Beds and Blazes Page 4

  “A plus-size Betty Crocker?” she offered.

  “A goddess. A goddess from the Old Country, living and breathing in my arms. Venus…Ceres…Diana…” Dora untied her apron and tossed it aside, then pulled her T-shirt over her head. Lowell’s jaw dropped. “You are Persephone,” he breathed. “She of the golden apples.”

  “Triple Ds,” Dora informed him. “All natural.” She lifted his hand and placed it over one lace-covered breast.

  He stroked the pad of his thumb over her stiffened nipple, rosy pink beneath a sheer swath of dove grey lace. “The brassiere is beautiful,” he said haltingly, “but perhaps…if you don’t mind…”

  Dora reached behind her back and unhooked the bra. A stricken sound came from Lowell’s throat as she slid the pale garment off and set it aside. His jaw worked, but no words came from his mouth. She took his hands in hers and placed one on each heavy tit. “You can touch them, Lowell. I’d like for you to.”

  He caught her eye briefly, and seeing his own excitement mirrored in her face, he hefted her breasts in his hands and licked his lips. “No guests are coming?” he murmured. “No more retirees in matching warm-up suits?”

  “Not until later today,” Dora answered. “And, even then, I don’t need to bother with them.” She walked to the kitchen door and locked it with a sliding bolt, then turned back to him. Her breasts, each crowned by a hardened peak, hung heavy and soft above her narrow waist and wide hips. Her skirt swished about her thighs as she walked back to him. “I have an idea, Lowell.” A sly smile curled her lips. “If you really don’t mind getting dirty, that is.”

  “With you?” He chuckled. “Never.”

  She picked up a small piece of glazed crockery. “This is a French butter dish.” She took off the top of the crock to reveal a bowl filled with a pale yellow substance. “It keeps butter fresh and at room temperature, so it’s easy to spread.” Lowell cocked one eyebrow at her. “You’re awfully good at kneading,” Dora whispered. “You’re a natural. I was starting to get jealous of the dough…” She offered the butter dish to him, then sat on the middle rung of her step chair next to the chopping block. With a practiced hand, she tugged the fold-out steps from beneath it to serve as a footrest.

  Lowell chuckled and shook his head. “I’d be a boor to let you feel ignored,” he said, “especially since I’ve much more affection for these lovelies of yours than I do for a bit of beer and flour.” He scooped an ample amount of butter from the dish and rubbed his palms to coat them. “Slippery.” Dora’s eyes fell shut when his buttered hands met her body. Lowell spread the stuff over her skin, taking extra time to play with the greased nubs of her nipples. Humming to himself, he slipped his fingers in the folds beneath her breasts and massaged her skin reverently. “So warm,” he murmured, “and so silky.”

  Dora arched her back and sighed, then reached behind her on the chopping block. Lowell watched, spellbound, as she held a glass jar with a metal cap at neck level. She tipped the jar and sprinkled a sparkly brown powder on each thickened nipple. “Try it.” She rolled her shoulders so that her breasts moved enticingly before his mouth. “It’s sweet.”

  Lowell felt hypnotised. “Oh, woman,” he growled. “You’re a temptress of the best sort.” He cupped one full breast in his hands so that the spice-dusted nipple pointed up to his lips, then looked up at Dora. She nodded, eyes glimmering with excitement, and leaned towards him. He bent over and gave her breast an experimental lick, then, groaning, pulled the stiff peak into his mouth. Dora exhaled and brought her fingers to his head, tugging him closer to her chest. Lowell curled his tongue around her nipple, swallowed and sucked harder.

  He grunted in surprise when Dora found his erection with her hands, then let her breast slide from his mouth. “Mmm,” Lowell growled, “that’s what it ought to look like. Plump and shiny-wet from a man’s mouth.” He raised her other breast and drew it between his lips.

