Birthday Suit Ch 4

G-strings and G-Spots

A/N: Sorry for the huge gap lovelies. RL can be a beyotch, right? Anyhoo, here are lemons for y'all. And, lookie here—Zigster made a hawt banner for Birthday Suit;-D http://img532[dot]imageshack[dot]us/img532/4323/thebdaysuit[dot]jpg

Thanks to my girls AmaZen and FDM who edit my stuff and let me bounce ideas off of their brilliant minds. My short Once is up and I'll be updating my spoof Where No Man Has Gone Before real soon—if you haven't read it check it out! I'll also update Dark Storm Rising this week.

BTW I'm tweeting with the tweeps at http://twitter[dot]com / freyasmaire. Just take out the dot slide it together

And from the first time that she really done me
Oh, she done me, she done me good
I guess nobody ever really done me
Oh, she done me, she done me good
The Beatles

Eric's POV:

I was going nuts—or my nuts were taking over. Either way, nuts were in the director's chair. Far lathered up her hands, and slid them down my chest. After making sure that my nipples were squeaky clean, she continued her meticulous ministrations stroking and lathering my ass and package until my every nerve ached, throbbed and tingled. Warm water beat down on us sending silver rivulets between Far's breasts, over their creamy swell and taut rosy nipples. My libido took the hint and plunged headlong over the world's most fucktastic waterfall. Her breasts were a delicious combo—soft, firm, warm and slick in my palms. Her salty-sweet nipples pebbled as I touched them with my tongue.

Far shivered, muttered, "Fuck… me…" and rubbed herself against me, running her hands up and down my cock until she had me panting and ready to howl like a wolf.

I chose to interpret that as an invitation. She thought she was a badass? I had an advanced degree in badass. I'd teach her to be bad all over me.

I tightened my hands and pressed my aching hard-on against her. "Oh…yeah."

The perfect curves under my hands—like the curves of a Maserati, or a Jaguar—were slick, sleek, perfectly engineered and ready for acceleration. Deciding to play tour guide, she placed her hands over mine and seared a path down her waist and over her hips. She brushed my fingers lightly across her soft curls, and then rounded the bend. We took our time around the sweet curve of her ass. Far was a rhapsody of curves; the only triangle being the small, perfect one I slid my hand over at the nexus of her thighs.

She moaned deep in her throat sending heat sizzling down my spine to settle in my balls. My mouth and hands were everywhere. I couldn't get enough of her. Her thick, honey hair was a mess, her face flushed; her body was soft and hot and ready to take me. I slid my tongue across the branching tree tattoo above the soft curls and teased that slick silky skin with my tongue. Her hips pulsed and lifted toward me. This was crazy. No, this was perfect and we were going to take it home again.

I knelt down needing to touch and taste her until she came in my mouth. She was so lush, so beautiful, so soft and tight. I gently parted her with my fingers suckled her clit, then lapped and stabbed until she trembled. I growled, "Keep still!" and held her as I took her over the edge, her honey dew melting on my tongue, while she trembled and moaned. Then, she took charge--her soft hair sliding against the length of me. Her mouth was there sucking on me and my whole world slid without resistance into the sweetest throb and burn until I was lost in her—only her.

Touching Far seemed so right. I rose up kissing her long sweet curves, taking my time; I hitched her leg up and slid inside, wanting to feel everything. Christ! I didn't think that I could get any harder, but every incredible inch proved me wrong. She moaned into my mouth as I pulled partway out then slid up into her again and again. Her hands tangled in my hair clenching, stroking me until we had it all-- hot and wet—sweet and dirty—with no holds barred. We moved harder, faster until she arched, cried out and every ounce of me flooded into her in wave after wave of the hottest, sweetest ecstasy as her body pulsed with the pleasure I'd given her.

S/FDM POV

The minute Eric touched me and I felt that first electric thrill, I should have seen it coming. I'd set out to play Mata Hari, exotic dancer and spy extraordinaire, but the feel of him—the scent of him-- filled me and dragged me under. That night, I broke every rule that I'd made: NEVER see someone inside the venue, never, never have a relationship with a lap-dance customer, and never have sex with a guy who's not your friend and who probably regards you as a fantasy object.

