Free Night of Fire by Vonna Harper Page A

legs.
    “Hmmm.” He leaned so near that she felt his breath on the
sheltering hairs. The sensation of warm moisture on warm skin made her squirm.
“All right,” he continued. “We’ll start conservatively. These—” He took the
protective pieces of skin over her opening between his thumb and forefinger.
“These go by a number of names, some pretty crude, but a gynecologist is going
to call them labial lips.”
    “Labia…” Why was it hard to talk?
    He chuckled and ran a nail over the inside of the loose skin.
“Close enough. And while we’re at it, that’s your pubic hair. Can you say pubic
hair?”
    “Pu-bic.”
    “Close enough, young lady, close enough.”
    Still holding on to what he said were her lips, he ran his
other hand through the curly hair he’d been talking about. She squirmed again,
and it was all she could do not to close her legs so he’d stop tickling
her—only it didn’t really feel like tickling.
    “Having trouble concentrating already, are you?” he asked.
“Would you like to conclude the lesson and get on to recess?”
    How could they speak the same language and yet not?
“What—what is recess?”
    “Oh, you’ll like that, believe me, you will. However, I’d be
remiss as a teacher—probably get myself fired—if we quit so soon.” Once again
he ran his nail over flesh so sensitive she thought she’d cry out with the
wonder of it. “You’re concentrating, aren’t you?”
    “I…” She didn’t want to look down at herself, that would
make it worse. But was meeting his laughing eyes any easier? “I want—to learn.”
    “I bet you do. And so do I.” Tipping his head to one side,
he continued his study of her woman-place. “Good thing the moon’s out tonight,”
he observed. “Otherwise, I’d really be hunting in the dark, not that I’d mind.”
    “Pubic hairs,” she whispered, proud of herself.
    “Yep, you’ve got that right.” He blew on her woman-place.
“There,” he said as her hips of their own will bucked off the ground. “That was
your reward. At least your first one. Would you like another?”
    She wanted anything he chose to give her and told him so by
scooting forward so she was even more exposed.
    “Boy, do I love you and your people’s uninhibited ways.” He
sounded a little breathless. “All right, where were we? Oh, that’s right.
Labial lips. But that’s just the teaser, at least as far as a cock is
concerned.”
    “Cock?”
    “That’s right, you don’t know. Where I come from,
seed-makers are called cocks. Sometimes penis. It depends on who’s doing the
talking and in what context.”
    “What—what do you want me to call it?”
    He blew on her tender place again. When, once more, her hips
refused to stay on the ground, he released what he called her labial lips and
cupped his hand over her opening, pressing. She started to back away.
    “No, no,” he warned. “You don’t want to do that. Believe me,
you don’t.”
    Beyond concentrating on anything but her body, she willed
herself to stay where she was. The more he pressed on her there, the hotter and
hungrier she felt up inside.
    “Remember that gynecologist I told you about?” he asked.
    She didn’t but muttered, “Yes.”
    “Good.” He began running a fingertip up and down, up and
down against the opening to her woman-place. Her mouth parted, and she breathed
through it.
    “Good,” he repeated. “Now pay attention. You are paying
attention, aren’t you? At least you’re zeroed in on your body. This whole area
I’ve got my hand on, not just my forefinger, but everything there—the medical
term for it is clitoris.”
    “Clit…”
    “Tsk, tsk. You really have to pay attention, Maia. You do
want recess, don’t you?”
    “Yes. Clit-oris.”
    “That’s my girl.”
    His finger had stopped moving. Maybe he’d noticed that she
was becoming swollen there—at least it felt like that—and didn’t like it.
Before she could think how to ask him, he found her