by Eris Adderly
His palm slid up over her belly, between her breasts and back down. He joined it with a second hand, and she moaned when his thumbs dragged a line down from her navel. The flimsy skirt was bunched around her waist, its only use now to remind him she’d chosen something hot to wear. Just for him.
Bill fell back down to top her, savoring the way his body locked her in, the way her arms came around his back. He had kisses for her throat again, her temple and cheek because no matter how much he wanted her tongue in his mouth, he wouldn’t break his promise.
She was rocking up onto him now, taunting his cock, and he was probably abrading her with his jeans. Bill shifted, weight on one arm, and risked the other hand to take down his fly, to bring himself out. When he settled back into that hot cradle, bare flesh on bare, hard flesh, Christina made a noise he couldn’t describe.
“Ohh, fuck yeah.”
Her words were a breath, and she rolled her hips, slicking his cock in arousal. Everything narrowed down to the wet slide of her pussy, the rise and fall of her breasts. All those shaking breaths she took, right there, because of him.
The sounds in the room were pornographic: hissing between teeth, animal grunts while they tormented each other. Her hands found his ass and she held him there, grinding. He lifted away just enough so the drag of his shaft was only a tease, loving the strain on her features to get the pressure back.
Her fingernails were in his lower back and Christina growled.
“Jesus Christ, Bill, just fuck me.”
She was lucky he didn’t nut right then.
His hand went back to find the condom. Brought it out so she could see, the heat of her words stoking parts of Bill that liked power.
“Yeah?” he said. “You wanna get fucked, Christina Lee?”
“God damn it!” She bucked against him, clawing his hips. “Yes, please. Now.”
He could’ve watched her beg for hours, but his dick overruled those games. He tore open the wrapper and had the condom out and rolled down his length in record time.
One quick thrust should have followed a race to the finish like that, but some part of Bill not ruled by testosterone made him pause. He hovered there, nocked at her entrance, palms poised on her thighs, ready.
Her ribs rose and fell, touch resting on his knees. Summer made the inside of his house warm, but she let out a shivering breath.
This was so, so different. The first time he’d been inside her, consent had been a technicality and Bill was probably going to hell for it. Second time, too, but he hadn’t missed her sounds, and all the other little ways she responded in the weeks after that.
Tonight she’d looked him in the eye. Asked. Literally pleaded. He didn’t know where they would go after this, but these three hours existed in a vacuum as far as Bill was concerned. They could both have the fantasy.
Rather than leaning down and shoving home, Bill lifted Christina by the hips. Began dragging her up his thighs.
Her eyes got big when the head of his prick pushed into wetness. Pushed and kept pushing. She was soaked; there was no need to strain or shift. He’d beat off forever to the image of her mouth coming open at the same, deliberate pace he impaled her.
When the well beneath her mound hugged in around his balls, Bill ground his teeth. Searched the backs of his eyelids for the span of a breath.
“God, Christina.”
And then she squeezed him. Not with her hands.
It was over.
He did use his own hips, now, drawing back and sheathing again, grip keeping her tilted for him. She gasped at real motion and made that face only the naïve thought meant pain.
Even with the condom, it was too good, too tight. The sight of it was excruciating. Her lips flaring around him, pink and glossed. The way her eyelids fluttered each time he bottomed out.
He picked up speed, driving at a steady pace. Her heels bumped at his ass, and one of her hands rose to brace against the arm of the couch.
Christina’s face and chest were turning red. When he brought a thumb to worry over her clit, the breath she was holding burst out in a groan. Her ass flexed on his thighs in a move to push herself higher into his touch, onto his cock.
What felt like an hour could have been seconds as Bill watched her breasts bounce, her swollen mound writhe. Here was his perfect Christina, impaled like some primitive sacrifice, but it was real. Then and there, he was sure of it. No couch that ugly existed in anyone’s fantasy life.
