by Jo Raven
My black boxer briefs are getting tight, despite the sour taste of fear still in my mouth, the sweat drenching my T-shirt.
I turn and catch her face in my hands, trying to read her by feel in the half-dark. I trace her mouth with my thumb and she opens up, licking at the pad.
God. Fuck. My cock goes from half-hard to diamond in under a second. Her cat-like tongue rasps over my thumb, swirls around it, sucks, and I’m panting for a different reason now.
My other hand drops to her shoulder, then down to the swell of her tits, desperate to touch her, feel her. God, I love her tits. Big and heavy, too big to fit in my hands. I toy with a nipple through the thin cloth, feeling it harden under my fingers, and it’s so fucking sexy.
Small, sharp teeth nip at my thumb, and it shoots straight to my dick, wrenching a long moan from my throat. Damn... How is she doing that?
I pull my thumb away, using it to smooth over her lips, her cheek, all satiny warm skin. A sort of sparkling dark edges my vision, my thoughts ebbing away, my body one giant fucking throb of need. It cuts me, hurts me, winds me up tight.
Everything’s blank, everything but pounding this girl into the musty mattress, having her, pleasuring her, owning her, marking her as mine. I need her, fucking need her so much, and that weird something I feel whenever she’s around, the one that clogs my throat and grips my lungs in a vise, is back, harder to ignore.
She leans forward and her mouth whispers over mine. It draws another moan from me. Fuck, I’m so wrecked tonight. Aching for her. Her every touch cranking up the heat, the pressure behind my balls.
“Lu...” I whisper, my breath rasping against the softness of her lips, “I want you. Fuck, I want you...”
Her only reply is to lie down and pull me over her, her arms around my neck. “Ross...” she breathes, just my name, and it shatters my fragile control.
“Kiss me,” I order, my voice shaking, so rough I barely recognize it as mine. “Kiss me, Luna, like you mean it. Show me you want it.”
That you want me.
“Yes,” she whispers, kissing me, again that soft, unbearably soft brush of lips. “Please. I need you.”
Oh fuck, yeah.
Bending over her, I crush my mouth to hers, kissing her like I’m drowning as she’s a breath of air. We kiss and kiss, and fuck, I’ve never been so hard, it’s never been so urgent, so imperative.
Frantic, I break the kiss to tear her T-shirt off and cup her tits, weighing them in my palms, making them sway. Pulling down the straps of her bra, I lick her nipples, suck on them until she’s writhing and moaning my name. Even her nipples taste sweet, she’s sweet everywhere, and I want to taste more, explore every part of her.
Everything’s blank, everything but pounding this girl into the musty mattress, having her, pleasuring her, owning her, marking her as mine.
I trail kisses down her stomach until I reach her panties—lace and pink cotton with bows. I glance up at her as I ease them down her legs, and her hands flutter as if unsure for a second before landing in my hair, tugging a little.
She smells like sexy, aroused girl and as I yank down her panties the rest of the way and throw them off the bed, I spread her thighs and bury my face between them.
So wet, so hot, and the sounds she’s making, mewling moans and soft cries as I lick and suck on her swollen clit, as I used my fingers to fill her up, goddamn... My cock twitches and weeps, needing to be inside her.
If I get one night with this girl, one fucking night, I’ll show her how it could be. I’ll make her come again and again until she can’t walk straight, until her every moan and sigh sounds like my name. I’ll show her how good it can be, how good I can be for her.
Even if afterward she walks away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Luna
It’s the middle of the night, and I’m in a barely familiar room. I’m drowsy and warm and the room smells of Ross—that spicy scent of sexy man, arousal, and a hint of smoke. He’s moving down my body, leaving a trail of kisses on my belly, on my hips.
And lower, his hands pulling my panties down, then nudging my legs apart. Cool air hits me right there, where I’m burning for him to touch me, and I shiver. In the washed-out light of the moon falling through the slats, his hair is a silver halo between my thighs, his eyes dark and hazy with lust when he looks up.
