by Maya Rose
It never was for me. He’s telling me it isn’t for him either. So I pull his head down and open his mouth with my tongue. A greedy groan releases from his throat, and for a little while he lets me have the illusion of control. But not for long. He deepens the kiss when my hands wander down his hard muscles, and his fingers slide down between us, flirting with the opening of my drenched slit. But when I wait for his finger to push deeper inside me, he moves it entirely, his arm skidding over my thighs and unwrapping them from around his waist. Needy panic bursts through me when he pushes off the bed and walks to the nightstand next to it. I sit up, preparing my throat for words when I see him take out...oh. Right.
He tears the foil open, slipping the condom over his engorged length. Then he strides to the border of the bed again, my eyes ingesting his handsome, sculpted face and naked, built body. Tall, contoured perfection, washboard abs giving way to the happy trail that leads to his gorgeous cock.
“It’s going to hurt.”
My gaze climbs up to his face at his flat statement, and he’s serious and patient. But I see the tightness in the way he swallows, the strain in the way he holds his breath, the tension in the coiled muscles of his arms as he keeps them unmoving at his sides. One word from me, and he will either give up control, or lose it.
I cock my head and arch a brow. “So?”
Restraint makes way for a ravenous lilt to his stance. Eyes dripping with unchecked need, he climbs back into bed. “Don’t remember asking you to get up, princess.”
I drop on my back again wondering what spell the man has put on me. Why does my body get off on that bossy look and high-handed tone? But I’m too far gone to care about anything other than having him inside me.
He towers over me again, coasting a hand under my waist, and palming one breast gently with the other. My hands roam all over his massive back, gliding over his shoulders, scraping through his hair, and his eyes drift shut at my examination. Teasing my lips with just the promise of a kiss, he pulls back to look into my eyes. A second later, I feel his heated, thick cock nudge my slit, and after three orgasms, I’m drenched, so logic tells me it’ll make it easier for him to slide in. But I still gasp when he drives the blunt, smooth head inside, my walls involuntarily contracting at the unfamiliar invasion.
“Let me in, beautiful.” He commands quietly. “Let me feel your tight pussy feed on my cock.”
This is it. And I can do this. I breathe in and relax my muscles, lifting my hips to receive him, take him in more, but when he inches his cock further, I can’t stop the pained wheeze. Because it burns. Damn it. I like him. I want this. Then why is it hurting?
“Ariel, baby, we don’t have to do this today.”
Annoyance piles up within me at Eli’s concerned look. I’m not weak. Why is he treating me like this fragile china doll? “Yes, we do. I’m done waiting.” I hiss stubbornly. “So do it. Let it hurt.”
He gauges me for a tense moment. I feel his hips flex, before he pushes into me again, his thrust impossibly gentle, so damn careful, all controlled power. I’m at the edge of a sharp prick, and I close my eyes and bite my lip to stop another wince from escaping. But the stab of pain doesn’t worsen, confusing my pussy when it feels a little blast of pleasure instead. I flash my eyes open, and look down where are bodies are joined. His palm is half hidden in the space, but I can feel his thumb caressing my clit. I moan at how good his finger feels, and when I seek his eyes again, I find him gazing touchingly at me.
“Better?” He asks, like he earnestly wants my approval.
I can only nod, as the pain starts to melt away, until I’m wet and loose, until there’s only a stupendous fullness that stretches me to my limits. I’m impossibly mesmerized. At the sweat on his temple and on the curve over his upper lip. At the casual fall of his hair. At the sexy battle in his eyes and the strain in his muscles to stay contained for my sake. At the way he lowers his head and sucks on my nipples almost reverently. Words get jammed in my throat. How did I ever hate this man?
“Like it, baby girl?” He murmurs, perfectly still all the way deep inside me, giving me time to adjust to the size of him. My pussy clamps on his cock over and over to feel that surge of heat travel through my veins.
This can’t be easy for him, and I want so much more too, so I answer him, my fingers stroking his arm. “I’m ready. Don’t hold back, okay?”
