by Eris Adderly
Now it was a whole thigh, in addition to his cock, and some enticing loss of control that came from the subtle way he splayed her.
“I said ‘yes’, though.”
“You did,” he said, “but … I shouldn’t have.” He moved his free hand up under her arm to her breast, gathering, weighing. “But there were times, I mean I couldn’t see your face, but … did you … did you like it at all?”
How was this prick sounding all insecure and needing-of-reassurance when she was lying here glazing his thigh like a Christmas ham? And more, how did he go right to the heart of her own struggles, just like that?
Christina turned her head, at last, the Bill who wasn’t a reflection coming into her periphery.
“I didn’t want to,” she said, quiet now. “I mean, I did. Start liking it. I just … felt like I wasn’t supposed to.” Her brows came down, even as his thumb brushed over her nipple. “You kicked my feet apart.” She wanted to get this out. “And then I found out you were a cop? I don’t know …”
The pink little bud was happily suffering the absent tug of his thumb and forefinger now, and Christina couldn’t help her eyes closing. Her backside pushing against his warmth. But Bill still had plenty to say.
“It’s hard for me not to read into stuff”—the tug became a tighter grip, a twist and she sucked in air through her teeth—“but there have been times I … when I’ve gotten a little rough.” He let go only after her mouth came open at the singular focus of pain. “And I worry I go too far, but … the way you react, it seems like …”
Had she been that obvious? Christ, the man read her like a fucking book.
A book he was cracking wide open by propping up the knee he’d installed between hers. She spread with his movement, and the crafty bastard took full advantage. His touch was back, exploring wetness, teasing her entrance. Christina tried to get her head together. There was no point in confessing if she was incoherent.
“I like what you do, Bill.” The tip of a finger nudged inside, but she kept going, distracted as all get-out. “I don’t think it’s … a thing I normally want?” He decided he needed to kiss her cheekbone at that moment, and she lost a moan before she could finish.
“But … it’s you,” she managed at last, “and I like when you just … have what you want.”
There. It was out. Bill Marshall now had proof she’d been enjoying every damn thing he’d done to or asked of her. If he was going to judge her, or god-knew-what, well then there was nothing she could do about it.
His hand slid further along her cleft, arm curling in around her waist with his reach.
“And when I wanted more?” His voice had dropped an octave. A fingertip traced the pucker between her cheeks, and her eyes came open again. “Did you still like it?”
Wow, he is really gonna make me say everything.
There were a lot of things Christina would have been happy for Bill to ‘make’ her do, at that moment. The pressure increased, and she squirmed as her ring dimpled under his touch.
“I don’t really have”—Christina inhaled when he pushed past resistance with a slick finger, and tried not to lose the thread of her thought—“anything to compare it to, but … yeah.” He bobbed in and out, and she whined. “I did. I was actually pretty pissed I didn’t get to come.”
Bill stopped, lodged there.
“Wait, you’d never …?”
“I mean, you know, a finger,” she said, rolling a nod to the obvious.
“Christina …” The invading touch stroked, moving deeper. “You gave me your virgin ass?”
“Well Jesus, when you put it like that …” Her words came at a breath now. She had zero self-control whenever Bill Marshall decided violating her was on the menu.
“Fuck, why didn’t you say something?”
She could have laughed. If he wasn’t in there making her feel filthy and vulnerable. Her boss sounded both aggrieved and turned on at once at the idea he’d taken that from her without asking questions.
“I could’ve said ‘no’.” She could’ve done a lot of things. But she’d bent over and let him pick where he’d wanted to come, hadn’t she?
“Nngh, god.” His hips rocked forward, and he bit her shoulder. “And you’re telling me you like it when I have what I want?”
And the momentum crested the hill. She let it roll her.
“Yeah, I do.”
“And if I want it again?” He humped his erection along her inner thigh, voice gone all husky and aggressive. “If I want to push all this up inside your little asshole?” His finger rooted for punctuation, and Christina arched her neck back, hips writhing.
“Oh, fuck me, yes.” She was his, delirious. “You can have whatever the fuck you want.”
“Fuck yeah.” His response came ground between teeth.
For a time, there were just her small noises, their breathing as he plumbed into her in anticipation. One finger became two, and she gasped. Memories of the first time he’d readied her that way had her leaking cream, the heel of his palm smearing it between her thighs.
Just when she started to lose sense of time and place, Bill withdrew the touch. Hot, hard man slid between her cheeks, grazing her confused hole. She snapped back to the present.
“Do you have lube?”
She felt him nod at the back of her head. “Nightstand.”
It hadn’t been horrible the first time, but there was no sense in skipping the option to make it better. Christina leaned out over the edge of the bed, his circling arm keeping her from falling off while she reached for the drawer. Her fingers closed around a small bottle.
She righted herself and passed it back to him, watching the mirror as he snapped the lid. Something about the sight of his fist slicking down his shaft made her heartbeat thump. Ill-timed curiosity loosened her tongue.
“Have you ever … thought of me?” she said. His eyes came up, and she knew her face would turn red. “You know, and …” Her nod indicated his strokes.