His beautiful mouth curves into a lazy smirk. He licks his lips, and his warm breath washes over my exposed pussy. I’m wet, I realize, wet for him, and the whine echoing in my ears is coming from me.
Holy crap... am I dreaming? If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
Especially when his face dips and his tongue, rough like a cat’s, parts my folds and drags a line of fire all the way to my aching clit, stopping there to toy with it, drawing a moan from my lips. I’m lost in a swirl of sensations, pressure gathering inside me, deep in my belly. My fingers leave his hair to tangle in the sheets, scrambling for something to hold on to when he drags his tongue down my seam again, dipping into my opening, then circling my clit.
Oh God, oh...
His lips, his tongue, his scruff are torturing me in the best way. He’s licking and sucking and then there’s more pressure, and I think he’s using his fingers, and oh boy... it’s an onslaught, an invasion, a rush, a storm. My legs are shaking, my body is straining, the pressure deep inside is mounting to the point of pain. He growls against my pussy, the sensitive skin scratched by his stubble, my clit throbbing like crazy, and launches another attack, sucking harder, letting his tongue drag more slowly, probing deeper, his fingers stroking me in rhythmical strokes, faster and faster—until...
My body jerks. My mouth falls open. I gasp, arch up, impaling myself on his fingers, and come with a cry, the pressure breaking, flooding me with exquisite, sharp pleasure.
“Ross...” I breathe. “Ross...”
“Dammit, girl.” He’s panting as much as I am as he lifts his head, gently drawing his fingers out, making me twitch with aftershocks. “You’re damn delicious. Ah fuck... What you do to me...”
I don’t know what to say, his words sending another hard throb through me, and I swallow a whimper. How can I still be aroused, want him again when he’s just made me come?
He reaches down, to adjust himself or jack himself, not sure, and I almost go cross-eyed trying to see. Dying to see, torn between watching his grimacing face and his hand around his big cock.
He pushes down his boxer briefs, as if hearing my thoughts, reading my desire, freeing his hard-on. It swings up, dripping wet and flushed, bigger than I remembered. Thicker, longer, the glint of metal under the head winking at me. I’m mesmerized by his long fingers wrapped around that thick length, pumping slowly, each slide causing him to grunt.
Good God, he’s sexy. Sexiest boy I’ve ever seen, the faint light catching the clean line of his square jaw, the dip of his brows, the cut of his cheekbones, and then that body... How was I supposed to ever stand a chance?
A question I pose to myself every time I’m with him, allowed to look and touch and feel—and now he glances up, gazing at me from under his lashes, and I could swear there’s more than lust there, in his eyes, his expression.
Before I have an opportunity to examine what I’m seeing, he bends over me, his mouth hovering over mine. “Touch me, sweets,” he says, a raw whisper. “Put your hand on my dick.”
Turned on by the idea, and by the fact he’s asking me to, I reach down between us and curl my hand around his thick girth. He groans and I drink in the sound, the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his lips part on an exhale. He’s still jacking off in slow strokes, our hands touching on his cock.
So hot.
He props an elbow by my head and leans in, his mouth moving hungrily over mine, a deep, scorching kiss. The impressive musculature of his chest and shoulders blocks out the room before he draws back.
“Want me?”
“Yeah...”
His mouth curves into a pleased grin. S
itting back, he draws a finger between my legs, dipping into my pussy, and groans. “You’re soaked. I’m big. You ready to take it?”
God, yes. I hope so. I know I want it. Not going to say I’ve never done this before, not going to care that he’s the last man I thought I’d lose my V-card to.
He is the only one I’ve ever really desired, and no, I’m not telling him this, either. Especially since rational thought goes flying out the window when he slides his hard cock between my legs, over my clit, then again, a long, slow rub that has me seeing stars.
God. I’ve just come from his mouth and his fingers, and I want more. I want him, in me. I reach for the hem of his T-shirt, wanting to see all of him bent over me, but he stops me, pries my hands away. He doesn’t wait for me to ask why, doesn’t explain, either.