  Dora giggled and squirmed. “Your whiskers just tickle a bit,” she said in explanation, “but it’s okay.” She kept her left hand on his shaft and took her right breast in her free hand, running the hardened peak down the side of his face, over his cheekbone to the top of his beard. Lowell’s eyes dropped shut and he swallowed, salivating. Dora tickled his lips with her right nipple. “Suck on both of them,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Lowell grunted and opened his mouth. Her nipple popped free at once. Dora pressed her breasts together with both hands so that the ruddy peaks touched each other. “Try it, Lowell.” Groaning, he drew both nipples between his lips. “You’ll have to suck hard,” Dora instructed, “so they stay in your mouth.” She scooted to the edge of the seat and raised her skirt to her hips. “I’m so wet,” she murmured. “You just keep doing what you’re doing, okay? Don’t worry about being too rough.” Lowell felt one of her hands wrap around his erection and detected movement between her legs from the other. “I like having your mouth on me.” She squirmed on the seat and pumped his length in her hand.

  Lowell, with the flavours of butter, cinnamon and sugar lingering in his mouth, nibbled and pulled harder as her gasps grew louder. “That’s good,” Dora breathed. “Oh, swallow me, suck me, don’t stop…” Her body tensed and she squeezed his erection, crying out in a throaty yell.

  Lowell remained still until she quieted, then let his mouth fall open. Reddened, slick and swollen, her peaks fell back to their natural positions. “Hot damn, Lowell Rossi,” Dora smiled. “That was fantastic.” She grabbed the waistband of his kilt, unbuckled it and cast it aside. “What are we going to do about this thing, though?” She gripped his shaft in both hands and pulled him closer.

  “You’ve made me all slick,” she whispered. “All sensitive and slippery.” Dora flicked the head of his cock against one stiff nipple. Lowell placed his hands on her shoulders to steady himself. He watched as she rubbed his erection against her breasts, playing with each hardened peak. A trace of sugared grittiness remained on her breasts, but the thick coating of butter kept it from chafing his skin. A clear drop of pre-cum shone on the taut tip of his shaft. Dora exhaled and lifted one breast to coat her nipple with the shining stuff. Lowell squeezed her shoulders and worked his jaw silently.

  “I wonder…” Dora said quietly. She pressed her breasts together around his erection with one hand and forearm and gripped his rear with the other. “What would it feel like if you moved it in and out right here?”

  Lowell growled and bucked his hips. Once the motion was begun, it became unstoppable. He watched the rosy head of his cock peek from the crevice of her breasts, then hide again as it slid beneath them. Dora glanced up at him and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Looks delicious,” she murmured. “It’s making me hungry.” Lowell grunted and pumped faster. He lifted one hand to Dora’s cheek, and she turned her face to draw his first finger between her lips. She sucked it past her teeth, scraping lightly, until she nibbled the rounded knuckle at the finger’s base. She swallowed and let the wet digit slide back out.

  “I want it,” Dora whispered.

  Lowell closed his eyes as tingling heat grew in his groin. Breathing faster, he found her nipples with his fingers and pinched them as he fucked her cleavage.

  “I want it in my mouth.” Lowell froze. Dora, her hand still wrapped around his shaft, scooted down one rung of the step-stool. She stuck out her tongue and licked the head of his cock experimentally, then looked up at him. Lowell wove his fingers into her hair and thrust his pelvis, brushing his engorged tip against her chin.

  Dora ran her hands over his bare rear. “It’s been so long since a man’s come in my mouth,” she said. She sucked the knob of his erection and squeezed the spots where his upper thighs met his ass. Lowell’s shaft twitched. “I’d like it, wouldn’t you?” He gripped her hair tighter and watched his cock disappear between her lips.

  “Ohhhh, woman,” he moaned. “Dora, Dora, Dora…”

  She said nothing but, swallowing, moved her head faster. Her breasts bumped against his
thighs and Lowell felt the occasional delicate strafe of her nipples on his skin. He tensed and placed his hands behind her on the heavy chopping block. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he forced out. “I don’t want to push too deep.” He braced himself on the wooden surface and ground his jaw so hard that his teeth squeaked.

  Dora let his erection slide free. She took the base of his shaft in both hands and licked his tip, then replaced one hand on the curve of his ass. “I want it all, Lowell,” she stated. She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him, pushing her tongue between his lips and pumping her fist over his cock. Lowell felt the surge of his orgasm begin.

  “I want it down my throat.”

  He bellowed when she lowered her face and sucked his length over her tongue. She held it there, swallowing around his girth, and squeezed and pumped the base of his erection with her fist.

  “I’m coming… Right now… If you’re sure—” He bucked his hips as his climax hit. Gulping, Dora tugged him closer and held him until the last trembling spasms subsided.

