by Ella Roane
Her words are like a trumpet in my ears. A call to action. A beckoning. All I know is that I’m hers to command, at least in this. Here and now.
My feet start moving before I even ask the question, “Where’s the bedroom?”
“Bedrooms are for sissies,” she says, taunting me with warm, hungry kisses that blaze a trail down my temple.
Even with the attention she’s lavishing upon me, I manage to retain awareness of our surroundings. I pass the kitchen and a breakfast nook. The space opens into a living room. There’s a couch.
It’ll do.
The couch’s back is to us. Rather than walk around it, I straddle its back and slip down to sink into its cushions. Stella’s legs release their hold on my waist and fold themselves to frame my thighs, her knees at my hips. It’s a position I like, but I don’t let her stay that way long. She gives my jaw a nip and starts to work her way down my throat, but I flip her onto her back. It lands her with her feet on the edge of the couch, her back slouched against its back, her thighs spread wide. Her sweet core is all but exposed to me. Only a thin layer of lace remains as a modest barrier, one meant to tease and tempt.
The shift has put me with my knees on the floor and my torso towering over her. My arms are like pylons to either side of her head. Her mouth is open and her eyes are huge as she looks up at me, but her look of shock drifts lazily into wicked contentment. Her eyes narrow mischievously, and a Mona Lisa smile teases with unspoken promises.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she purrs. She drags a fingernail across the front of my leather jacket. Running out of leather and ending up on the thin fabric of my t-shirt doesn’t deter her. The sensation sends shivers through me and morphs her Mona Lisa smile into that of a big, unabashed grin. “Get naked,” she orders.
I sit back on my heels, putting distance between us. I’m no longer touching her. My hands are on my hips.
It’s my turn to smile. This is my chance to regain some control.
“No,” I tell her.
“No?” she parrots, disbelief in her voice. She adjusts her position to sit up a little. “I didn’t call you over here for you to gawk at me. Now either you’ve got something fun to share in those jeans of yours or you can go.”
A woman who says what she wants. I hadn’t thought it possible, but I fall in love even more. But I think it’s a sentiment that’s mine and mine alone. My girl wants to ravage me as part of a catch and release program. I can see it in her eyes, but that won’t do.
“And after I give you what you want?” I challenge.
Her lips shift into the prettiest pout, then she shrugs. “Afterward, you can still go.”
My smile gets bigger. “You want to use me for my body and then discard me,” I paraphrase for her.
“No, I want to use you for orgasms… then discard you.” She says it deadpan, but then smiles bright and sweet. “It’s a win-win. You have fun. I have fun.” Her gaze dips away from mine. “Then we go our separate ways.”
“So, that’s your game. I thought so.” I grin. “I told you, you ain’t getting this”—I motion with my hand to my body—“until you put a ring on this.” I point at the appropriate finger.
Stella laughs, but she also grabs a throw pillow and positions it between her thighs, blocking my view to her very beautiful, barely covered pussy. As soon as she gets the pillow in place, I’m gently pulling it away.
“Nuh uh. You don’t get to hide from me,” I tell her, my voice low. Her lids flutter, and she visibly swallows. She starts to shift position again, and I can tell that she means to get up, so I position myself over her once more. I slide an arm under her back and return her to her previous slouched position. It puts that gorgeous pussy of hers right at the edge of the couch. I lean into her, letting her feel how hard she has made me.
Stella’s mouth opens, her cheeks flush, and her breath quickens.
“I can still give you what you want… what you need,” I tell her. I lower myself for a kiss, moving slow. I hover just short of her lips and wait until she reaches for me.
Our kiss is both desperate and slow. My sweet girl’s pussy is rubbing against my trapped hardness, and she’s mewing little moans into my mouth. She’s already the best I’ve ever had. Her sounds, scent and touch have my head reeling.
I capture the mound of her breast in my hand. It takes up the whole of my hand and then some. So warm, so soft. My mouth leaves hers, travels down her neck and over her chest to capture a tight nipple.