My rational mind floated somewhere in the ozone, leaving the rest of me on fire and under water at the same time. Like a doomed matador I waved the red cape, and then skewered myself on the long thick horns of a colossal dilemma. No, he was more like a tiger—a tiger I'd lured with some tasty bait. I was definitely riding the tiger, but I wasn't in charge—and neither was he. Something bigger in the form of lust, or fate, conspired to turn that night into the mother of all fuckathons.

When it came to sex, I'd always been able to keep a part of myself aloof, apart from what was happening. I hadn't intended any part of what I was feeling—the waves of emotion, the incredible electric sensations--but once we started, I didn't want it to stop, not when a Viking marauder was busy plundering every inch of me-- fingers fluttering, tongue flicking, plunging and then sucking my….Sweet Jaysus! I couldn't think—could barely breathe as his fingers, lips and tongue played my molten core like a virtuoso. Then I was kneeling on my hands stroking him, cupping him–inhaling his musk, tasting him, as I took him deep into my mouth—sending him soaring to a dizzy height.

Then he stood-- hot and hard and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist. His long hard length felt like heaven—like no man I'd ever felt before. My whole body throbbed and ached—wanting him. Only him. His mouth was on my neck. He grazed me with his teeth as he thrust, rocking into me over and over. His mouth was wild on mine as I thrust and moved with him, the heat between us spreading like a fever.

No man had ever made me feel so free and so freaking spectacular. I was an undergraduate when Bill and I began our affair. I was a trophy for him. He had been my first. I was smart, upwardly mobile... It would have been perfect—except for the small fact that he had neglected to tell me that he was married. Trust. Uncharted territory for me. The only people I had ever totally trusted had been my grandmother and Bill. She was gone, and Bill had betrayed me. I'd trusted Bill, respected him –thought that I'd loved him. I'd given myself to him completely and he'd given me lies, broken my heart and left me questioning the whole idea of true intimacy. Was it really possible, or just another fairy tale?

And there I was, allowing a stranger into my life, a not-quite stranger who could blow my cover and ruin my future career. His touch awakened a hunger I'd never felt for any other man. Now, I was holding him like a breath after riding the world's most fucktastic orgasm. It felt like coming home. .And what was the price going to be, now that he'd shattered some brittle part of me like Waterford crystal? Something bone-deep within-me had caught fire and I sensed that Eric felt it too. Damn.

EPOV:

Eventually, we had to get out of the shower and rationality overtook my libido, grabbed it by the short and curlies and screamed, What have you DONE?!

Clothes. Yes that would be the place to begin. All of mine lay in a slightly damp designer heap--Prada socks, boxers, and shoes, Armani shirt, belt, trousers and tie. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to clear my head.

The first thing I saw when I opened them was Far's minimal white thong hanging from the corner of a full length mirror. My index finger and cock twitched simultaneously as I hooked it on my finger. I was too mature and cautious for trophies, wasn't I?

I glanced at Far, grinned like a goofy teen that just had his first taste of American pie, and handed the thong to its rightful owner. What did I really know about Far, except that she sat next to Bill Compton in court, moonlighted as an exotic dancer in a high end club, and pulled me to her like a crumpled car clamped to a scrap yard magnet. My emotions and career would probably end up there too.

Somehow, I made it to home plate without rounding first base. This was every guy's dream situation. But I wanted more—I wanted to see her again outside of this place. It was risky for both of us. She was hot, sexy, a law student…smart…and she needed bucks. Why else would she be working this job? I had bucks. But I wasn't out to be anyone's sugar daddy. Besides her obvious beauty…I wanted to get to know her and she had no reason to trust me—none at all. But, I wanted to find a way to reach the real woman.

It's hard to shut down the stripper persona and get to the real person. I'd learned as a frat boy that when you pick up strippers at their clubs, you're never talking to the real person. At least, not at first. When seducing exotic dancers your first mission is to distinguish the fake signs of interest from the real ones. However this hunt might have started I was pretty damn sure that I'd managed that much when we finished.

.

She turned her back displaying that heavenly ass and I helped her slide the thong up those long, sexy legs. Next she pulled on low riding boot cut jeans, and a beautiful tee-shirt with spiral patterns like ram's horns. Tiny human figures climbed the spiral paths.

Trying to find a neutral topic I ventured," "Far, that's an amazing shirt."