Bill fell forward, overwhelmed, arms bracing him above her. The new angle fit her tight against his hips, and he wasted no time rooting down into her cunt. Blue eyes rolled back, and nails dug into his forearm.
“Oh God, Bill, like that.” Her knees came up to rake his ribs, to open her body for more. “Pleeease like that, fuck me. Fuckhh ...”
The last of her demands got lost in jostled breath, but who wouldn’t follow orders like that? He sank down on his elbows, pinning her, lighting a storm of sensation as more of their flesh came in contact. His urge was to assault her throat with his mouth and to fuck, but seeing would be worth the self-control.
Bill held himself where he was, eyes rapt on every twitch of her brow, every shift of her jaw. He buried his cock home again and again, praying he wouldn’t drip sweat on her or anything else stupid to ruin it. God, she was beautiful.
His right hand slid behind her neck to cup the base of her skull. Somehow the way his thumb brushed behind her ear made her feel breakable. Precious.
Her mouth came open with her breath. Fingers splayed on his chest as she urged him to take and take. To use and be used.
The thought tore something loose in Bill, and the work of his hips sped. Christina felt it and growled through her teeth.
“Fuck yeah, hard.” She met his thrusts, pussy slapping his groin. “Do it. Do it.”
It turned out any sort of dirty talk from Christina at all was way more than Bill could handle. The rush built behind his balls and he raged into her, pounding. In seconds, his universe narrowed to blinding totality, jetting the length of his cock, pumping her full of warmth.
Well. Pumping latex full of warmth, but he didn’t. Fucking. Care.
“Christina, god damn.”
He strained through the last of it, sure he was making some awful face above her, but the woman taking him in only cooed encouragement, hips rolling with his final surges. Her touch was everywhere, soothing, accepting, from his shoulders to his arms to his waist.
When he came around, she was a mirage of blonde hair and reddened cheeks looking up at him. Smiling.
There were zero reasons he deserved this.
Bill drew fingers over her chest, her belly. He wanted to collapse, but made the effort to sit back up, instead. Before he did something disastrous, like kiss her.
He met her smile. Pushed his hair back over the top of his head. “Do you, uh—”
“Oh!”
They’d leaned far enough apart for him to slip out, and Bill chuckled at her reaction. She laughed with him, and he rubbed a palm along her thigh. The scene was excruciatingly comfortable.
“Do you want to take a shower?”
Christina cocked her head and squinted her eyes at him, before her lips turned another smile. She nodded, as though accepting some challenge. “Okay.”
What would happen after, Bill wasn’t totally sure. As they untangled limbs and polished off the last of the water, the condom started losing its hold. He’d already gone one round for the night, and it was anyone’s guess how soon he’d be ready for anything else.
Not that he didn’t want anything else. Everything else. But she had to want it. He’d drawn a line in the sand. He was tired of being a creep.
They stood, and she trailed him out of the living room, down the hall to the bath, still only wearing her rumpled skirt.
He dropped the condom into the trash and slid open the glass of the shower door. Cranked the water on to let it get hot.
Christina’s fingers traced the edge of the van
ity, the image of her, topless in his mirror still something out of a dream. She smirked, eyeballing the room. “Wow, you got the whole pink-tile Nana-bathroom, huh?”
He nodded, pulling towels from a cabinet. “Yeah, I’m blaming that on the early 60s,” he said, still somewhat numb to the idea of letting her so far into his private life.
You’d let her further, and you know it. Jackass.
She was dropping the skirt to the floor and he forgot what he was doing. Sure, he’d seen everything now, but naked was naked. The way she chewed her lip after, as though she expected judgment, made him want to bite a knuckle. Instead, he shed his jeans and boxers, piling them atop her skirt.
Steam was wafting over the top of the glass now, and Bill stuck his hand around into the water.
Good.
When he turned back, Christina’s eyes were on him, their appraisal frank. She flushed at being caught, but Bill distracted her.
“You want to get in?” He gestured at the open half of the glass.
