But if she could ready herself for him, maybe he wouldn’t feel the need to restrain . . .
This time when she picked up the plug, she reached between her legs instead of around her hips. Thanks to the new angle and her increasing arousal, she was able to work the slippery plug into her body with only minimal discomfort.
When the silicone plug was lodged snugly in her ass, Sophie placed her hands on the vanity and panted, examining her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks and lips were stained dark pink and her eyes were shiny with arousal. Her nipples stood at full-alert status.
She looked every inch a sex-primed woman: flushed, warm, and wet. For a few seconds, she just stared, so unaccustomed was she to seeing her sexuality fully exposed.
Thomas had given her this gift, she realized with dawning amazement. He’d introduced her to the creature who had always resided behind her conservative blouses and low-heeled pumps.
He’d taught her to like this earthy, sexy woman.
Her soft, soughing breath was the only sound in the silent room. She felt full and incendiary, but the inserted plug also created a pressure on her sex, making her pussy tingle with excitement.
What if Thomas didn’t come home for hours? What if Sherm and Daisy asked him to stay for lunch?
Sophie’s worries about having to wear the plug around for an undetermined period of time were shattered instantly when she heard the back door open.
“Sophie?” she heard Thomas call down the hallway.
Sophie froze, still bent over the sink. Her ass clenched around the invading plug and arousal stabbed at her clit.
“I . . . I’m in the bathroom, Thomas. I’ll be out in a minute.”
She leaned up and washed her hands, using cold water to try to dampen the heat that plagued her body. She applied some scented lotion and deodorant before she redressed carefully.
She hesitated before she opened the bathroom door.
It was useless; she couldn’t prevail. She wasn’t as strong as Thomas. She reached for the bottom of her skirt and lifted it.
She bit her lip to prevent a cry when she made herself come with her hand a few moments later, the plug in her ass and her desperate plan to seduce Thomas adding a hot spike of excitement to her orgasm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Thomas knelt on the carpet in Sophie’s living room, flipping through the old record albums stored in a crate. Sophie’s parents might have been too self-involved to cherish their only daughter, but he had to admit, they had excellent taste in music. He smiled and withdrew one album. He’d just figured out how to operate the record player when he saw Sophie walk into the room from the corner of his eye. The vision of her snagged his gaze and held as firmly as one of Sherm’s handmade lures in a fish’s mouth.
“Wow,” he said.
The becoming color in her cheeks deepened.
“Wow . . . what?” she asked, just as the opening notes of Elvis singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” resounded from the speakers.
“You’re not wearing a bra.” He glanced up from the riveting site of Sophie’s full breasts pressing against the thin fabric of a light pink T-shirt. He realized he’d sounded stupid, but in fact, he was just dumbfounded by her beauty. “You never go around braless.”
He experienced a moment of regret at his bluntness when she glanced away in embarrassment. “I . . . I hurried out of the shower when I heard you.”
“I’m not complaining. Trust me, I’m not complaining. Hey . . . look at this,” he said, holding up the record album in his hand in an attempt to ease her bout of self-consciousness. That such a gorgeous woman would ever feel uneasy about her body was shocking to him, but he’d come to accept that in Sophie’s case, it was a plain fact. She’d been born with the genes of a Hollywood film goddess, but no one was more interested in denying that obvious truth than Sophie herself.
He hated that her self-consciousness bordered on shame at times, but he cherished that character trait as well, because it helped him to know Sophie better. To understand her. He doubted she’d ever get to the point where she strutted around in low-cut dresses and spiked heels, but he was more than thrilled to see she’d dared to greet him with only a scrap of material cradling her breasts.
Besides, Sophie braless, flushed and warm from a shower, was se
xier than stilettos and half-bared breasts any day.
“This is an original recording,” he continued, awe tingeing his tone as he held up the album.
He stared, transfixed by her small smile.
“My parents have quite a collection. I keep telling them I’ll send it to them—it must be worth thousands—but they’re apparently happy with their CDs and i-Pods.”