Marilyn Lee's Love Bytes


And  Eating  It  Too

© 2013 Marilyn Lee

All rights reserved

The sight that greeted me when I arrived to ring in the New Year at the mansion of a longtime friend left me momentarily speechless. The dimly lit living room held numerous couples and ménages in various states of undress openly having sex under ubiquitous mistletoes. The muted Christmas carols were nearly drowned out by all the moans, groans, and sounds of lust filling the air.

There was even a couple copulating at the foot of the beautifully decorated Christmas tree that held the place of honor in the middle of the large room. Damn. Wasn’t Gordon ever going to tire of throwing wild orgies masquerading as holiday parties?

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always prided myself on being a woman unafraid to try new things. I’ve dated men from various cultural backgrounds. My late husband had been a handsome Filipino five years my junior. Since his death ten years earlier, I’d  had my shares of deliciously wicked one night stands that left me covered in hickies and singing I’ve Had the Time of My Life. Hell, I’ve even been to and participated in a few Jack and Jill parties that got so out of hand, I woke the next morning sprawled in bed next to men young enough to qualify me for Cougar-in-Chief of Unashamedly Curvy, the social club for adventurous full-figured women I’d help founded twenty years earlier.

I’m no prude. Still after waking the morning after a wild thirty-ninth birthday bash three years earlier to find myself pinned to my bed with a hard-bodied twenty something hunk enjoying me raw while my teenage daughter slept two doors down, I took stock of myself. Although I’d enjoyed every single stroke at the time, I later shuddered at how irresponsible it was to engage in unprotected sex with a stranger while my daughter was home. I reluctantly decided that if I didn’t want her to follow in my footsteps (and I didn’t), it just might be time to settle down and act my age. And start thinking about remarrying instead of engaging in an endless series of meaningless sexual escapades that while physically satisfying, did nothing to assuage the emotional ache and emptiness I’d felt since Palo’s death.

Even though the thought of kicking off the New Year with a no holds barred sexual romp appealed to the barely repressed wild woman in me, lately I’d begun to fantasize about men closer to my age. Well, actually one man in particular; a hard-bodied hunk I occasionally encountered in the lobby of the building that housed my accounting business. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties and was sexy as hell.

After seeing him, I found men in their twenties no longer attracted me and I’d lost all taste for the sexual exhibitionism I’d enjoyed before my marriage. Okay. I’ll admit I’d come to Gordon’s fuck–a–thon hoping to meet someone capable of knocking my sexual socks off with enough force to make me tear off my thong and bare my pussy for immediate and repeated plunder, but not with a room full of other naked people looking on.

Granted, after seven months of celibacy, I wanted and need to be fucked. Hell, I wanted to be banged all damned night, but not in front of an audience. So I took a last look at the lustful scene before me, caught my breath, closed my mouth, and backed out of the living room doorway. And right into a hard male body.

A pair of warm lips brushed my ear before a deep baritone sent a tingle down my spine. “You’re going the wrong way, sugar.”

My heart raced. Don’t ask me how since I’d never heard him speak but I just knew it was him. Him being the hard bodied hunk I’d been fantasizing about for months who had trashed my interest in being cougar of the month. Although we had exchanged long, heated gazes on countless occasions leading me to believe that the attraction was mutual, he’d never so much as spoken to me. All I’d been able to wring from his sexy ass was an unsatisfying nod of acknowledgment when our paths crossed.

Now he stood so close behind me there was barely enough room for air between our bodies. I had the feeling that if I ground my ass against his groin I’d feel his cock stirring. The thought almost made me wet.

You can’t just stand here frozen wishing for something to happen. This is your chance to make it happen. He’s not practically glued to your ass because he wants you to turn around so he can nod at you. Seize the chance now because on Monday it might be back to square one of his giving you his usual silent nod.

I turned and found my path blocked by a tall man with brown hair silvering at the temples and a pair of piercing dark eyes. While he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, he didn’t need to be to hold my interest. Besides, he projected a powerful aura of raw sexuality and masculinity that had commandeered my sexual interest from the moment I saw him.

While the lack of recognition in his eyes puzzled and disappointed me something, the blatant yearning in his gaze matched mine and made nonsense of my desire to suppress my wilder streak any longer. My precious daughter was now a responsible eighteen-year-old excelling at an college in Atlanta in close proximity to my parents’ home. I could let my hair down and once again indulge myself. All desire to leave vanished. It would take an act of God to prevent me spending the night in the arms of Mr. Sexy and Silent.

Time to turn on the charm, girl. Stepping back, I smiled and extended my hand. “Gemma Cordova.” Yours for the night, sexy.

He clasped both of his hands around mine.

I felt a jolt so strong at the contact I couldn’t suppress an obvious shiver.

“I’m delighted to meet you, sugar. Jim O’Mara.”

I was intrigued by his Irish name and his southern accent. “O’Mara?” I glanced behind me into the dimly lit living room where I could see our host Gordon O’Mara caressing the bare breasts of a pretty full‑figured woman who sat on his lap. I turned back to face the man who still held my hand.

“Gordon and I are first cousins,” he said.

How had we never met at one of the countless parties Gordon had given over the years?

He spoke again, almost as if he’d read my mind. “I rarely attend Gordon’s affairs.”

Oh hell. What would he make of the fact that until I’d decided it was time to grow up two years earlier, I’d rarely missed one of Gordon’s orgies?

He smiled suddenly lighting up his warm brown gaze. “But I’m glad he talked me into coming to this one.”

“So am I,” I admitted.

“But you appear to be on the verge of leaving.”

I nodded. “I’m not really feeling orgies with an audience.” Anymore.

He leaned forward and paused with his lips a breath away from mine. “You could leave or you could join me for a private orgy.”

I wasn’t sure two people enjoying each other constituted an orgy, but what the hell. I finally had his interest and I intended to take full advantage of the opportunity Gordon had provided.

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