Chapter 11
Stella
My back arches right off the couch when Brad’s mouth claims my nipple. Other men had been there before, but what they’d done hadn’t felt like this. Like fireworks. They hadn’t short circuited my brain with sensation. They hadn’t made me blind with passion.
But this man—Brad—the guy who claimed to want to marry me, he’s doing all that and more the instant his mouth takes me.
My body is screaming for an orgasm, to have his thickness inside of me. I need him. I have to have him. My brain will explode if I don’t.
My hands sink into his hair, my fingers tighten, and I pull his head up so that he must look into my face. Those gray, smoky eyes lock with mine. He holds onto my nipple, stretching it until it pops from his mouth. He leaves it a little swollen, hard enough to cut diamonds, and glistening with his wetness. My eyes dart to my other nipple. It looks sad and alone in comparison, devoid of his attentions. Devoid of his mark.
I’m torn between demanding that he pull away from me to take off his clothes or demanding he ravage the nipple he’s ignored. It aches with anticipation, and the need to have his mouth on it washes over me to steal all my oxygen. I feel as if I’ll suffocate if I don’t have him. Now!
With a strangled cry I’ve never heard the likes of before from me, I redirect his attention from my face to my lonely nipple.
“Please,” I whimper.
His answering growl washes over me, leaving the nerve endings of every inch of my skin alight and just as desperate as my poor nipple. I scream, and my body jerks when his hot, hungry mouth closes over me. But that doesn’t stop him. It doesn’t give him pause. He doesn’t stop to ask if I’m okay, the way a nervous, barely experienced boy might. No, he ravages me harder. His mouth demands even more.
His powerful hands are below my arching back, lifting my chest higher as my head stretches back. His teeth nip a little too hard, and I cry out in startled pain. He adjusts, but he doesn’t stop. His tongue swirls as his mouth sucks, and I feel more ravaged now than by any man who has sunk his length into me. I feel more owned. I feel more…
But this man has barely done anything to me. He’s just getting started. With the exception of our kisses, he hasn’t even been inside of me. And yet, it feels as though he has already imprinted his DNA on me. He has already convinced my body to crave him, to want him, and no others. Ever.
“Hurry,” I cry. I need all of him. Now!
His hungry mouth softens, and he lifts his face to look at me. There’s a knowing in his eyes. He’s aware of what he’s doing to me. Damn him!
He’s still holding me arched, suspended halfway into the air. My breast is served up to him. My deliciously abused nipple reaches for him, wanting more.
He smiles, then lazily drags the tip of his tongue in a circle around my nipple’s tip. He takes his time, his touch ever so gentle and light.
It’s torture. Absolute torture.
“Please,” I gasp. My body begins to tremble with unanswered need.
Without breaking his gaze from mine, his forearm slips behind my back to do the work that both his hands had been doing. He keeps me arched and suspended for him. I could get up. I could break away. I could regain full control of me. I know this. Yet, I have never in my life felt more vulnerable—my power given so fully away.
With one hand free, Brad is now able to drag the flat of his palm over my skin. Every other man has touched me with their fingertips. This is different. This is more. It soothe
s me like a lullaby even as my thighs strain to open ever wider. I’m not in control. My body is. Brad’s charming it, taming it. I’m just along for the ride. A witness to him taking ownership of a part of me I can’t even name.
His hand drifts lower over my belly, past my belly button, and to the top of my panties. His hand doesn’t slip underneath the way I’d hoped it would. Instead, he glides his hand overtop the fabric. I feel the pressure of his touch, the heat of his hand, but I don’t feel his skin on my skin—that is until he reaches the long, slender stretch of cloth that pretends to be a barrier to my sex. As easy as you please, as if the cloth doesn’t exist at all, Brad’s fingers slip beneath.
I thought he would touch and tease me. I thought he would explore my folds. I was wrong. Brad’s fingers instead sink fully into my core. He’s not shy about it. He’s not timid, and he holds my gaze as he sinks himself to his full depth.
His hands are large and his fingers thick. It hurts just a little, but in a way that has me craving more.