She nodded and slipped past him, one foot lifting over the edge of the tub, and then the other, until she stood in the spray. He followed, pulling the door shut behind them.
Water started slicking her hair down her back. Running over her shoulders. It took him a beat to close his mouth and hand her one of the two washcloths he’d brought.
“Here,” he said. “In case you want to … you know …” He made some vague gesture.
Bill’s primary goal was to not be sweaty around her for the rest of their time that night. Having her nude and wet in front of him while he achieved it was a bonus.
She lathered her cloth, and then handed him the bar of soap with aching familiarity. As though it were something they did every day. He took it and got to work on himself, scrubbing everywhere he imagined might offend.
Christina went with more leisure, moving under her arms, the backs of her knees, between her thighs like it was some kind of slow, ritual dance. He was standing there like an idiot by the time she hung the rag over the door handle.
Blue eyes turned on him, and they were somehow bigger, deeper for the water now plastering the halo of her hair darker against her scalp. He was already at the far end of the tub, and she stepped toward him, fingers of her right hand coming up to draw through the damp scatter of hair on his chest.
Bill twitched a bemused smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She joined him in happy awkwardness.
A number of her wet, naked parts greeted him. The tips of her breasts flattened against his ribs, the long muscles of her thighs bumped his. She leaned in and stopped the descent of a droplet of water from his collarbone with the flat of her tongue. Eyes flicked up and then she dropped to catch another. A slick touch drifted from his hip. She was cupping his balls.
Bill inhaled with a hiss and exhaled with a groan.
Christina massaged and tugged. One of his nipples caught her attention and she moved to lick, to nip with teeth. He jerked, and his shoulders met the shower wall. She kept moving. Down.
Right there. Right there in his very own house, Christina sank to sit on her heels. Her touch rose to his prick, and there it was, at eye level with her, nodding back to life like a champ.
That soft hand began to jack him, slow, but firm. She looked up at him with huge eyes, the humidity making the dark of her eye makeup blur and begin to run a little. Whatever Bill was trying to prove with tonight, he couldn’t deny how pornographic it all looked, and his cock plumped further in approval.
Then she opened her mouth.
Pink tongue coated him from base to tip and, before he could even swear at the violent perfection of the sight, Christina had taken him in. The warmth of her palate caged him, and she fed his length down to meet her fist before pulling off, descending again.
“Oh, fuck, honey.”
Bill’s head went back to rest on the tiles, oblivious of the endearment as she stroked him into her mouth. His hand came up on its own to rest atop her damp hair in some weird need to verify the reality. Yes, Christina Lee Dodd was indeed on her knees in his shower, worshipping his dick. Unprompted.
The touch of his hand signaled some shift, and her twisting grip fell to the side. Now, she worked him with the bob of her head, the suck of her hollowed cheeks. As he watched, mesmerized, the rush in Bill’s ears built.
Yeah, fuck.
So good, he—
Wait, no!
“Christina.” He pulled his hips back and touched her shoulder.
She swallowed, chest pink from effort. “Are you okay?”
Bill let out a labored breath. “Oh god. So okay. I just didn’t want to …” His arousal bobbed between them. “You know … not yet.”
Her lips drew into a smile, and she gave him a slow nod. “Okay.” Pushed herself to stand.
“Not that it wasn’t fucking fantastic, what you were doing.”
The size of her grin had him wanting to just sign it all over.
You are so fucked, Marshall.
✪
Christina scrubbed the towel over her hair in a final effort to minimize dripping, before wrapping white terry around her breasts and tucking it beneath her arm. The reality somehow still hadn’t touched her.
Drying off with Bill’s towel. Showering in Bill’s bathroom. Sucking Bill’s dick because damn, if she hadn’t wanted him in her mouth again.
And back there on the couch?