  “By a troll’s melon-sized balls,” he breathed. “I’ve never come so hard.” Lowell stroked one hand fondly over Dora’s dark hair, then tensed in alarm. “Oh, forgive my crudeness, madam.”

  Dora let his softening erection fall from her mouth. She wiped her lips with her fingertips and the trace of a smile curled on her lips. “You can be crude if you like,” she chuckled. “You just came in my mouth, you know.”

  Lowell looked away, embarrassed.

  “And I’m so very glad you did,” she added. Dora stood and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her gritty-slick breasts against his bare chest. He felt the curve of her cheek on his neck as she continued. “I’ve never had so much fun baking bread. It’s been simply—” She froze and her head snapped up. “What in the hell is that? An armadillo?” Lowell spun about and caught a glimpse of movement through the kitchen window.

  Dora bolted away, grabbed her T-shirt and yanked it on as she flew out the door. “Shoo, shoo!” she yelled. “Go on, git!”

  Lowell slapped his kilt around his hips and chased after her. All he saw was the flapping hem of her skirt and one sneakered heel disappear around the corner of her house. When he caught up with her in the front yard, she had her fists on her hips and a dazed expression on her face. “Damnedest thing,” she muttered. “An armadillo in Charade! Bold thing too, and it sure could run…”

  She shook her head and trotted back to her backyard. “Just look at my peonies!” she moaned. “What in the world would possess an armadillo to dig up my peonies?” The plants’ roots were bare and neat piles of soil flanked the plants like a row of attentive, muddy soldiers. Her brow furrowed. She picked up a sodden plant with dangling roots and one dainty violet bloom. “That crazy thing dragged a columbine over here!” she said, incredulous. “I wonder if it was rabid?”

  Lowell stormed back into her house to fetch his shirt, boots and socks. He emerged, seething, as Dax loped up. “And just where were you this whole time?” He shot an icy glance at the golden lab. “Some guard dog you are.”

  Dora shrugged and patted Dax’s blond head. “Oh well, no harm done. Want to help me get them replanted, Lowell? I suppose I’ll find a place for this columbine while I’m at it, if it can survive being dragged around by a disease-ridden armadillo.”

  Fury surged through Lowell’s face and ran down to his clenched fists. “I’ve got something to take care of,” he grumbled. “I’ll have to take a rain check, Dora. Thank you for the…ah…” His cheeks warmed once more and he tugged his beard self-consciously. “Well, I’m off then.” He stalked off like a shot with Dax by his side.

  Chapter Six

  “You’re the last one I’d have expected this from, Korbin.” Lowell strode into the Castle Speranza library and directed his ire at his fair-haired youngest brother. “But I suppose that’s why you’ve been getting away with it. I never knew you had such a sick sense of humour.”

  “Huh?” Korbin looked up from a massive tome, blinking owlishly. “Humour? Me? Never.” He shook his head dismissively and looked back down at the printed pages before him. “Nope, no idea what you’re going on about,” he murmured.

  “Sure you don’t.” Lowell paced around the heavy table with his arms crossed. “Look at you, all innocent and bookish, all immersed in your research.” He slammed the book shut with a noisy thump. “But you’ve been stalking about, ruining Dora’s laundry and digging up her plants, haven’t you? Putting on glamours of bats and armadillos, just for kicks? Trying to scare her away from me out of pathetic jealousy, hmm?” Lowell lowered his face to Korbin’s until their noses almost touched. “Back off, little brother, or I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”

  Korbin rose to his feet, white-blond hair flying. “You’re the one who needs to back off, Lowell!” he retorted. “I’m sick of your threats and nonsense. Of course I haven’t been bothering Dora. It doesn’t seem like anything I’d do”—he scowled and braced his fists on his hips—“because I’d never even consider it.” He gestured towards the leather-bound books spread across the library table. “I’ve got far too many more important things on my plate than to worry about your love life. Give me a break.”

  “What’s all this? Reading up on cheesecake, Lowell?” Brock entered the room, sat in one of the leather armchairs and propped up his feet. “I can’t get Dora’s dessert out of my mind, either, to tell you the truth.” He smacked his lips and patted his stomach with a chuckle.