He slips his fingers out, curling his tips upward as he does. I think he’s going to stop, but he instead dives back in. A hard thrust. One that steals my breath, opens my mouth and makes my eyes go wide.
His hand pulls out again. Again, another hard thrust. He’s not fingering me. He’s fucking me.
My hips tilt, my thighs stretch, and my channel throbs. He dives in again, hard enough to make my breasts sway. Again and again, a steady and demanding rhythm.
The ache for release throbs within me. I feel it in my channel and even my womb. My empty womb that won’t have his seed. Won’t have his release.
“Not like this,” I whimper. “I need your cock. Please, Brad. Cum inside me.” A part of my brain tells me to shut up, that I don’t know what I’m saying. But I do. I want him surging inside of me. I want his seed spilling inside of me. I want to be pregnant with his baby. He can’t do that with his fingers. He’s withholding. He’s taking my orgasm from me, but not giving me his. I hate him for it. “Not like this,” I cry again.
Brad’s fingers don’t care. His hard, steady pace continues.
He lowers his mouth to my breast but keeps his gaze locked with mine. “Marry me, and I’ll give you my cum,” he growls. The breath of his words is hot against my nipple.
I hesitate. It’s a split second too long, and Brad makes my nipple pay the toll. His mouth captures it again, sucking and rolling it between his strong lips. Pulling, nipping, and licking. All the while, his fingers fuck me. In—out. Unrelenting. Demanding. Unforgiving. The pressure grows within me. I’m reaching the edge.
My eyes drift closed, but a painful nip from Brad has them flying open again. The message is clear. He wants my gaze on him as he makes me come undone.
I want to say the words he wants to hear. I want to tell him I’ll marry him, but I’m too far gone. My channel’s walls spasm and squeeze. A rolling flood of tingles travels up me to engulf my brain. I cry out in anguished pleasure, never losing his gaze until the pinnacle of the sensation passes.
His fingers slip free from me, then his mouth releases my overworked nipple and my knees get flung over his shoulders. The little scrap of cloth that covers me gets pulled to the side, and Brad’s tongue licks up through my folds to the little nub tucked away at the top.
His lips cover me, and his mouth sucks. Thankfully, he’s more gentle than he was with my nipple, but he’s no less demanding. His tongue swirls, then his lips suck and coax. My eyes roll back in my head, and I groan. This is different than the fucking his hand just gave me. He’s already in my head, filling it with pleasure. It’s not just my clit that feels him. It’s the whole of me.
I want to complain when his lips leave my clit so that his tongue can explore me more fully. His teeth give one of my lips a nip and tug before he opens me wide and dines on my juices. His attentions are noisy, slurping. We’re like lovers who’ve had each other a thousand times. No humility, only naked sharing. The pleasure is an all-over body haze, a drug I’m lost in. It’s not desperate like it was when he fucked me. It’s lazy and heady. It’s home. He’s home. With his face making love to my pussy, he is home. I know it. I feel it. He’s where he belongs. With me. Forever with me.
He moves back up my slit and recaptures my clit. He suckles it until the only thing I know that exists is his mouth and my body. He takes my orgasm from me again. I hold nothing back. My cries of pleasure fill the room. My hands hold his face to me, and I scream the words I didn’t know were there.
“I love you!”
And just like that, the dream shatters.
Chapter 12
Brad
Her words spilled from her as I gave her another orgasm. Her taste is musky sweet, and I take advantage of her after-orgasm haze to travel back down her slit to lose myself again in her more sacred depths.
My cock is an iron rod in my jeans. My balls have moved past throbbing and instead feel like someone has taken a baseball bat to them. They hurt. A lot. But I don’t care. My baby can’t have me until I get all of her, as in her heart and her forevermore.
I know she just yelled she loves me, but that’s not a promise of marriage. It’s not a promise that she’ll be mine, my wife, and the mother of my children. I need her pregnant. I need every man in the world to know she’s taken, that they can’t have her. I need a lit neon sign huge and bright over her head with the message, “I’m his.”
But while those might be my thoughts, I know something different is brewing for my baby. Her body isn’t limp from pleasure’s aftermath anymore. Her voracious inner fire with which she seared my soul has disappeared. She’s gone still. Cold.