He leans over me, smiling faintly, looking for all the world like a fallen angel, beautiful, his grin turning wicked as he guides his hard-on into me, and though I know he’s no angel, no saint... I want him just the same.
Maybe more.
His grin goes slack as he pushes into me, bracing his hands on either side of me, gazing down at me with eyes going wide.
The broad head of his cock breaches me, shoves into me with brutal force, and it’s both pain and pleasure. I arch up, spread my legs more, trying to allow him inside me, and he bends over me, panting and groaning.
The look on his face... eyes hazy with pleasure, dark with desire, his fair hair dark with sweat, plastered to his forehead, the look of awe stamped all over his expression...
Holy shit, my mind is chanting, holy frigging shit, this is his cock inside me. It feels like it’s splitting me in two, and yet I want it, I love it, I need it.
We’re connected. I feel him throb, that steel length hot and burning inside my pussy. He shifts minutely, grunting, doing a little push-up over me, and his cock slips just a bit deeper, the angle changing.
I gasp and grab at his shoulders, wrapping my legs around him—and oh crap, that lets him in even deeper and ooh this is good. So good, I find myself moving, rocking, making him curse and push me down with his much heavier body.
Pinning me to the bed, buried inside me, his face hidden in my hair, his shallow breaths too loud, matching my own.
“Don’t...move.” His voice is strangled. “If you do, I’m gonna come... Just gimme a sec, fuck.”
Staying still is a struggle when he’s filling me up like that, when moving feels amazing, easing the full pressure of all that cock painfully stretching me. I sob for breath, clawing at his arms, needing him to move.
And finally he does, lifting up, powerful muscles in his arms bunching and shifting. He stares down at me, jaw slack, as his cock draws out of me more and more, then rocking his hips and thrusting back inside. Moaning brokenly, I hold on for dear life as he starts moving in and out of me, the friction unbelievable, every thrust hitting something inside me that has my toes curling and my belly clenching.
Never knew it could feel so good. I always dreaded the thought of actual sex, after hearing stories of blood and pain, but this... I can’t get enough. I wouldn’t care if I was bleeding out right now, as long as he’ll keep doing what he’s doing, pounding into me, leaning down to kiss me, open-mouthed kisses as his breath hitches and mine stutters, and I’m going to come.
It’s going to blow my mind.
I feel it starting, and I pull him down to wrap myself around him as I come apart. He falls into my embrace, gasping, groaning, his cock slick, slamming in and out of me, short, hard thrusts. He’s moaning my name, and I’m moaning his as the pleasure hits me, making me cry out and thrash. It’s too much, too immense, I can’t take it.
But he holds me down, makes me take it, and I cry out again as wave after wave pounds me.
I barely notice when he pulls out—though I do notice when he starts to come on my belly, my breasts, his long, low moans punctuated by the jets of cum landing all the way up to my chin, hot, wet splashes decorating my body, striping it, marking it, until it’s over and he slumps over me, spent. He’s heavy, his arms trembling as he attempts to keep from crushing me. After a long moment, he drops beside me.
We roll on our sides, sticky, sweaty, struggling for air, our noses touching, our breaths mingling. Suddenly, he grins, and it’s not the wicked grin from before. Those sharp incisors make an appearance, turning his grin wolfish.
But it’s also... kind of sweet. Happy. Boyish. It relaxes the lines of his face, crinkles the corners of his eyes.
He lifts a hand to my cheek. “Lu...” he whispers. “Pretty Luna.”
And unexpectedly, tears slip down my cheeks. Oh crap. I clap a hand over my mouth as Ross’s eyes widen.
“Sorry,” I whisper, mortified. “Sorry.”
He strokes my face, pale brows knitting. “What’s wrong, Lu? Did I hurt you? Fuck, tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
I’m shaking my head, my emotions a jumble. I try to sort through my emotions and thoughts, but what comes out isn’t what I intended.
“How?” I blurt out, lowering my hand. “How can you say that I’m pretty? How do you expect me I believe it after the things you told me in the past?”
He’s staring at me, eyes colorless, face white, but the words are out now, out in the open, hanging between us, barbed and venomous.
