Bending Tyme by Maria-Claire Payne Page A

imagining him there, beside her…

    Watching her stroking herself made his eyes turn a deeper blue. He reached out to run his tongue over her mouth where her own wet fingers travelled. He kissed her—a sweet kiss. Esme caught his gaze, turned on by him watching her spread her legs wider still. She felt that rush of sweet tension rising within her as his cock rose, too, intrigued that such a soft kiss could leave her wanting so much more.
    Esme closed her eyes, breathing in his clean, spicy scent as he covered her mouth with his again. He parted her lips just so with his tongue, this kiss harder, more insistent. She wondered if that was how his tongue would feel caressing her other lips…
    She tipped her head back, moving her fingers faster, leaning in to him so he could bring his mouth down harder on hers, his erect length straining for release against her naked thigh. Filling her mouth, thrusting against her own, his tongue promised a taste of what Esme could expect if she took his cock in her mouth instead—firm, demanding, unrelenting, making her even wetter.
    But she wanted to keep kissing him, so she took the turgid length of his cock in her hand, stroking him even as he deepened their kiss. Esme sighed—no one in the flesh ever made her this hot, this wet, this ready, so fast. She longed to feel his thick length pounding into her, filling her up… But then Esme paused, wondering if he’d prefer her to go down on him while he fingered her dripping pussy. Or maybe she would straddle his hips and ride him, first, to relieve the tension building between her thighs. Or she’d suck his cock, stopping right before he came so he could bend her over and fuck her from behind before he filled her up with the exploding warmth of his cum.

      Esme moaned, the slamming crests of her orgasm threatening her unsteady perch on the stool.
    She picked up the locket and lost herself in the incredible eyes staring back at her—through her. He made her come like this, touching nothing except her imagination.
    She snapped the locket closed. She’d get no work done at all today before this infernal party if she had his portrait on her mind.

    * * * *

    Walking into the bedroom connected with Esme’s private office to hustle her along, Charisse burst into laughter. Her best friend—and boss—clutched her petticoat, corset laces streaming down her back, the utter confusion on her face not an expression Charisse recalled ever seeing there before.
    “The chemise goes under the corset, darling. Then the petticoat.”
    Esme grimaced. “I’ll wear the corset and these pantalettes, but I will not wear those plus a chemise and a frickin’ petticoat.”
    Charisse smiled and started to lace her up. “Deal.”
    Eventually, Esme slipped her feet into the satin slippers matching her ball gown, heaving a sigh of relief.
    “Fuck me, Charisse! I got less of a workout with Chad this morning,” Esme grumbled.
      “Quit flexing your guns!” Charisse shook her head
    Well, the clothing might be authentic, but no one would mistake her hard-bodied friend for a delicate, nineteenth-century virgin—courtesy of her grinding mixed-martial arts workouts with the sadistic Chad, Esme sported a six-pack their male friends envied. Charisse sighed, watching Esme pulling at the curls in her hair—perhaps she spent so much energy competing for respect in the international antiques business she had forgotten how much fun playing dress-up could be.

    * * * *

    Esme scowled. Her dress and hair were a mild annoyance, his locket a major distraction, a heavier weight than she’d anticipated. The ornate piece of jewellery rested uneasily around her neck, an albatross compared to the fine chains she usually favoured.
    She shook off the odd sensation, slipping several silicone Möbius strip bracelets around her wrist.
    Charisse wrinkled her nose. “Well, you did look amazing—until you put those on.”
    “These make excellent advertising, especially given our