Fuuuu …
Her boss had already pulled his own towel around his waist and meandered out into the bedroom—oh my god, Bill Marshall’s fucking bedroom—to flick on a nightstand lamp. The edge of the bed sank under his weight as he sat. The warm glow of the light and his watching eyes invited.
Christina hovered in the doorway, one hand on the frame as though it were the last touchstone of stability. The part of her that had nearly panicked and turned the Bronco around earlier tonight was still vibrating with nerves.
It was such a tiny part of her now, though. The rest of her, the majority, left clothing strewn all over Asshole Bill’s house. That part wrapped legs around her boss and begged to be fucked. That part pushed her out of the bathroom. Toward the man on the bed.
When she got near enough, he reached out with both hands, tugging her by the waist between his knees. Drops of water still beaded his shoulders, and Christina drew a path between several with a fingertip.
“Can I be honest?” he said, eyes climbing to her collarbone.
She shifted her weight onto the other foot. “Um. Okay?”
Bill gave a faint shake of his head. “You’re just … too fucking much.” Brown eyes met hers. “I have no idea what to do with you.”
Her mouth twitched in half a smile. So. Validation. He was being driven just as insane as she was.
Good.
“I think what we been doin’ is just fine, Bill.”
His chest rose and fell at this. “Yeah?”
Work-tanned hands came up and pulled the wrap of her towel loose, and it fell in a damp pile at her feet. His eyes made plans, and the pause filled the space between them until it burst.
He snapped up one of her tits, nipple in his mouth, between his teeth. Even as she sucked in air, he had two handfuls of her ass, pulling her closer, spreading her for probably no other reason but that it made her feel dirty.
Christina whimpered when the suction became hard. Switched sides while rough fingers squeezed and plucked. Before she knew rhyme or reason, however, he was turning her by the hips. A yank and a shove had her back to him, and she looked her own naked self in the eye.
This fucker …
Those same hands splayed over her belly, a good deal darker than the soft, pale flesh she saw in the mirrored closet doors. She swayed there on her feet, buffeted by the shock of seeing her nude body, and Bill touching it.
He scooped the damp rope of her hair over a shoulder, and then there were kisses along her spine. Wet, open-mouthed kisses while his hands roamed, first one clutching her breast, and then the other dip
ping between her thighs.
It was somehow intimate and eerily impersonal at once. She couldn’t see his face, but Christina sure as hell could watch the grope of his hands and match them with the sensations they inflicted. She was arching, widening her stance for the play of his fingers, when he locked his grip and hauled her back; down with him on the bed.
Her back was to his chest now, as he pulled them onto their sides. In the shift of position, Bill’s towel had given way. An erection crowded her lower back.
He supported his head with a palm and a bent elbow, and Christina twisted her spine enough to meet the angle of his gaze. For a time, sobriety stayed well away and they wallowed in grinding, the mauling of her tits and teasing of her pussy.
At some point, his cock had slipped between her closed thighs, and she rode the length of him, letting the fat head burrow along her slit. There was something sweet about enjoying the torment of pantomime. No one was in a hurry; no customer was going to interrupt them. There was plenty of time for games, and no losers when it came to seeing which of them could best torment the other.
When Bill slowed his movements at last, Christina let some of the tension out of her legs and reached down to massage the underside of his prick. He hadn’t stilled entirely, but she felt lips brush her ear and the softening of his touch at her hip.
The reflection those few feet from the bed was mesmerizing—her bare curves laid out on Bill’s bed, his face and shoulder rising from behind her.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
Christina made eye contact with the mirror instead of twisting her neck. “Okay.”
Fingers smoothed over the crease where her thigh met her body, and he settled closer to her back, if that were possible. The man was snuggling.
“The, um … the first time you and I, you know, in the back half …”
No, come on. Don’t be sweet and cute right now. I can’t take it.
“Yeah?” She slid her hand over the top of his.
“I mean, it was …” His top foot insinuated between her ankles, and then his calf, his knee was between hers. “I know it was way inappropriate for me to … ask you for something like that.”