His face fell into some sort of helplessness. “What, are you kidding me?” he said. “Damn near wore the thing out.”
A smile sabotaged her face. They were a pair, then.
She draped her leg back over his hip. A forearm was between them, and she felt him aiming. Spreading lube with the blunt head of his cock. Her pulse fluttered.
Again. We’re doing this again.
The mirror withheld nothing. Her boss was at her back, her thighs wide for his access. Guilty fantasy on the verge of repeating itself, hard and ready to wreck her sense of right and wrong all over again.
But it’s right this time.
“You sure?” he said, pressing hot flesh between her cheeks.
His fingers had worn down her body’s reluctance. He was only nudging and she wanted the push. Wanted to pull him in. Her back arched and she centered on him, screwing her hips so there was only one direction he could go.
The ring of muscle kissed around the tip of his dick and began to open. It was right this time and she groaned.
“Oh my god, Bill.”
It had to have been assurance enough, because he canted his hips and made a real effort. Much more than two fingers began to burrow into her ass. Christina’s jaw went slack and brow furrowed to see their reflection: his stiff prick disappearing and not into her pussy.
Unlike that day in the back half, everything was slippery now. She dilated around him without friction, her wants overruling instinct to push, to accept him.
When the ridge of his head made it past her barrier, Bill pulled himself back, retracing the path, teasing so many bewildered nerves. She knew what came next and let him have it, the surrender to sensation so much easier when Christina could admit what she wanted.
He dipped in and out of her, just enough for a quick breach every time to get her whimpering. Just enough to have her hole opening and closing around him in a continuous dance, while his palm cupped behind her knee and held her thigh up out of the way.
And the mi
nute his rhythm started making any sense, Bill switched gears and moved in only one direction: in. There were occasional minor retreats to spread lube, but now he had a mission, and that appeared to be getting as deep into her body as he could go.
She let herself take full, slow breaths as he worked increasing girth up into her rectum. Her cunt drooled at the feeling of being at capacity this way. The idea that, once he lodged home, she could squirm and clench and push, and still nothing could stop him from holding her open. From filling and fucking her until he was done using her how he wanted.
The mirror showed when there was none of him left. Plump scrotum stoppered up against her cheeks. She reached down to feel it; to take in the reality of Bill Marshall hilt-deep in her ass. He groaned at her touch and his fingers dug into the back of her thigh.
“Ffuuck.”
He thumped inside her and she made some sound. Quiet. High-pitched. It was nothing compared to the noise that came out of her when he brought most of his length back through her entrance. And then invaded again. She whined, and he was only starting. Retreat and she was almost empty, save the plugging cockhead. Attack and she was full, wonderfully abused.
Retreat and attack, the cycle continued and she let him take. The arm she wasn’t leaning on drifted behind her and up to the back of his neck. She held on, her breath coming hoarse as he took his time fucking her helpless channel.
On a long slide in, he growled in her ear. “You like my cock in your ass, Christina?”
No hesitation, and she pushed back, words flowing out in a rush. “I like your cock everywhere, Bill.”
“Yeah?” He grabbed her wrist and brought her hand to the back of her knee, passing off the burden so he could slip his fingers between her legs. Her pussy made wet sounds under his touch. “Here, too?” He found the other place she ached. “Should we fill up all your holes?”
Middle and ring fingers pushed into sloppy pink, and Christina was doubly full. Her eyes went wide, and she made some feral noise. Bill only sounded satisfied and went about stuffing her from both sides.
He sluiced his two fingers in and out of her now, squelching each time he plunged home. Her asshole opened wide around the fat prick drilling in obscene tandem.
There was no control left. Christina was just letting everything happen. She held her thigh up, spreading herself for him. Everything from her clit to the crack of her ass soaked. Holes eager, swallowing, sucking, begging for Bill Marshall.
His supporting arm snaked under her shoulder and more fingers were in her mouth. She mewled and writhed, desperate and on the verge.
“Yeeaaah, dirty girl, just like that.” He pistoned into her. “Take this cock.”
She took the cock. She took the fingers. Her clit took only the slightest graze of the heel of his hand and Christina exploded on him.
Dirty girl.
Some choking sound gurgled out of her and the hand left her mouth, trailing spit down her chin.
Dirty.
He rutted her ass, grunting, fingers in her pussy hooking upward to make her wail.
“Bill!”
She came around him, fluttering, milking. Body grasping with wet walls at anything he’d squeezed inside it. Blood pounded to her clit, and her hips curled, the clench of her muscles nearly forcing him out.
But Bill was determined, driving into her even past the tightening she couldn’t control. The frantic work of his cock reached the very first threshold of pain when his fingers withdrew to a wet grip at her waist.
“Fuck, Christina, where?”
She knew that tone. There weren’t even seconds.
“In my ass,” she said. “I want to feel you.”
He swore and slammed home, once, twice. Hard, male flesh kicked inside her, followed by hot semen coating the last few thrusts. Lube had been a help, but cum was raw. Decadent. He came down slow, dragging wetly in and out past her twitching hole.