Why did I have to do this now of all times? Way to go, Luna. Way to go...
***
“Lu.” He raises a hand, tucks a curl behind my ear. “Girl. I’ve told you that you’re pretty before, and that’s because you are. Can’t you see it?”
I... I don’t know what I see, except his handsome face so close to mine, made of shadows and gleams of light.
Why am I crying?
Maybe it’s because it was such a stressful day, I think—almost losing him, that terrible acid fear eating at me until I felt hollow and threadbare. Then that unbearably tight connection as I held him afterward, making sure he was okay, doing my best not to fall apart and cry, not to call him all sorts of names, not to beg him not to leave me.
To tell him how I feel. Such a bad idea.
Then waking up to Ross having a nightmare, ending it on mind-blowing sex, my first time and with the boy I’ve always wanted—only to hear him say the thing I’ve always wished to hear from that cruel mouth.
That this isn’t because of some base need now satisfied. Empty words spoken in the aftermath—but of course they are.
Of course they are, and there’s the crux of the problem. I don’t want them to be. I want them to be real, and it’s breaking me apart.
“Hey...” He’s still stroking my cheek, callused fingertips gentle. “What’s on your mind?”
I shrug. “I told you. Didn’t you think I was ugly at school, by your own admission? You said it over and over, until it got imprinted in my mind, in my bones. I felt like I could never face the world again.”
His cheekbones pink. “And you thought I was an idiot.”
“That’s not an answer, Ross. It’s not funny.”
A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, then fades. “Listen, Lu. I never thought you were ugly. In fact, I thought you were the prettiest girl of all.”
“Then why? Why treat me like that?”
His hand drops from my face. He rolls on his back with a grunt. “Told you I’m fucked up.”
“Not an answer either.”
“Goddammit, don’t you get it?” he finally explodes. In a smooth movement, he rolls off the bed and goes to stand by the window. The moon must be setting, its glow dimming. “Everything I tell you is what I think about myself. If I called you ugly, awkward, a failure. If I say you want me... it’s because I want you.”
I’m struck speechless, stunned.
No way...
Can it be true? He’s not making that up to appease me? I sit up in bed, only now remembering I’m naked, folding my arms over my breasts.
He’s standing there, so still.
“I bet I’m not the guy you have dre
amed of. I’m not good. Not perfect. But I want you. I... I dunno if it’s a good idea, but fuck, I don’t care. I’ve always wanted you.”
It’s a balm over old wounds, I admit. Even if it’s just physical—maybe because of it, because he thought I was pretty, and he thinks I’m pretty now, and old wounds start to knit as I begin to understand. It’s just that... I was so drawn to him even back then that every one of his words was a barb, a bullet tearing through me.
And now...
Bared, I’m bared to him. His words stripped me more than the removal of my clothes ever could. I let my hands drop from my breasts as I get up and go to him.
“You really mean it?” I whisper.
“Girl...” He brushes my hair aside, breathes into my ear, “You’re sexy. You’re beautiful. Always were.”
“Now you just want into my panties.”
“All the fucking time,” he agrees. “But it has nothing to do with this. Do you believe me?”
To my surprise, I find that I do. Maybe I’m still naïve, but I’m not sure it’s that. I think I’m starting to tell apart the nuances of his voice, the evasions, the admissions, the concessions, the defensive mechanisms disguised as aggression.
“I’ll make you believe me,” he whispers, slips those muscular arms around me and holds me in silence until dawn breaks.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ross
Light. Warm, too fucking bright.
It’s on my face, in my eyes, cutting through my lashes, rousing me from a sinkhole of dark dreams, and as I roll over in bed to find a warm body beside me. I don’t even flinch, before I even remember who she is, even caught on the coattails of nightmares and flailing with panic.
Luna.
My body relaxes in degrees, one muscle at a time, as I press against her back, wrap an arm around her and breathe her in.
Damn, I could get used to this. To waking up beside her, content and calm and... goddammit, why am I feeling like this? Like... like my throat is closing, like I wanna crush her to my chest and never let her go?