I lift my face from where I’m licking and kissing her beautiful center. She’s looking down at me, and there’s a sad wariness that’s settled into her eyes.
“You gonna be okay driving back home?” she asks. “I know it’s late and that you’ve had a long day.”
I recognize those words for what they are. They aren’t an invitation for me to stay; they are a request for me to go. That’s a hard turning swing from the words she said less than two minutes ago.
“Tell me again what you just said, and I’ll go,” I tell her.
Her eyes narrow, and her mouth tightens.
I gather myself so that I’m hovering over her, one arm resting above her head and my other between her legs. I slip two of my fingers home inside her hot core. I’m not gentle about it, and my girl’s lips part and her eyes widen. But other than that first hard thrust, I work her gently in short strokes.
“You said you love me,” I say, reminding her of her words. My voice is gentle, patient even, and I stroke her just as gently. In and out. I know this must be scary for her. No one wants the pain that love can bring with it.
I leap first. I put myself out there. I make myself vulnerable. “I love you,” I tell her.
Her eyes well with unshed tears. She plants her palms firmly against my chest, but she doesn’t go so far as to shove me off. “No, you don’t. I’m a toy to you.”
“Why would you say that?” I keep stroking. Her mind is fighting me, but her body’s not. It’s tightening around my fingers. Her hips are moving with me. She wants me. She wants more.
A tear slips down her flushed cheek. “Because you’re playing with me. You don’t actually want me. You need to go.”
I lean my hip in behind my thrusting hand. I need her to feel more of me. “Every part of me wants you,” I growl.
“No, you don’t,” she says, her bottom lip quivering. “Look at me!”
“Oh, I am…” Every inch of her is a goddess in the flesh.
“You’re still dressed!”
She shoves with her hands, but I lean into the shove. I stop stroking my fingers, but I hold them deep inside of her. Her pussy practically sucks them, and her hips try to continue the stroking slide by tilting and wiggling beneath me.
I can’t help it. Her need makes me growl.
“Do you want me naked?” I ask. “I can do tha
t. I can get naked for you, but if I do, I can’t touch you… and you can’t touch me.”
“Why not?” she whimpers. Her hand reaches between us, and she takes over, moving my fingers in and out. “I like you touching me.” Another tear escapes. “Maybe you’d like me touching you, too.”
I lean in and kiss her. “Stella, I want to fuck you into tomorrow. I want you pregnant with my child. I want you. Please don’t make me take off my clothes. I will, for you, but don’t make me fuck you now so that you can discard me tomorrow.”
My hips work her and drive my fingers into doing what my cock aches to do. I can’t help it. The more I need her, the harder my hips thrust. The harder my fingers work to make her pussy mine all over again.
“My mouth,” Stella says, her voice filled with desperation. “Can my mouth have you? Taste you. Please… Please let me suck you.”
She has the plumpest, softest, sweetest lips. A mouth made for fucking. I’ve had the image of her on her knees, taking me into her mouth almost since the moment we met. Now she’s begging me to do just that. I’m a strong man, but I’m not made of stone. I’m flesh and blood. Heat and need.
“Only your mouth,” I warn, and she eagerly nods her head in agreement. “If you want me all the way inside of you…”
“I have to marry you,” she finishes for me.
I smile and kiss her, hoping she keeps her promise. If she doesn’t, I don’t know that I can withstand her demands for more.
I stand and step away. Putting distance between us is painful. My more than full sack hurts like hell, of course, but that’s not what I mean. Putting distance between her and me is like telling my skin I want some space. It feels unnatural. But I do it for her. She has bared herself to me, made herself vulnerable. Now it’s my turn to do the same for her.
She looks me over from head to toe. Eagerness and hunger are in her eyes. I’m still fully dressed. Still wearing my jacket. I shrug it off and let it fall to the floor. Then my shirt. I pull it off over my head and discard it without a thought. But my hands pause when they go to my jeans. Stella’s gaze has locked onto the log of pounding flesh trapped beneath them.