Christina lay panting, everything between her thighs throbbing with her pulse, a twinge in her chest from the exertion of her lungs. Bill slid back in to the hilt, clutching her hipbone like his life would drain out if they separated. His mouth was on her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, kisses everywhere but where she really wanted them.
It would be so easy to turn her head.
But then what? Break the spell? And when she admitted it out loud, how could she justify taking the money? How was she going to keep her granddad above water?
So that’s it. You’re a whore then. Proven.
When enough of his lust abated to have him slipping back out, Bill moved to squeezing, massaging with hands anywhere her muscles had bunched and flexed over the last few minutes. Her upper thigh, the meat of her ass, her ribs.
She rolled onto her back, her shoulder and hip nestled into him. Brown eyes gazed down, softer than she’d ever seen, and the kneading fingers came up to trace her cheek, down into the hollow of her throat. Christina swallowed, barely able to maintain.
Oh, yes. She would be Bill Marshall’s whore. She would be anything to keep getting this.
The next errant kiss landed on her forehead. When he lifted his face, he had that look. Like he wanted to say something. He wouldn’t. He never did when he got that look. And Christina didn’t want to head down the road of trying to pry his thoughts out of him. That was for people in relationships.
Still, she smiled up at him. Ran her fingertips along his arm. She could have this right now.
“Bill … that was …”
He gave a grunt of amusement. “Yeah, it was.”
The sole of his foot rubbed along the top of hers. His hand came to rest on her belly. Christina ducked her face into the crook of his neck. Closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of promises, so close.
When she woke up, the room was dark.
A breath pulled in through her nose. Pupils strained to dilate, to make out shapes in the dim light coming from the living room.
Of Bill’s house.
She had fallen asleep in her boss’s bed. The weight of his arm draped over her waist. They were both still nude. She turned her head, blinking toward the clock on his nightstand. Red digits spiked her system with adrenaline.
2:49 am.
Shit. Shit!
No. There was no way she could spend the whole night. Forget the three hours. This was a whole other conversation.
She shifted her left leg off the edge of the bed, following it with the right, her body angling. When her upper half slid under Bill’s arm, he hummed, groggy.
“ ‘Stina?”
“Hey,” she said, voice quiet and straining to keep panic down. “I should get going.”
“Don’t have to.” His words thinned through a stretch of his arms. “It’s warmer under the covers.”
Christina groaned inside. Yes. Let’s fucking snuggle with Asshole Bill. Let’s just admit it’s all over. Get up in the morning, have the world’s most awkward cup of coffee.
“I have to get home.”
She extracted herself and stood, wavering on legs not quite communicating with her brain yet. Fumbled her way to the bathroom and felt around the floor for her skirt. There was no way she was turning the light on and facing down whatever she looked like in his mirror.
Her bra and top were still on the floor next to the couch, along with her sandals. There was no locating her underwear; he was just going to have a souvenir, that’s all there was to it. Her purse lay where it had fallen by the front door, and she grabbed it up, other hand on the knob.
You can’t just run. That’s even more weird.
She sighed and padded back to the bedroom, careful not to bump into furniture and doorways in the dark. At the edge of the bed, she reached out a hand. Touched Bill’s shoulder. He hummed.
“Good night, Bill,” she said. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
There was no missing his hand catching hers and squeezing, even as she stepped away.
“G’night.”
She wouldn’t have been surprised if he wa
s asleep again by the time the front door shut behind her.
The Bronco seemed horrendously loud starting up at that time of the morning, and she ground her teeth until she’d pulled out of the driveway. It wasn’t cold out, but her arms clenched tight against her body, knees stiff together as she navigated home.
Her own bed was less warm, but also less full of ramifications. Staying the night had been out of the question, but now that Christina was alone, there was nothing stopping her from rolling around in the rest of it.
Her night with Bill had been over the top. All expectations flew right out the window, useless when compared to everything that had actually happened. All the sex, yes, but it was like a dance, a language, and Christina was not used to that. She was not used to saying so much to another person without words.
And the few words there were? Somewhere in Bill’s questions, his dirty talk, she’d put together something more. He cared about how he was making her feel. There were hopes on his end for her satisfaction, her comfort.
Don’t get too comfortable, Christina Lee.
It was fucking late, though. She could percolate all this in the morning.
When she shoved a hand up under her cheek, settling in to sleep curled on her side, the scent of him drifted over her pillow, still on her skin. She breathed deep and retraced the feel of lips on her forehead. Slept on the fantasy of breaking rules.
There were panties in his pocket on Monday and Bill couldn’t keep the idiot grin from resurfacing on his face every half an hour or so. It was stupid, but he didn’t care. Christina was off that day, and the reminder made him … well, happy.
He sat on the counter stool cutting the week’s pos, since her days off had shifted to the beginnings of weeks and Christina wasn’t around to do it.
Travis had given him more than one side-eye that morning, and it was an odd poke at Bill’s self-examination. Was he that cranky all the time for a genuine good mood to have people looking like they wanted to tackle him and check for a belly button?
But yeah. Yeah, he was. He’d heard it all his adult life.