She nodded and smiled—a real smile—not the stage version, "You can call me Sookie— for Susanna--and yes it's a nickname, but it's my real one."

Her beautiful face because serious. "The profits from these shirts go to groups trying to end human trafficking. The victims are lured under false pretenses, and once they're in it, it's almost impossible for them to get out."

I brushed a strand of hair from her face. "It's a good cause." I could have said a lot more. Could have told her about the women's testimony, the rapes, the forced abortions, and the beatings. I wanted to make a connection, so I opened up…a crack.

"When I lived in Boston, I worked for the DA who caught and prosecuted one of Boston's ringleaders in human trafficking. I know from the few women who testified that it was and is a devastating existence, full of despair."

Sookie smiled. "I'm glad you were one of the good guys."

S/FDM POV

Still riding the magic carpet of endorphins, we finally emerged from the cocoon of the shower and dried each other off.

The room was warm and steamy, the mirror fogged to obscurity. It was just as well. I wasn't sure I wanted to see my reflection at the moment. Eric stood like a Viking god, droplets of sweat and water running down the strong, muscular planes of his chest. He grinned like a Cheshire cat, hooked my thong on his finger, and helped me ease it over my derrière, frowning a bit as his hand passed gently over the purple blotch Amelia had airbrushed to perfection. I pulled on my jeans and then had to grin when I realized that the top I'd worn was perfect for the occasion – it was a fundraising tee-shirt for "Pathways to Hope".

Just as I hoped, he asked about my t-shirt, which gave me the perfect opportunity to talk about human trafficking. I have good reason to support this cause and was surprised that Eric seemed sympathetic and interested. It's certainly not the kind of case DeCastro & Madden would ever take. Unless they were defending one of the wealthy traffickers. like Franklin Mott. When Eric said he'd worked for a DA in Boston who handled a trafficking case, I had to wonder how the hell he wound up working in the biggest shark tank in Philly. I wondered if he still cared about the victims of trafficking and other crimes.

The sobering conversation had dashed any lingering endorphins like a bucket of ice water, so I decided to take the plunge.

"Eric, I know that this trafficking is going on in Philly."

His gazed sharpened as he looked me over. "And you know this how?" He glanced at my sore leg. Damn!

My face reddened but I had to say it. "I dance here by choice and I don't have sex for money. But there are women out there who are being forced. My friend Tara dropped a few hints before Franklin Mott had her beaten." He opened his mouth to object.

I glared at him and he shut it. "Yes. I know how things work. You didn't need to know why Mott was watching. Maybe you really believe that Tara's just a slut and Mott's a great role model. But if you handled a trafficking case you know why she didn't come forward…especially after she lost the assault case."

Eric leaned against the dressing table, and looked at me enigmatically. "So tonight was what… sex for information?" I blushed. As far as my original intent, he was spot on.

I swallowed hard, but met his eyes."There's evidence that Tara's been exploited and her…ex-boyfriend...Franklin Mott may be involved in a lot more than running health services and charities. I think Tara's involved and…yes...I need your help."

And just like that, I saw his impassive "lawyer mask" descend. "And that's all you wanted?"

I just couldn't lie to him now. "Well, that's what I started with, but…" I hedged, "Eric, what was tonight for you…?"

I was sure he would hedge, but he didn't. "Not what I thought it was going to be…it was something more…a lot more…"

I met his gaze. "For me too… it started out as a means to an end—and turned into something different—really special."

We stared at each other in silence. His blue eyes narrowed speculatively. I cleared my throat and snorted as Alice in Wonderland's Walrus popped into my head and peered while he gathered up the oysters he'd devour.

His left eyebrow raised a fraction. "What?"

I shrugged. What the hell... Might as well tell him. "I'm thinking 'The time has come the walrus said, to talk of many things…' I think we need to start at first base…but not here."

"Agreed."

My personal phone buzzed somewhere from the bowels of my purse.

I rummaged, placed one phone aside, and rooted for my "real" phone.

A flash of wry humor crossed his face. "So the stripper phone legend is true."

I snorted. "Every stripper who's worked for more than a few days has a throw away cell phone for customers."

"Do you ever answer it?"

I chuckled, "Only in their dreams! Goes straight to voicemail."

