Jemimah's Genie
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About the Author
Also by Ainsley Abbott
Jemimah’s Genie
Ainsley Abbott
The promised toast Jemimah Murphy offered her deceased grandmother was one she’d never forget. As her great-great-grandmother’s homemade elderberry wine trickled down her throat, a poof and flash sent her reeling and the most delectable man she’d ever seen suddenly appeared. Brian, she discovered to her utter amazement and delight, was her personal genie.
Brian’s reason for existence was to pleasure Jemi and fulfill her deepest sexual desires. His fiery lovemaking introduced her to passionate, sensual experiences she’d never believed possible.
But the magical wine diminished each time Jemi summoned her lover, and both Brian and Jemi knew their perfect fantasy would inevitably have to end. Unless…
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Jemimah’s Genie
ISBN 9781419919084
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Jemimah’s Genie Copyright 2009 Ainsley Abbott
Edited by Helen Woodall
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication November 2009
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
JEMIMAH’S GENIE
Ainsley Abbott
Dedication
To my husband, Peter, who has brought true magic into my life.
Chapter One
Jemimah Murphy was devastated when her grandmother Louise died. She’d moved in with Granny Lou over five years ago after Gran broke her hip. At the time, Jemi thought she’d done it to look after Lou but in fact they’d looked after each other. Granny Lou was the only family Jemi had and was more of a mother than grandmother.
“When I’m gone,” Gran would say in her most imperative tone, “you must get on with life. There’s someone special out there for you, you just have to find him.”
Jemi hated hearing her grandmother speak of dying. And as to “getting on with life”, her life was already hectic enough. She worked long shifts as a nurse at the public hospital, then hurried home to housework, chores and the tender but demanding care of Granny Lou.
She didn’t consider her work tedious. She adored her grandmother and loved spending time with her. Once in a while, she’d meet with friends for a drink after work but she rarely stayed long. At night, she’d fall into bed, exhausted, knowing she’d have to be up at the crack of dawn to start the routine over again.
As to men, she may have blushed when a handsome guy looked her way, or one of the doctors complimented her efficiency but she wasn’t interested in finding anyone. She’d already had enough unfulfilling relationships to last her a lifetime. Given her experiences, she no longer believed she’d find a man who could satisfy her sexually, let alone emotionally. So she poured her energies into her work and her grandmother. If there was something missing in her life, she refused to acknowledge it. She believed dissatisfaction was the curse of an idle mind, so she kept her nose to the grindstone and her thoughts focused on her responsibilities.
But when Granny Lou died peacefully, though unexpectedly, in her sleep, Jemi felt lost and abandoned.
According to her grandmother’s wishes, Jemi organized the cremation, then scattered Granny Lou’s ashes at the base of the prolific elderberry bushes in their backyard. The thicket of shrubs was revered by both Jemi and her gran, since the bushes had survived over four generations of Murphys and produced fruit for countless pies, wines and meads along the way.
Jemi gazed at the well-tended plants. Sibyl, Gran’s black and white cat, looked on. “I guess that’s it, eh, Sib?” She reached down and stroked the cat who instantly got up and began to weave herself between Jemi’s legs, purring. It was late autumn and the red-yellow leaves of the elderberry bushes were dropping, though some of the branches still boasted purple berries. Gran’s ashes made a pathetically small pile at the base of one thick trunk. A cool breeze stirred them gently.
“There’s one thing you must promise me, Jemimah,” Granny Lou had said only a few short evenings ago.
Kneeling next to her grandmother’s bed, Jemi sighed impatiently. Here we go again, she thought. “Yes, Gran,” she said, “I’ll be sure to drink a toast to you when you’re gone. Can we not talk about that, please?” How many times had Gran made her promise this? And why did it matter so much?
But her grandmother was adamant. “Sweetheart, listen to me,” she said. “All things change and pass on. I won’t be an exception. It’s important you do exactly as I say.”
Jemi sighed. “Okay, Gran, tell me again, what you want me to do.”
Granny Lou smiled and held Jemi’s hand. “You’re to get the two silver wine goblets from the china cabinet. Then fetch one of the bottles of elderberry wine dated October 31, 1865. It was bottled by your great-grandmother Jemimah—who you were named after. Are you listening?”
“Yes, Gran,” Her grandmother’s hand was cooler than it should be and Jemi wished she’d finish the instructions so she could fetch her some hot tea and another blanket.
“Once it’s dark outside, put the goblets on the table, light the candles in the silver candlesticks and pour the wine. You won’t need much—it only takes a little.” Granny Lou chuckled to herself. Her rheumy eyes grew distant.
“So, I wait until night, pour two glasses and drink a toast to you, right?”
“Hmm?” Granny Lou refocused then nodded. “Oh, yes. Then you drink a toast to me.”
“Is that all?” Jemi got to her feet. But Gran’s hand clung more tightly.