  “Aarrrgh, it’s you, isn’t it?” Lowell snarled. He moved behind Brock and yanked the chair away from the table. “Damn you and your foolishness!” Lowell, bellowing in fury, picked up the chair with Brock in it and lifted it off the floor. “I should throw you across the room!” Grunting with effort and rage, he shook the chair and growled. The chandelier overhead trembled.

  “Hey, now!” Brock soothed, knuckles whitening around the arms of his chair. “I know we’re all immortal here, but that doesn’t mean that getting squashed wouldn’t sting a little.” Lowell bared his teeth. “And no, Lowell, I haven’t been doing anything foolish lately, at least around you, so you can relax.” Korbin, moving slowly, put his hands on the arms of Brock’s uplifted chair and, catching Lowell’s eye, eased it to the floor.

  Lowell grunted and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Surely not Father,” he murmured in a daze. “Father would never debase himself in such a fashion…or would he?”

  “What’s this?” Gavin Rossi boomed from the doorway. “What sort of debasement are you wondering if I’m capable of?”

  “Ah,” Lowell began. “That is, um, you’d never… Uh…”

  “Put on glamours and skulk about Lowell and his ladylove,” offered Korbin. “Mess about in a human’s laundry and shrubbery.”

  “And generally be foolish, just to get under Lowell’s skin,” Brock added helpfully. “Was that pretty much it, Lowell?”

  Gavin looked from Brock’s mirth-filled face to Korbin’s irritated one, then turned to his oldest son. Silently, he shook his head, then left the room.

  “Was that a ‘No’, I take it?” Brock quipped.

  Lowell growled and grabbed the back of Brock’s chair once more. In a swift motion, he tipped it backwards until the back rested on the floor and Brock’s surprised face stared up at the ceiling. “Birdbrain,” Lowell grumbled. “Why don’t you go play with the damn chickens?”

  “Any of these ones wanting for refreshies?” Mephita stood, knobby hands akimbo and gangly knees stretching down from her homespun tunic. “Tea, cider?” She leaned in to the library and grinned. “And, oh yes, eggsies cooked up devilish-style. Carmen instructored this old Mephita ’bout how Miss Dora makes them.” She chuckled. “That one’s a good cook, yes, and he knows it, true?” She leered at Lowell, displaying the herbal remnants of her last meal in the gaps between her teeth.

  “Out of my way, gnome,” muttered Lowell. Mephita shrank away as he stalked from the room, chased by Brock’s and Korbin’s g
uffaws.

  * * * *

  Boom-boom-boom—and the sweet lilt of the oboe fluttered up over the percussion.

  “Figure eights,” instructed Carmen. “No hurry, let’s just try to get them slow and perfect, ladies.” Dora checked out her classmates to her right and left. Beth, Deb, Colby and Bernice, attired in stretchy leggings, hip scarves and tank tops, wore matching expressions of deep concentration. Dora, however, felt nothing but blissful, easy relaxation as she rolled her hips through the motions.

  “Really, Dora, you don’t have to make it look so easy,” Bernice complained. “Not all of us were born with hips that will just naturally swish around like this.” The slim, silver-tressed librarian scowled.

  “Shhh, Bernice, Dora can’t help it if her hips do all the work for her,” said Carmen. “And you’re doing great! Just relax and enjoy and don’t worry about what anybody else is doing.”

  Bernice grunted and turned her back to Dora, then resumed her hip rolls.

  Colby flipped her platinum bob and looked thoughtful. “You know, Dora, I haven’t seen you look so, um, relaxed in quite a while.” Dora shrugged as warmth rose to her cheeks, but kept silent. “It’s almost as if there were some romance going on in your life.” Dora smiled and kept her eyes fixed forward.

  “She got a haircut and deep conditioning treatment yesterday,” tattled Beth. “She hadn’t passed through the doors of Hippie Chic for at least six months, but she’d called a few days ago and said she needed me to get her in as soon as possible. She even got a bikini wax, you guys, and I saw her going in to the nail salon right after. Clearly she’s getting gussied up for somebody, right? So who’s the lucky man, Dora? Did one of your B&B guests get a little more than a free breakfast with his last stay?”

  Dora cleared her throat. “I would never mix business and pleasure, Beth. That is totally unprofessional.”

  “Yeah, and it might screw up her TripAdvisor ratings,” Bernice noted.