He moved toward me until he stood so close that I could feel the heat of his body and had to look up to see his face.

The amused look had left his eyes. "Does this mean that I get your real number?" His fingers brushed my cheek and sent a shiver from my scalp to my toenails.

We'd fast forwarded past, name revelations, insider information, phone numbers, and a date outside the club straight to shower stall sex. So why could I suddenly recall my preteen self asking my Gran how she knew granddad was "the One?"

She'd given me a hug and told me "The key to knowing starts with you sugar. You have to know who and what you want; otherwise, you're wasting your time."

I was still a long way from thinking of Eric as the One. There were many many layers to Eric—plenty of uncharted territory. But, thanks in part to Bill, I'd discovered the hard way, how to tell when a man was not the one. Still something bone-deep had happened between us. There was no denying it.

My eyes met his. "I think you've maybe earned that…privilege." His hands lightly explored the hollows of my back and waist while I scanned the text, gasped, and then read it again.

Far…I'll B at yr hse t-nite. Trbl cnt tlk C U Ltr...PS Don't 911! Tara

Stupidly, I sent back, R U OK? But she'd stopped texting.

Tara was frightened, alone, possibly hurt. Just thinking of what could have happened and still could happen to her made my stomach clench.

I hastily jotted down my cell number and tried to keep my voice steady as I brushed my lips against his. "Here's my real cell. Call me. Soon. It's Tara…I…um...I've got to go."

"Where? You can't go alone—if what you suspect is even a possibility."

I grabbed my purse. Reached for the door handle,

"Eric…I have to take care of this. Now!"

His nostrils flared. His eyes flashed as his fingers curled around my waist. His quiet voice held a challenge.

"No. I won't let you go alone. You wanted a piece of my mind. Fine. I did my job for Mott. It wasn't my job to know … certain things. But if what you think is true and your friend Tara knows things about Mott, you can't go alone. He'd have her followed. Now where are you going? "

I stiffened in his arms. "Home! Jesus Eric, Tara's out there somewhere trying to get to me! Damnit! You told me what you could…" I snapped. "This isn't your fight."

A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked. "It is now. Do you think that you can shut me out after what—just happened—?"

I shook my head tried to pull away, but Eric tightened his hold. His voice was low--intense.

"This wasn't just a screw–for you or me. And as for supply and demand…"

I opened my mouth to argue and he hauled me against him and kissed me, hard. My bones turned to liquid. I heard myself moan into his mouth, reeling from the shockwave of pleasure that rocked me when his lips were on mine, his tongue flicking, swirling, driving me to distraction and beyond. I slid my mouth to his neck and licked his skin. The taste of him, the feel of his skin, the slight roughness of stubble along his jaw. his smooth firm muscles, the soft ticking hairs on his chest. He groaned, pulled away from me, then nodded when he saw his own feelings mirrored in my body and my eyes.

"Far… um…Sookie, I know you're freaked out about Tara-- about what just happened between us. Do you think I'm any less freaked out? My whole life outside of this…is about constraint…judgment…and I think….outside of here…you walk the same fine line."

He cupped my face and searched my eyes. "Take this risk with me. Trust me. Let me come with you. "

I looked into Eric's eyes, ignored the dark inner voices that muttered and warned of ruin, and allowed a small, bright hope to shine through.

I nodded and relaxed for a moment into his embrace.

"OK. "

His shoulders relaxed slightly and he kissed my forehead. "OK."

The corridor was blessedly empty when we exited to the employee parking lot.

I unlocked my Toyota and Eric slid in, murmuring, "They say, 'to be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved.'"

I thought of my own disappointments and hopes. "That's true, I guess, because you're never more vulnerable."

His hand engulfed mine—big, warm, and comforting. "Thanks for trusting me …Sookie"

I sniffed and quickly wiped my eyes before the tears escaped. "Yeah…well…it's a start…" My life had taught me that trust was a risk. A terrifying, leap of sheer improbable faith. But we were making it together.

*Eric's broad hands cupped the swell of the reader's…" Mmmmm? Please review…it's a start

CommonThreadz is a wonderful RL organization that helps vulnerable kids. Check them out at http:// commonthreadz[dot] org/ shop/ wilson_buy_womens/index[dot]php

( I've asked for a T-shirt for Mother's Day)