He smiles wickedly, and the subtle adoration on his face throws my heartbeat out of whack. But instead of moving his cock, he lifts himself off me until he’s on his knees. We’re still connected deep, when his arms grip my calves and push my knees to my chest, before parting my legs as apart as he needs.
“Grip the pillow.” He grates out, his eyes dark fire. “And don’t fucking hold in your screams.”
Shaking, my arms raise over and fist the pillow. Just in time for him to withdraw completely from me, and then push back in one slow, but solid thrust. I make a sound I’ve never made before. I’m full, all the way to my lonely heart.
“Fuuuuuck.” He grates out. Then he curls his hands firmly around my thighs, and does that with his cock again. Out, then in. “Gonna keep my cock right here. All the fucking time.” He keeps going leisurely, but without stopping.
In his eyes, in the bulging veins on his temple and forearm, in the twitch of his cock inside me, I sense the moment his mood switches. The moment he’s done with being patient and nice. That is when Eli freaking pummels into me, hard and deep, unapologetically taking what he wants. It strains and stabs, but the pain is a speck compared to the incredible sensations that he gives me with every lunge of his hips. Hitting all the right spots. Especially that neediest of spots, with rough but precise strokes that are taking me so close to shattering.
“This what you need, princess? This what you thought about when you played with this tight little thing? My cock breaking you in? Drawing blood?” He rasps, and then drops over me again, pumping in and out, while his teeth gnaw at one nipple.
I nod shakily and bawl something that I don’t even understand.
He keeps slamming his cock in my pussy, almost furiously, skating one hand up from my thigh to my belly to the cleft between my breasts...to wrap around my throat. My eyes flutter open, and he’s staring at me with a resolute intensity that’s blinding. Is this okay, his eyes ask. I tilt my neck in response, feeling the grip of his fingers on my skin. It’s all he needs. His light grip tightens, as he applies pressure, eyes bound to mine. And when he feels me shudder under him, his grasp on my neck hardens. The closer I get to smattering, the harder he presses.
I should be afraid. I should be freaking terrified at this point. I’m sure some woman somewhere has died in a sex game gone wrong. Of a kink that got pushed too far. But I’m struck with lust. With trust and admiration and affection. He knows me better than anybody does, and he’s stayed longer than anybody has. He has somehow cured me of fear, giving me a safe place in his arms to be reckless and out of control.
So when he shifts up and bites the shell of my ear, his hold on my neck punishing, I revel in it. As I lose myself in the hot waves of ecstasy running down my spine, his voice orders, coaxes, “Let go. Show my dick who’s boss, baby girl.”
Oh God. I give him what he wants with the next powerful drive of his hips. I come hard with his cock inside me, my pussy gripping him like he’s gripping my neck. And the more I come, wordless, breathless, the firmer he squeezes, and the more my pussy clings to him.
It drives him crazy, snaps him entirely, as he speeds up even faster, slams into me harder, the dirty smacking sound of skin hitting skin all my oxygen deprived brain can process. His pace is feral as he fucks into me, letting himself go with abandon, and I throb wildly at the onset of another orgasm. When I come again, he unleashes a loud animalistic roar, just before his body tenses. I see the moment play out on his face when he finds his own release, wrapped in pain and bliss. He crashes his mouth over mine as he comes, his teeth sinking pitilessly into the flesh of my lower lip wh
ile his cock jerks inside me.
I imagine the condom full of his cum, and for a moment my euphoria pales. I’m hit with regret for needing that barrier between our skins. I wanted him inside me. All of him. And I know he said he’s mine, but what if this is it? If this is our last time and as far he takes this? What if he meant he’s mine just for tonight? Or just till we had sex? He’ll wake up with me and take me home and then what? That’s what I told him that first day. That I’m okay with doing this once, and with him dumping me after that. I’m not. Shit. Why did I ever think I would be? I’m not that kind of girl. And Eli is all kinds of man.
“You’re in your head, princess.” I can’t pinpoint when he sets my lip free, and raises himself back to look at me.
I force all thoughts away and focus on him. “I’m here with you.” I supply the half lie, my heart ready to crack at the possibility that we’re done.
“Then count.” He mandates.
I blink. Then stare at him, my head momentarily blank.
