Still fully dressed but lounging back on the headboard of the bed, Jim Brass looked up from the sheaf of casework papers in his hand to the woman in the corner of the bedroom and sighed. There were distractions he could deal with and those he couldn’t; the sight of Heather Marazek resting on her forearms while her long bare legs arched over her head and her nightie slid down was definitely in the latter category.
“What are you doing?” He hoped he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt, watching her.
“Vrischika-asana. Scorpion position,” she clarified softly. Jim shook his head. She looked as if she’d dived into the floor and hit it so her spine had arched. He admired her flexibility; God knew how he’d benefited from it in many erotically sensational ways, but the look of it—
“Geez, doesn’t that hurt?” He blurted, setting the report down and lacing his hands behind his head. She laughed softly, and came out of the pose, breathing slow deep breaths.
“No—it’s great for the spine and hips. You ought to try some yoga, Jim—get a little more supple.”
“Given the view, I am feeling a little stiff,” he leered at her good-naturedly. Heather flushed, realizing her nightie was still up revealing her chest. He whistled, making her tug the thin silk down and blush simultaneously.
“Oh please, don’t cover up on my account—“ he teased. Heather snorted, and walked over to the bed, shaking her head at him.
“You’re just a lecher you know,” she accused.
“And damned good at it—“ he reached a hand up to her, but she batted it away playfully.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, Captain Brass—there’s a very old reason for the yoga, and it actually has to do with, ah—“
“—Sex?” Jim perked up and tossed the case papers to the floor before giving Heather a speculative grin. She nodded with a shy smile of her own. Carefully, she opened the lower drawer of the nightstand, and dug around the bottles of lotion and cough drops to fish out a book. Blushing faintly, she dropped it into his lap. He managed a wry, knowing grin.
“I made it my goal to try every position in this book at least once in my life—“ she told him primly, then deflated. “Of course, I set that ambition back when I was eighteen, but still—“
Jim was thumbing through the battered book, noting the dog-eared and tattered pages. His mouth was in a line, but his eyes sparkled.
“So which number did you get up to, slinky spine woman?”
“Thirty-eight,” she admitted forthrightly. “Butterflies At Dusk. Not too difficult.”
“Butterflies—“ Jim scoffed, studying the page with amusement. “I have news for you—it looks like good old missionary to me, babe.”
“It’s all in the arms, held out to the sides and fluttering,“ Heather murmured, looking at the page. Jim gave a shrug.
“If your arms are out fluttering, how do you get any forward momentum? I think the physics of this are seriously screwed—so to speak—“
“It’s tantric,“ Heather sighed. “Probably a little more than you’re used to—“
“Hold on—“ he lightly smiled at her. “—Okay, so maybe those of us with less ambitious goals in life might not have the same outlook, but frankly, it’s all just sex, babe—there isn’t a position in here I can’t do.”
She looked at him, and the combination of arousal and amusement in her expression made him pull her face up for a kiss.
“Any position, huh?” she taunted, licking her lips as they broke apart. Jim cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Yeah.” Dimly he wondered if this was really such a good idea, but after another warm wet kiss that worry faded fast. Heather took the book and slowly flipped the pages before handing it back to him.
“Number thirty-nine then, darling. Turning of the Dragon—you’ll need your kneepads and a lot of aspirin—“ she predicted. Jim studied the page and winced.
“Okay, you know why these are drawings and not photos? Because normal humans don’t bend like this—“ he complained. Heather arched an eyebrow at him.
“Looks to me like I’m the one doing all the bending—“
“Well a lot of it, yeah, but—“
“No buts, darling—“ she waggled a finger at him. “You go take a bath and think incredibly dirty thoughts while I get things set up in here.”
“Set up?” He asked weakly, even as his body betrayed him. Heather was very, very good at setting up. She nodded, giving his mouth a last lick.
Jim opened the bathroom door, curls of steam escaping around him; the towel wrapped low around his lean hips. The soak had done him more good than he wanted to admit, and now things were definitely looking promising in the bedroom. Heather had a few candles out, and a pair of wine glasses glowed with the pale gold of a good Zinfandel. Jim dried his hair and stepped out into an ambush.
“Hey!” not a protest, just a slightly startled noise as Heather slipped her arms around him from behind.
“You smell good,” she confessed. Jim looked over his bare shoulder at her.
“Would have been more fun if you’d been there,” he grumbled lightly. Heather let her hands slid down the front of his stomach to toy with the edge of the towel.
“I know—but if I had, we wouldn’t have a shot at the Dragon Turning—” she reminded him. He sighed as her hands dipped under the towel.
“The things I do for you—“ he complained with no real malice.
“The things I do TO you,” she purred back, hands sliding over the rapidly expanding sign of his interest. Jim leaned back against her, drawing a happy breath. The towel fell away, but he didn’t notice.
“I like that . . .” it was half accusation, half grateful sigh. Heather began to lick his bare back; he arched with pleasure, letting her nudge him towards the bed. Once there he sat on the edge, impatiently reaching for her, but she shook her head, long hair swaying slightly.
“Anointing first—“ Heather told him. Puzzled, he watched her dab her fingers in a small jar and lean over him. The heady scent of cinnamon oil drifted by as she lightly stroked it on his temples.
“Is it Christmas already?”
Lightly she smeared touches of it on his throat and shoulders, gliding warm fingers down his ribs to his hips. Deftly she wiped a thumbful just under his navel. Jim groaned as she leaned over his erection, her lips and tongue flicking it in passing.