“Just one thing, sweetheart,” she said. “Whatever happens is destined. Don’t hold back on anything. And remember, sometimes if you truly love someone, you must set them free.” She loosened her grip on Jemi’s hand, patted it lovingly, then winked. “Now, run along and put the kettle on. The blanket can wait.”
Jemimah cocked an eyebrow. It was uncanny how her grandmother knew things before being told but Jemi was used to it.
Now, the memory of that moment was all it took to bring tears to Jemi’s blue eyes. The breeze was picking up and she realized she was cold. She turned back to the house and hurried in through the patio door. She’d light a fire in the fireplace. The house was old and drafty and even the relatively new furnace in the basement couldn’t completely take the chill off.
It wasn’t until nearly eight p.m. that Jemi remembered her promise. She’d been staring at the fire, her thoughts wandering this way and that, stroking Sibyl who was cur
led in a ball on her lap.
There was money, Granny Lou had seen to that, enough for Jemi to take a long vacation if she wanted. But what fun was a vacation alone? She sighed, gave Sibyl a quick kiss on the head before putting her on the floor, then stood up, catching her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. Shoulder-length wavy blonde hair caught back in a ponytail, white pixie face, puffy red-rimmed blue eyes and a small mouth turned down at the corners. She was probably too thin and there were dark circles under her eyes.
She was nearly thirty and what did she have to show for her life? She realized now her dedication to her grandmother and obsession with her job left her isolated from the rest of the world. She had very few memorable moments from her smattering of sexual encounters. Boyfriends? Well, if you called Steve or Dan or Butch boyfriends…she’d dated each of them less than five times and none was memorable for the right reasons.
Jemi made a moue in the mirror. Maybe Gran was right to tell her to get on with her life. But how and where should she start?
Jemi pulled one bottle of wine after another off the rack in the basement cellar. They didn’t seem to be in any order and not all were elderberry, which made the process tedious. The single bulb dangling from the ceiling was too far away to make it easy to find what she was looking for.
While Sibyl chased shadows nearby, Jemi squatted down and squinted at the bottom row of bottles. These were obviously older. The glass was thick and oddly shaped and the labels were like parchment. Finally, after searching randomly, she pulled one out and smiled.
“October 31, 1865. Gotcha.” Sibyl stopped her play and looked at Jemi with wide eyes then, in a fit of frenetic energy that only cats understand, she shot up the stairs and disappeared.
Jemi stood up and blew dust from the heavy, blue-tinged bottle. She rubbed the label gently. There was a signature and even though it was faded and blurred, she could make out the name, Jemimah. Interesting to think she held a wine made by her great-grandmother’s own hands.
She took the bottle upstairs and wiped it with a cloth, then placed it on the table in the dining room. She found the silver goblets in the breakfront and grabbed a corkscrew from the kitchen.
With a minimum of difficulty, she managed to extract the cork, then sniffed the brew to make sure it was fit for consumption. She poured a bit into each goblet, sat down and lifted one in the air.
“Here’s to you, Granny Lou. Life won’t be the same without you.” Before the tears could come, she put the goblet to her lips and sipped.
What happened next Jemi couldn’t really say. The room seemed to suddenly fade into a grayish mist, while the strangest sounds reverberated—a sort of crackling, like electricity, followed by a large poof and whoosh, as if air had been sucked out of a receptacle leaving no sound at all.
Oddly, Jemi wasn’t frightened. She sat, unmoving, in her chair, the taste of the wine still sweet on her lips, the liquid warm in her stomach. She watched, amazed, as the mist seemed to dissipate and a figure appeared.
“Gran?” she whispered hopefully.
“No. Brian, actually.”
Jemi stood up and stared. The most beautiful man she’d ever seen stood at the end of her dining table. He was dressed in a peculiar fashion—very tight black pants and a thin red satin vest that hung open to reveal a superb six-pack and bulging pecs. Jemi’s eyes moved from his chest to his face, stupefied. His hair was blond, thick and slightly tousled, his face was strong-jawed, his skin bronzed. His eyes were a sapphire blue, fringed with heavy lashes. His mouth… Jemi licked her lips, feeling as if she were suddenly on fire.
“Where did you come from?” she managed to croak.
He came around the table and smiled at her. “You summoned me.”
“I what?”
He gestured to the bottle.
She stared, then laughed, then stared again. “I’m sorry.” She sat down abruptly. “Are you telling me you’re a…”
“Genie, Jinn…I suppose either would apply,” he said, smiling and showing twin, endearing dimples. “They really mean the same thing. And yes,” he made an extravagant bow, “your wish, Jemimah Murphy, is my command.”
Logically, Jemi knew this couldn’t be happening. She’d obviously passed out, or fallen asleep and it was all a dream. So why not enjoy it?
“So,” she said slowly, trying unsuccessfully to keep her eyes from roaming to the large bulge in Brian’s tight pants. “If I summoned you, what exactly do I do next?”