“Don’t make me ask again, Ariel.” He breathes harshly on my face. “We’ll do this nice and easy next time. But tonight, I’m taking every drop of cum you kept from me.” Kneading my breast hard, thumb flicking at one pointed nipple, he finishes, “Count.”
I’m tired. I’m sore. If I have to be honest, a little lethargic and slightly drowsy. But I can swear it all vanishes at the lewd promise in his eyes. For the night. For next time. He’s mine. No, he’s all fucking mine. And yet, he’s asking me to count, giving me a chance every time to tell him that I can’t take any more. Eli King’s version of a safe word. And I only just got it.
So I count, and watch his eyes explode in a carnal frenzy. “Five.”
Chapter 19
Eli
◆◆◆
>>Selena: I will hack your Venmo, Eli. I will key your car, I will create your Tinder profile with your real number and I will swipe right on every ugly Carrie, Hannah and Rachel who shows interest in becoming your Bachelorette. And I will tell them all that you have a tiny dick that doesn’t work.
I look up Selena stupefied. She’s sitting right across from me in the conference room, and she’s messaging me while we’re in a meeting. I don’t even understand her threats. Or the cause. She sends me another message at my huh? look.
>>Selena: If you hurt her, so help me God, I will find you and kick your jeans-wearing ass.
Fuck. I don’t bother denying or responding. How can I possibly be that obvious? But Scott caught on. Now Selena. And why does everyone keep saying that to me? When I’m the idiot making a fool of myself, eyeing her continually like a piece of candy. In my defense, if they knew how she tastes--
“So what’s the verdict, Eli? Can we run this ad starting Thanksgiving weekend?” Ethan asks me.
I drag my attention away from my phone and my head. “I like it.” I think out loud. “What was the reaction from our focus testing group?”
“The usual. About 73 percent in favor. So we’re good.” He declares.
In theory we would be. If it weren’t for the fact that the girl next to me hasn’t made a comment, but has been fidgeting with a pen ceaselessly for the whole meeting. So I turn to her, and pose the question as professionally as I can, “What did you think, Ms Walton?”
Ms Walton. Like my hands and mouth haven’t been on every inch of her. Four days since that party. Four nights of universe defying sex. Four mornings of waking up with her snuggled fit in my arms. One time I didn’t even wait for her to open her eyes. Just slid my wide awake cock into her dewy pussy. And she took it like a queen. Moaning half drowsily and pushing her ass against me so my dick could go deeper. A sex kitten queen. A sex kitten queen who has problems with the ad that she just saw.
Her fingers flit across the hem of the collar of her blouse, and I know I’ve caught her off guard again. At home, she’s used to me asking questions after meetings end. But not yet in the office. And certainly not when I ask her in a room full of people, when it is only her fourth day here. This is also entirely the opposite of my own deal terms with her, but I have to know what she thinks. I used to just be curious, but now it physically bothers me when I don’t know what she’s thinking. If only she didn’t seem like a deer caught in the headlights every time I ask. Warring with herself with a lost-in-the-woods look like she doesn’t know what to do.
This time, she surprises me by meeting my gaze head on. “I think the ad was sexist.”
Murmurs arise in the room, and Ethan starts, “That’s not possible. It’s traditional, sure, but no way is that ad--”
“Let her speak, Ethan.” I stop him, pissed at the dismissive way he talks. Then I ask her, “Sexist how?”
She purses and curls her lips inward before unfurling them. They come out red and pouty from the effort and one of these days I’m going to kiss them raw when she does that. “Well...first of all there’s the kind of setup depicted in the ad. Husband works, the wife is just...there, kids go to dad begging for a vacation. Secondly, the kids tell him where they want to go. Thirdly, he plans the whole thing, makes the Walton hotels bookings himself and surprises the kids. And the wife’s just looking on proudly at how lucky she is to have a husband who doesn’t consult her before making any decisions. Maybe she didn’t want to go to Disneyland. Maybe she didn’t want to go with them at all. Maybe she wanted to be home with a bottle of wine that made her feel good instead of kids who ignore her when daddy is around, and a douchebag husband who only smiles at her lovingly when she serves him meatloaf. Seriously? What is this--1970?” She pivots to glare at Ethan. “Aren’t you a millennial or something? Or is that how your future looks like to you? Trophy wife and all.” She points at the screen where the ad was playing minutes ago.
