by R. K. Lilley
He shut his eyes, shook his head, and when he opened them again, whatever had come over him, whatever he’d been about to say, seemed to have passed.
I didn’t worry about it for long as his hands flew to the waistband of my pants and started pulling, dragging my sweats and panties down at the same time, taking my socks off as well when he reached my ankles.
He became preoccupied for a moment when he’d freed me from my bottoms. I squirmed a bit as he separated my lacy panties from my sweats, studying them.
He held up the tiny scrap of material, arching a brow at me. “This is what you wear under sweats?”
I just nodded. I didn’t want to talk about my underwear or anything else, really. Action was required. Words? Not so much.
He shook his head, and, as though that settled the matter, he tossed my panties over his shoulder, eyes moving back to my body.
“Spread your legs,” he said gruffly.
I did it, eyes on his cock, wondering how much longer I’d have to wait before I had that inside of me.
He let out a small string of curses, but that didn’t make me stiffen. On the contrary, it made me melt, each profanity washing over me, because I knew that he was only perturbed because he wanted me.
To the degree that I wanted him. And that was saying something.
“Any requests before we do this?” he asked. “I’ll warn you now, there’ll be no stopping once I start.” As he said this, his eyes moved up my body to devour my chest, taking in my full, straining breasts.
I took them in too, looking down at myself, watching in fascination as my back arched, erect nipples seeking him.
I licked my lower lip, watching how every tiny movement I made seemed to capture him. “Another kiss would be nice,” I said softly.
His nostrils flared, and he moved to climb on top of me, straddling my hips, his hands holding my wrists firmly above my head.
He bent his face to mine, angling his head as he took my lips.
His kiss was different this time, more like what I’d expected from the first kiss, his tongue demanding, invading, greedy, like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to devour me.
I gave him everything he asked for, lips surrendering, body submitting, my hips bucking in reflexive anticipation.
I moaned out a protest when he took his mouth away, but not for long as it stayed attached to my body, moving down along my jaw, then to my neck, licking, sucking, biting as it went.
When his hot mouth reached my breasts, it was like a voltage of electricity to my chest, my back bowing, teeth gritting as he licked and sucked, pushing the ripe globes together to nuzzle from one to the other, then fastening like a suction to my nipple.
I could’ve gotten off just from the sound of his mouth feasting hungrily on my flesh, I was that primed.
Luckily, he was just as primed, and so it didn’t come to that. There wasn’t time.
Foreplay was not the order of the day.
This was about fucking. It was that simple. His cock inside of my cunt, the faster the better.
He tore his mouth away from my skin and reached for a condom. He ripped the foil on the packet with one hand and his teeth, keeping my wrists captive all the while. He even rolled it on one-handed, which was rather impressive considering the size of him.
Practice made perfect, I supposed. And I tried to linger on that as little as possible.
He moved down my body, shoving my legs wide apart to accommodate his hips, and lined us up, breast to groin.
I craned my neck forward to watch as his tip found my entrance, and he nudged in that first delicious inch.
It’s been way too fucking long, I thought to myself.
And that was my last coherent thought for a very long time.
He shoved in, slowly at first, shifting his hips to work himself against my soft flesh. I heard the noises that left my throat as though they were coming out of somebody else as my soft flesh welcomed him inch by slow inch.
It took forever for him to push inside of me, but I wouldn’t have rushed that part if I could, watching as each delicious centimeter of his shaft disappeared into my sex.
I clenched around him, my cunt sucking him in so earnestly and intensely that he cursed and praised me in equal parts every second that he progressed.
It was a shock as he finally, at last, about fucking time, shoved fully into me, buried to the root.
The air punched hard out of my lungs at the brutal impact as he hit home.
I’d never been so full. That was a fact.
I took in this new foreign fullness with great heaving breaths that brought my sensitive chest up to rub against his slick hard one, then drop down and away again with each rough inhale, exhale.
“What in the holy fuck,” he muttered succinctly.
I wasn’t sure if that was a question or a statement, but regardless, I had nothing to add. That summed it up for me, as well.
And then, then, oh my God, then, he started to move, dragging out of me with big, jagged pulls, it taking a few of those pulls to have only the tip of him inside of me again.
He paused briefly there, at just the point where I felt so helpless that I lost it.
Just lost it. Sobbing, pleading, begging him to move, to come back inside of me, to fill me up entirely.
And he was no sadist, thank God. He obliged right away, ramming back in with one long heave, then yanking out again, faster now, smoother with every movement as my body learned to accommodate his size, accepting the length and girth of him like it’d been made for just this purpose.
There was something so simple and profound about that first mating. He occupied an empty place inside of me, literally and figuratively, a lonely space that I hadn’t known needed filling.
It was beautiful and riveting. I didn’t want it to end, but had to fight not to finish too quickly.
He drove into me, again and again, his thrusts rough to the point of brutal.
I’d never been into rough sex.
Well, I’d never tried it, but I hadn’t thought I was into it.
