want to have sex with you again.” Her cheeks burned at her admission. He must think she was some inexperienced chick at the way she kept blushing around him.

“And I with you. But first we need to eat. I plan on working you again, so you’ll need your strength.”

Oh, my. He certainly did have a way with words. “You better put those potatoes into the pan before the bacon burns.”

Teyla blew out a tense breath, and while his hands caressed her breasts and his calloused thumbs brushed her nipples, she barely managed to get the potatoes into the frying pan.

“I bet you are nice and wet for me, aren’t you?” he asked.

Wet is an understatement, mister. And why didn’t he check? She found herself lying back against him, her body melting into his hardness.

“Was wondering when you’d loosen up.” He chuckled against her ear.

Loosen up? Was he serious? She couldn’t get any tenser.

“Where are the dishes? I’ll set the table.” There was hesitation in the way he unfolded himself from her and she wanted him back, pressing against her. Wanted him wrapping his arms around her, his cock pushing into her ass. His hands cupping her.

She swallowed and cleared her throat and her mind of those intimate thoughts.

“Up there. In the cupboard.”

Gosh, she felt shaky. She bet he could hear it in her voice, too. And, yes, he was right, she thought as he opened the cupboard and dragged out two plates. She was so wet, and her pussy felt so unbelievably swollen. She didn’t think she’d felt so turned on before, ever.

He grabbed some forks and knives from a drawer, plus a couple of glasses from another nearby cupboard and set the table. A moment later, he disappeared from the kitchen and she knew he’d retreated to the bedroom for the whiskey bottle. She wished she could touch her pussy and bring herself off. She swore she was steaming down there, and her breasts weren’t any better off.

She dared to look down and gasped at the fullness of her breasts. Her nipples were red and throbbed painfully against the material of her robe as she tugged it closed.

“Leave it open. I want to watch them while we eat.”

A funny spasm zipped through her pussy at his words, and she watched him come into the room with the whiskey bottle in his hand. Involuntarily, she let out a little whimper. It was a sexual sound. Aroused and full of heat.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll bring you the relief you’re craving. Just remember that good things come to those who wait.”

She didn’t say anything. Heck, couldn’t think of anything to say as she lifted the frying pan, turned off the stove, and prayed she had enough strength in her legs to carry the rest of the way to the table.

“We can eat this. I expect the soup will be done in about an hour,” she said as she dished out the crisp bacon and steaming potatoes. Her mouth watered at the tangy scent of the dish.

“We won’t be having soup tonight,” he replied as he poured them both a healthy shot of whiskey. He trapped her gaze with his, and she saw the dark look promise more pleasure.

Boy. Oh, boy. Oh, boy. She could only hope his two friends were going to make her feel this good when they showed up tomorrow.

The bacon tasted better than she ever thought it would, and so did the potatoes. The saltiness exploded over her taste buds, and she found herself thinking this must be how it felt for her tongue to have an orgasm.

“What’s got you all smiling?” he asked as he quickly shoved forkfuls of food into his mouth. The man was definitely enjoying his meal, and that made her feel really good.

“Tastes good. Thanks for the bacon,” she said.

He smiled around the fork and once again her belly did the awesome fluttery flip.

“Thanks for the sex,” he replied, and his smile got even bigger as he wolfed down another forkful.

Okay, her cheeks were heating up yet again and so was she as his scorching gaze dropped to the area where the robe had been left open as per his request. He licked his lips, and the sight of his tongue had her just about squirming in her chair wanting to squish her aching pussy against her seat in an attempt at some sort of release. God, he seemed like some sort of drug to her. And the exotic way he’d touched her had her wondering if he wanted her hooked on him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his gaze now back on her face. His eyes had a nice twinkle to them, and she recognized it as curiosity.

“Well, I am wondering who you are. Where you come from?” she admitted. And why am I reacting so much to you?

He shrugged his shoulders and frowned, giving her the impression he didn’t like her question. Well, tough.

“I am a man who comes from here and there.”

“Hmm, here and there and everywhere, right?”

He winked in answer and helped himself to more bacon and potatoes.

“What kind of work do you do?” she asked.

“Let’s just say I’m a traveling salesman and leave it at that.”

“A seller of bacon, no doubt.”

He grinned. “No doubt.” “Mystery man.”

“It keeps the ladies curious and interested.”

I’m sure. A fissure of jealousy at the thought of him being with other women reared its ugly head. Suddenly she needed to know this man. Needed to peel away the layers of mystery he hid behind.

“Where were you when it happened?” she asked. By the way his shoulders tensed and the fork full of food halted midway to his mouth, she could tell he knew what she meant. She also realized her mistake. Never ask personal questions of your clients. It helped keep the relationship strictly professional and kept an emotional barrier between them. But she realized she’d never wanted so badly to crash through that wall he’d just erected.

“Let’s say it was a bad day for everyone and leave it at that.”

She nodded jerkily, but questions began to form in her mind. Did he have a wife? Girlfriend? Kids? He had to be around her age. Maybe he had had a family and they all died? Just like hers had died. All turning to ash or dust or whatever one called it when one simply self-combusted.

Remembering how she’d found dust on her parents’ kitchen chairs when she’d gone searching for them made the bacon and potatoes she’d been chewing turn into a flavorless cloth. She struggled to swallow it. Left the rest on her plate. Best not think about family. Best to live in the present. He was right. It was best to leave it.

He continued eating, his watchful gaze on her, but he remained silent. That is until he finished.

“I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.”

He pulled his saddlebag closer, reached in, and to her surprise and delight, he pulled out a tin of peaches.

“Oh my God. They’re making canned fruit again?” she asked as she took the heavy tin into her hands and read the paper pasted to it. Made in Florida. No way! She’d heard that Florida was a cold place now and all the citrus trees had frozen and died.

“Actually, no, I picked it up a few days ago. It was made before the Catastrophe, but I’m told it’s still good. Shall we find out?”

Teyla nodded and he produced a can opener from his bag. My, the man came well prepared, didn’t he?

He chuckled. “Cost a pretty penny. Hell, I never thought a can of peaches would be worth the same amount of money that a car used to sell for before the catastrophe.”

Alarm bells once again whispered through her head. Where did a man get so much money? Illegally was the only answer she could come up with. But how unlawful was illegal?