“I feel like I’m going to jump Mrs. Claus—“ he muttered. She giggled.
“Cinnamon warms the skin, heightens the awareness,” Heather responded, pushing his shoulder to make him lie back. A further nudge and he rolled on his stomach, a little uncomfortably.
“Oooof, I’m not staying this way long—“ Jim warned, but Heather was gently rubbing touches of cinnamon down his spine, and let her hands stroke his rump somewhat possessively. He gave a groan.
He was completely unprepared to feel her mouth and teeth suddenly bite one cheek; the sensation made him gasp as his cock throbbed madly. Heather laughed, rolling off to one side of him.
“Your turn, Lingam—“ She stretched out, cat-like and waved a hand to the little jar. Swallowing hard, Jim reached for the cinnamon, scooping up two fingerfulls. He rolled back uncertainly to see Heather lying there, her blue green eyes brilliant in the candlelight.
“Lingam?” he asked curiously. She took a deep breath and nodded.
“Lingam is male. YOU are lingam. A lovely aroused wonderfully endowed lingam. I’ve chosen where to daub you, so now, it’s your turn.” She closed her eyes, but her breathing gave her away.
Jim looked down the lush body stretched out at his side. The pulse at the hollow of her throat was racing, and he lightly smeared it with cinnamon. Touches around each firm nipple earned him a tiny moan of pleasure. Boldly, he drew swirls on each hip and behind her knees.
“Roll over—“ he requested, “Ah—what are you?”
“Yoni—“ she responded somewhat breathlessly. “That which is female is yoni. Oooooo I can’t wait for the biting—“
“Whoa! I don’t care how much we smell like Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread, no biting,” He ran firm fingers up the insides of her thighs, making her tremble. The cinnamon mingled with the clean and natural scent of her skin; Jim felt himself throb again.
Heather rolled over and sat up, bringing her face close to his. In the candlelight, long hair loose, she looked exotic.
“Not biting, but bites. Small nips, nothing painful—“ she demonstrated, running her white teeth against the underside of his chin and across to his ear. Jim shook. He tried to kiss her, but she shook her head.
“Bites. Devour me—“ she breathed. Jim wove his big hand into her hair and tugged; her face tipped to the ceiling and he carefully nibbled her throat, tasting cinnamon and warm excited woman. He pressed his teeth down and Heather squirmed.
Suddenly biting was right. With breathless desire growing in him, Jim nipped her earlobe, her shoulder, and the tight sweetness of her nipple. Heather bit the nape of his neck, the rise of his cheekbone, the hard curve of his collarbone. They wound around each other, savoring the mix of scent and taste, the cinnamon adding a sweet tang.
Heather raised her face and lightly let her teeth grip his lower lip; Jim cupped her face and nipped her upper one as shivers ran between them.
“Okay, biting is good . . . can get into this . . .” he murmured somewhat indistinctly. Heather let her hands slide up his muscled thighs and he let go of her lip wetly.
“Heather, whoah . . .” her hands gripped him, gave a loving stroke to the velvet heat of him. Jim dropped one heavy hand over hers, forcing her to slow down. Heather moved her hand again, under the guidance of his. Jim swallowed hard, lost in the pleasure of her smaller fingers wrapping around his rigid shaft, stroking him. His hand rode hers to a firm slow pumping. Heather leaned to his ear, her voice low and breathy,
“Oh God I love to do this to you—“
He looked into her eyes, and then dropped his fevered gaze to the dance of their slow moving palms.
“Ohhhhhhhhh . . .” a pleasured groan rose out of his throat. Heather sighed, pressing her teeth to his chest, feeling him shudder in reaction. After a few moments more, he let go of her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it wetly. Heather nodded.
“Now, love, now—“
She lay back, letting her long legs slide up his chest. Jim rose up on his knees, caressing her thighs, pulling her closer. He kissed both calves, and then rested them lightly, still together, on his right shoulder. Heather looked up at him, eyes fever bright with desire. He gently slid a finger between her tightly closed thighs, finding the slick evidence of her arousal and shivered. Guiding himself forward, he pushed.
The tension was exquisite; Heather’s muscled thighs barely parted, and Jim groaned happily, thrusting, gliding into the heat of her. She shuddered letting him wrap strong arms around her thighs for a better grip, feeling his kisses all over her lower legs and feet.
“Oh that’s soooo gooood . . .” Heather gasped as he filled her slowly.
“Damn, oh yeahhhh—“ Jim began a deliberate rhythm of thrusts and his sheer graceful power made Heather moan happily. Each push and pull brought her closer to release; she gripped the sheets under her and began to pant. Jim’s breathing grew ragged; he nipped her ankle as she squirmed.
“JimJimdarlinggggg—“ she hissed, arching up, nipples rock hard. He gave three hard wild thrusts, and growled deep in his throat, his arms locked around her legs as he came.
Roughly he slumped against Heather’s legs, spent and trembling, cinnamon sweat gleaming on his face. Heather smiled up at him, flushed and catching her breath. With a sigh, she slowly parted her legs, letting Jim drop down onto her stomach, the press of their damp flesh tingling. She reached up, spiking his wet dark hair in her fingers and laughing softly.
“Darling! You didn’t just turn the dragon, I think you sent it spinning!”
He kissed her nose and rested his chin on her breastbone, sated.
“Not without some help, babe—but I think both of us are gonna be smelling like a gingerbread house for a week.“
She laughed, pulling him close. “On to number forty—“