I’d thought wrong.
How could I be so wrong about myself? How could I not know about a need like that until it was given to me in its entirety?
And that need, that need, it swallowed me whole.
I needed this like I needed air. Needed someone to fill me so acutely, so completely, mercilessly invading me, over and over, pounding me into the mattress, taking absolute, indisputable ownership of my body until I couldn’t say where he began and I ended.
Needed it so much, I couldn’t stop begging for it.
Loudly.
Repeatedly.
And he gave it to me, everything I begged for and more, rutting into me with mindless abandon, pounding in and out, in and out, faster and faster, harder, and still, impossibly, harder, until screaming, I burst.
My orgasm didn’t just surprise me. It assaulted me. Tore through me and broke me into a million twitching pieces.
One big hand clawing at my hips, he pumped into me four, five more times, then planted himself deep, to the root and came.
I watched as the chill at last left his eyes. So many things rushed in to replace that consuming coldness of his.
Wonderful things.
Addictive things that let me know somewhere deep down he was as affected as I was.
Hunger. Admiration. Desperation. Lust. Wonder. Need. Abandon. Madness.
It was beautiful to watch, the way he changed in those brief moments of bliss.
Beautiful and dangerous.
I’d do a lot to watch him change like that, to get even the briefest glimpse of that other side of him. The need was powerful to the point of self-destructive, especially considering the fact that I barely knew him, and what I did know only seemed to point toward the fact that he was a wild thing that was not even close to being tamed.
CHAPTER
FIVE
I was still reeling, still completely caught up in what had happened
mere seconds ago, but not him. He was up, standing, peeling off the used condom, tossing it into the closest wastebasket, then pacing the floor at the foot of my bed, eyes intense on my limp form.
No, wait, not pacing . . .
Stalking.
Prowling.
Like a lion, his narrowed eyes on me.
I was his prey, and he was ready to pounce.
Again.
“Is everything all right?” I asked him, my voice hoarse like I’d been screaming.
Had I been screaming? Had he literally made me scream?
Oh yeah. Shit, he had.
It was an embarrassing thought, and I let my mind shy away from it, even as the sound of those desperate cries still echoed in my mind.
“All right?” he mused, his tone low, voice more road-worn gravelly and rough than ever. “Yeah, I’m all right.”
I blinked at the way he said it, though I couldn’t read him well enough to know what to make of it.
His lip curled up like he was annoyed. He reached an arm up, running it impatiently over his short-cropped hair.
Why did every move he made turn me on? Every minuscule shift of his body made mine respond, breasts tightening, sex clenching.
He elicited reaction without trying, controlled me without even touching.
My eyes ran down his ripped to within an inch of its life body, moving over each mark and scar. I found those marks to be fascinating and beautiful. He didn’t wear them like they were flaws, and so they weren’t. If it wasn’t so obvious what they were, I thought I could have been convinced that he’d been born with them all.
I knew better than to ask, I knew the answer, but I’d have loved to photograph him.
The artistry of his hard, massive, tortured body needed to be captured, even if its owner never could be.
I shook off the thought. I couldn’t think things like that. I barely knew this man, so why on earth would I want to capture him?
He’d never be mine. I knew it instinctively, and so I didn’t let myself even wish for it.
My eyes widened as they finally made it down to his spent cock.
No, not spent. Hard and getting harder, though I knew he’d gotten off when I had.
That was when I really started to appreciate the younger man thing. My husband hadn’t taken good care of himself for a good decade before we’d split, and the softer he got, the softer his dick had gotten with him.
It’s funny how sometimes you don’t realize how much you need a thing before it’s right in front of you. And suddenly, I needed that hard, tireless, randy, young cock like you wouldn’t believe.
I licked my lips.
“How old are you?” my mouth asked him, even while my brain didn’t actually want to know.
I mean, it was a little late for regrets.
He scowled, like really scowled, and on him that was a scary thing. He was intimidating enough when he smiled.
When he scowled he looked like he wanted to kill someone, and I didn’t doubt for a second that he was a man who got what he wanted.
“Who cares?” he shot back. This was clearly as sore a subject for him as it was for me.
“I care,” I answered softly, but more because I thought I should care, thought I should ask, thought I should need to know.
Really, though, I’d have just as soon avoided knowing. My level of cougardom on this felt pretty irrelevant at that moment, all things considered.
“Twenty-five,” he said, tone abrupt.
I winced.
I’d been hoping for a higher number. The higher the better, really.
“Not much older than my firstborn,” I said tightly.
He didn’t like that, as in really didn’t like it, going by the sudden and mean twist to his mouth.
Well, I didn’t like it either, but it was still the truth.
“What the fuck does that matter?” he asked.
It mattered, of course it did, but I didn’t have a chance to vocalize an answer, as it was clearly a rhetorical question, because he was on me, kissing me again, fisting a condom on and fucking me again, between one gasp and the next.
Good. Even though I’d brought it up, I didn’t want to talk about it or think about it any time soon. We clearly had better things to do.