“You, my lovely,” Brian said, “needn’t do anything.” He grinned, picked up the other goblet, drank it down in one gulp, then moved closer so the mesmerizing bulge was within inches of Jemi’s face. Her cheeks burned but she felt no need to retreat. A languid fascination had enveloped her. Yes, she thought, dreams are like that. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, feeling his fingers touch her cheek, then trail down the side of her neck.
She shivered, feeling him deftly unbutton her shirt. She opened her eyes to find his face within inches of her own, his eyes glittering, a slight smile touching his lips.
She felt she should speak but at the same time knew it wasn’t necessary. Why ruin the dream? In any case, his mouth had gently covered hers in a soft, sensual kiss that made speech impossible. He tasted of elderberry wine and she felt her cunt moisten as his tongue flitted about her lips and mouth, teasing.
By now he’d completely undone her clothing and before she knew it, he’d lifted her in his arms and was placing her on something very soft and very warm. She opened her eyes again and realized she was lying on a thick, white faux-fur rug before the fire in the dining room. But wait, Gran had no fur rug.
She pulled her mouth away. “Where…”
He simply winked, then snapped his fingers and the room was instantly filled with glowing candles and soft, sweet music.
“Oh, very nice,” she cooed. “I’m liking this dream.”
Slowly he removed her clothing, his lips following where his fingers unbuttoned, unzipped and removed. Her hands gripped his upper arms as her bra disappeared and he fastened his mouth on one of her nipples. Goose bumps rose all over her body as his tongue teased the nipple to a tender peak then moved to its twin to do the same.
Her hands lifted to his head, her fingers losing themselves in the thickness of his hair as his mouth trailed down, down, his fingers gently lowering her panties.
She felt her abdomen clench as his tongue circled her navel then moved even lower. Her cunt was wet and flaming. She squeezed her eyes tighter, automatically lifting her hips so he could remove her panties altogether. She waited for his mouth to find the hot, throbbing spot between her legs. She opened her thighs to accommodate him but instead, there was nothing.
She opened her eyes and saw he was standing over her. His vest was already gone and he was slowing unfastening his pants.
In the flickering light, he looked like a god, perfectly proportioned, his muscles defined by shadow and light, his eyes lit with passion, lids half-lowered. She watched as he slowly removed his pants and kicked them away. His penis, fully erect, was huge. Jemimah blinked and swallowed, then as if dazed, got to her knees. She wanted to feel it, taste it. He seemed to know her thoughts and moved closer, his fingers warm and strong in her hair.
She stroked and gripped his shaft, feeling the fiery heat and steely hardness against her palms. She’d never held a cock so thick. Without thought, she put her mouth over the tip, letting her tongue taste and savor. Salty. She heard him groan and smiled to herself, taking it even further into her mouth. She must be good at this if she could make a genie moan, she thought absently.
But he obviously wasn’t going to settle for self-gratification. Within moments, he’d pulled his cock from her mouth and gently lowered himself over her, so they lay flesh to flesh, his penis hot on her abdomen, his elbows propped so he could find her mouth again with his own.
She gripped his shoulders, suddenly desperate to feel that hot cock inside her. But instead, he moved lo
wer, his hands grasping her buttocks and lifting her to his face, his breath warm on her pubic hair.
Her cunt was pulsing with desire, as if a hot coal had been placed inside. She could feel herself clenching in anticipation. She stared down at him and he looked up. “I want to taste you,” he said simply. And suddenly his warm lips covered her clitoris, his tongue flicked once, twice, then moved lower and plunged into her opening, deep, moving sinuously, licking the wetness, then flicking out again to circle her clit.
Jemi was lost. She couldn’t speak. Her hands grasped his hair so tightly her fingers hurt. She moaned shamelessly as his tongue ravaged her—sliding into her hot cavern, licking, licking, then out and flicking her clit. Again and again, faster and faster. She felt her world closing in, spinning out of control, as she came closer and closer to a monumental climax.
“Oh…God,” she groaned, moving her head back and forth. Any moment, any second…
Then he stopped. Tiny anticipatory shockwaves filled her as the cooler air replaced his hot mouth. “Shit, don’t stop!” she moaned.
Then he was over her. “Look at me,” he said.
She opened her eyes. His azure eyes were very close. They were so beautiful, so gentle—hypnotic. His hands gripped hers and pulled her arms up over her head. His fingers curled between her own. His chest was warm on her breasts. He lifted his hips and she felt his cock touch the entrance to her gaping, desperate vagina. But even though her mind was lost to her need, his eyes still held hers.
Then he slipped inside her, slowly, gently and she let out her breath in a gasp of sheer bliss. He moved even deeper, his eyes becoming darker with his own pleasure. She felt her opening stretched to the max, his cock so far inside her, she was completely filled. Yet he didn’t move and instinctively, she began to rotate her hips, wanting more, feeling that mounting need turning to fire.