For several moments, no one talks. No one moves. I don’t think anyone breathes.
Until Selena breaks the quiet. “I’m with her. I’m not real creative or anything and I know I’m here purely to clear it from a legal standpoint...but now that I think about it, this has been our thing for the last two years. Single income families with working males. Why are we not targeting women? Stir the pot a little--show an ad maybe where single women go on vacations? Or the woman gifts a room to a boyfriend or something?”
Ethan’s face hardens and he ignores both Ariel and Selena now, and addresses me. “Eli, this is ridiculous. If you don’t have a problem with this, it doesn’t matter what Ariel--”
“It matters.” I clench my fist on the table and interrupt him sharply. I bet the weasel bruises like a fucking peach. “And I’d totally bat for you if you had reasonable justifications for the products you’re delivering. But you don’t.” An alienated expression creeps up on his face, and despite my anger, her voice plays in my head. He’s human. So I reluctantly soften my tone. “Maybe I gave you too short a timeframe. Why don’t you take a week more and we can circle back?”
He studies my face for a few seconds, before sitting back in his chair, appeased. “Okay.”
Lastly... “And Ethan?”
“Yeah?” He asks.
“You will call her Ms Walton.”
He looks taken aback, but nods anyway.
When the meeting ends, I instruct her in a low voice as people start filing out of the long conference room. “Come see me in my office.”
Warren insisted on setting her up in his old one, and I hate it because it’s all the way on the other side of the building from mine, almost a five minute walk, which is too goddamn far when I’m now used to extending my arm and finding her on the bed.
“Why?” She asks on a whisper, meeting my eyes, still seeming peeved with the ad, her brow crinkled above her nose.
By way of answer, I drop my glance to her lips, before venturing, “Do you know that endorphins released during sex and orgasms are natural stress relievers?”
Her eyes stretch, and I know why. We’ve been coming regularly to the office ever since the party, but it’s strictly hands off. We’re two people temporarily working together. And al
though she’s more of an intern than anything else, it’s so much fun teaching her things. Until her, I’ve never seen anyone as excited as I am at the prospect of a new online room reservation software. It’s not just the fact that she picks up things quickly--it’s how much she genuinely likes to be taught. Especially by me. But three hours since we got here today, meaning three hours since I’ve touched or kissed her. Of course I’ve been thinking of fucking her all the damn time. And I’m folding like a pack of cards.
“Go home before you two trip the wiring of this place.”
Startled, our eyes hurtle to the door, where Selena stands, laptop in hand. The room is empty save for her and us.
“There’s nothing going on between us!” Ariel scrambles hurriedly.
At the same time as I bark at Selena, “Maybe we will.”
Annoyed and rankled that our answers are opposed and switched, I narrow my eyes at Ariel. “Really? Nothing going on between us?”
Ariel shifts in her chair, and glances uncomfortably at Selena. So I throw at Selena, “Go.”
Selena stays right where she is, gaze speculative. “Nope. I have nowhere to be.” She informs me before asking Ariel, “Is this man bothering you, Ms Walton?”
Fuck this. I push my chair back and get on my feet. “You’re walking with me to my office. Now.” I announce to Ariel, and then to Selena, “Not that it’s anybody’s goddamn business--I like Ariel and she likes me. And nobody knows--including Warren--so I don’t want one more fucking word out of you on this.”
“You be freaking nice to her, Eli!!” Ariel stands up and hisses at me. “She’s looking out for us--don’t you get that? She closed the door for us while you were propositioning me with orgasms!!”
Fucking hell. I did not get that. Looking out for us? Why would she? Jesus, but she is. She also covered for us that evening with Warren, telling him that Ariel wasn’t feeling well, without me even asking her to. I have a friend? Christ, I have a friend. Boggled, I flash an awkwardly apologetic gaze at Selena, but hers is homing on Ariel.