I took his weight on me, his hardness in me, with a soft, needy moan. It felt so fucking good, like the first time hadn’t even happened, like I was as hungry for him as I had been not an hour before, with over a year’s worth of celibacy under my belt.
He was holding my wrists above my head again, needing only one hand to do so, the other palming my breasts, assaulting the soft flesh of my chest with his hand while his cock assaulted the soft flesh of my cunt in desperate earnest.
It was faster that time, as though he’d used all of his patience with the first mating. He sucked the tip of one straining tit into his mouth while his free hand snaked down and started working my clit, bringing me over so fast that it caught me off guard, my breath sobbing out in one long, “Heeeaaaath.”
He growled like a wild animal into my skin, planted himself inside me, stayed planted, and I felt his thick cock twitching, bucking out his seed.
I said his name again, faster, wanting, needing to watch his face, and he lifted from my chest, eyes meeting mine, giving me that look again, the one that replaced the coldness.
More than any crave-able thing about him, I craved that brief, unguarded moment when he lost himself inside me.
I was lying on my bed, flat on my back, completely naked, covered only by a sheet.
My head was still spinning.
What the hell had just happened?
I’d never, never, NEVER had my body, my world, rocked like that before. Heath fucked like a force of nature—fierce, powerful, unstoppable.
I knew I was good in bed. I was fit, flexible, and adventurous, but with Heath, all I’d managed to do was hold on for the ride. And come. Repeatedly.
The force of nature I was currently worrying over had gone into the shower exactly one second after he’d finished getting us both off. He apparently didn’t like to wear his sex around, not even to sleep.
Would he even stay to sleep? It was barely noon. I guessed he’d be leaving as soon as he was done with his shower.
I could expect nothing else from this whole crazy thing, but I felt tender (not just my body) about it all. I’d never done casual sex.
It was perhaps an acquired taste. One I wasn’t planning to acquire.
I was still lying there (nearly exactly how he’d left me after fucking my brains out) when he came back out of my bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel, his mind-boggling body still slightly damp.
The look on his face had me losing my breath.
He dropped the towel.
My mind was on a very specific part of him, one that should not be looking quite so eager after our earlier activities, as he approached the bottom of the bed.
Without a word, he bent, grabbing my sheet, and pulling it slowly.
It surprised me enough that I made an embarrassing little noise and tried to hold onto my only covering.
“Let go,” he growled.
God, he was scary. Why did that do such delicious things to my body?
I dropped the sheet.
He tugged it off, then snagged first one of my ankles, then the other, his shoulders and arms flexing as he dragged me down the bed. When he’d finished dragging, he started spreading, pulling my legs wide apart.
He just stared at my sex for the longest time, his gaze so hot that my hips started squirming restlessly.
I glanced down at him. He was fully aroused, his heavy cock pulsing.
Sore or not, sated or not, I wanted it again more desperately than ever.
Finally, he let go of my ankles, grabbing my wrists instead and pulling me to sit up, my splayed legs jolting together. He perched a foot snug at my hip, burying both of his hands in my hair.
I licked my lips and stared. He’d brought me wi
thin a few inches of his eager cock. I didn’t have to guess what he wanted.
I leaned forward, looked up to meet his eyes boldly, and tongued his tip.
He cursed and surged against me.
Keeping solid eye contact, I sucked his thick, plush head between my lips.
I had to break eye contact soon enough as he pushed deeper, and his jagged breaths became the only thing in the room louder than the sounds of my busy, sucking mouth and my milking, stroking hands.
There was no polite conversation about whether or not I swallowed, but as I felt his balls draw up tight, his orgasm close, I pushed back to suck at his tip, hands working him, my eyes on his face.
That was one thing that had stood out to me from the last few rounds. I loved to watch his face as his eyes went unfocused and wild, all of the coldness leaving them. I watched it happen again, relishing the sight.
He stroked my hair after he’d finished, my tongue still laving his tip, his eyes directed on me again, cold again, but admiring, at least.
After he finally pulled away, I lay back on the bed, not sure if I wanted to get off or pass out.
Without a word, he moved to my dresser across the room, unerringly going for my hidden vibrator, knowing which drawer it was in, exactly as though he knew just where to look, like he’d done it before.
My aroused, smitten brain didn’t linger on that, focused more on him and what he was about to do to me than on the things about him that should trouble me.
As he pulled the thing out, though, I managed to find my voice for something, at least, “Not that,” I said faintly. It was an intense toy. “I’m a little sore for that.”
He raised his brows, looking fascinated by the notion. He dropped the vibrator back in the drawer, hand going for his randy cock. He was already semi-hard again and looked in danger of easily losing the semi part of that. “Too sore for this, too, I take it?”
I bit my lip. I really wanted that again, but I was sore. I nodded regretfully, watching him handle himself casually and thinking that it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
His white teeth flashed at me in a smile that was more sinister than happy. “I’ve got just the thing.”
And he did.
