by Madison, Mia
“It’s my job to torment you.” Another kiss. “With pleasure.” And another.
“Gabriel, please.” I’m not, it turns out, too proud to beg. “I can’t take it.”
In answer, he lifts the hem of my slip. I raise my arms; he pulls it off and lets it fall beside the dress, then runs his thumbs up my back on either side of my spine. “Your skin is so soft.”
His tongue traces one of my vertebrae, and my knees buckle. He scoops me up and lays me on the big four-poster bed, prowling up over me, lowering his body but supporting himself on his forearms. This time, he kisses my throat until he reaches my collarbone, then works his way over and up the other side of my neck.
My hands are in his hair again, but I’m trying not to make any sudden moves because he hasn’t tied me up yet. I realize why when he straddles my thighs, sits me up, and unhooks my bra.
As soon as it’s off, there’s a moment of excruciating self-consciousness. Gabriel doesn’t seem to notice, or mind, my less-than-impressive curves; he lays me back down and clamps his mouth over one breast, his tongue circling my nipple, and then he suckles me with the same focused attention as he’s done everything else.
White-hot pleasure shoots from my nipple to my clit and back again. My back arches as I moan, my hands holding him to me. When he closes his teeth around me and tugs gently, my whole body tries to buck off the bed, held down only by his weight.
“Gabriel.” My skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat; it feels hot and prickly and too tight. I’m overloading with sensation, my body begging for more of what it already can’t process.
He kisses his way over to my other breast and does it all again, then moves up to claim my mouth, this time in a deep, wet, hungry kiss. His mouth still fused to mine, he shifts to lie on his side next to me and glides his hand down my neck, between my breasts, and across my belly.
When he cups me, my hips move instinctively, lifting me toward him. His hand shifts away the next moment, and I feel bereft, my clit aching for contact, pressure, any kind of stimulation. I discover his motive when he lifts both my hands over my head, then bracelets my wrists with one big hand.
He’s got one leg hooked over mine, both pinning me down and keeping me open to him. My hands are restrained. I’m at his mercy. Through all of this, he’s still kissing me.
And now his hand is back between my legs … and one finger strokes ever so lightly across the fabric of my panties, right over my swollen clit. Back, and forth, and back again, and within seconds I’m screaming my frustration into his mouth.
I try to drag my hands free, but he holds me easily. I’m frantic, my pussy clenching hard around nothing, his touch driving me more insane with every passing second. My free leg kicks out, drumming my heel against the mattress, my body doing anything it can to relieve the tension.
The heel of his hand grinds slowly against my clit, sending me higher. My hips jerk, trying to increase the friction, but it’s still not enough. Finally, his hand delves inside my panties and cups me again, then parts my folds.
“You’re so slippery for me.” His voice is rough. The only illumination is a faint light coming in from the hallway; it’s enough for me to see that his pupils are huge. “I want you to come for me, Rachel.”
“I’m trying, dammit.”
He nips my lower lip, then sucks the tiny hurt. “You’re going to come on my fingers, and then you’re going to come on my mouth, and then you’re going to come on my cock.”
“Oh, god, Gabriel. Hurry.”
“No. No hurrying.”
“Gabriel!”
His kiss is fierce this time, his tongue plunging inside my mouth. One finger circles my entrance, then pushes inside. A quick flash of pain, so fast it barely registers, and then my pussy has his finger in a death grip.
“Fuck, babe. You’re so tight.” A soft, lingering kiss. “Is this your first time?”
I’m afraid to answer. “Gabriel …”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. I won’t stop unless you want me to.”
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He kisses his way down to my breasts and starts suckling them again, first one, then the other, while his finger strokes slowly in and out of me. When he adds another finger, I can’t help the tiny sound that escapes. His teeth graze my nipple, distracting me from the discomfort.
His patience is endless. He pleasures my breasts, my neck, my mouth, sucks on my earlobe, kissing and nibbling everywhere his mouth can reach while his fingers teach me new sensations. My body is heavy with need, my blood thick as honey.
I don’t have to tell my hips to lift toward his hand; they know what to do, the instinct as deep-wired as breathing. He stops moving, with his fingers inside me, and sets his thumb to work on my clit, circling, pressing, rolling.
“Gabriel.” My head tosses on the pillows.
“Let it happen, babe.”
“I — can’t—”
“Close your eyes.” They squeeze shut immediately in response to his command. “Keep them closed. Now let your body relax.”
Paradoxically, relaxing frees my body to feel more. His mouth finds my breast, and then his fingers start to move again, faster this time, faster, and the friction sends pleasure spiraling out from my pussy, then back again, coiling inside me like a spring, tighter and tighter, until it bursts free.
The second I come, his teeth close over my nipple, and my climax goes into hyperdrive. I cry out, thrashing on the bed, clamping down on his fingers, which sends another wave of release crashing through me.
I’m still trembling through the aftershocks when I open my eyes to find him watching me. His expression is one of deep satisfaction … and even deeper hunger.
If I’d seen that look earlier today, it might have scared me a little. Not now, not when I know what he can make me feel.
Drawing his fingers slowly out, he licks them clean, his eyes on mine, the banked heat in his gaze the purest of aphrodisiacs. I’m trembling as he moves to kneel between my legs and takes hold of my panties.
6
For The Next Month
She lifts her hips to help me pull her panties down, then her long legs so I can take them off. Now she’s naked except for her high heels, and those I leave on. I toss the panties over my shoulder without looking, all my attention on Rachel.
The pulse beating rapidly in her throat is intoxicating. So is making her come. Right now, there’s not a damn thing about Rachel Wilson that doesn’t turn me on.
I settle between her thighs; her breath goes ragged. The scent of her, knowing she’s this wet because of me, has me hard as obsidian. Curbing my impatience to be inside her, I rub my stubbled cheeks against the silky skin of her inner thighs, then suck on the faintly reddened skin.
Fuck, the sounds she makes. My cock is ready to burst out of my jeans. I kiss her pussy all over, the soft touch of my lips making her writhe.
Snaking my hands under her thighs, I grip her waist to hold her in place and go to work. Kisses, licks, nibbles — I explore every tantalizing bit of her pussy, and her gasps and moans and soft cries goad me on. I’m ravenous for her, determined to make her come every way a woman can.
She’s so sensitive that once I start sucking her clit, it doesn’t take long. Her long fingers grab handfuls of the covers as she arches against me. I lap up the nectar of her release and, greedy, go back for more.
This time, I ease two fingers inside her before I go back to her clit, pumping them steadily. The dual stimulation sends her off even faster and harder, and I’ve just about reached my limit. I need to be inside her.
Giving her pussy a final kiss, I climb backwards off the bed and strip. She props herself up on her elbows and ogles me shamelessly, which is hot as fuck. When I pull down my jeans and boxer briefs, freeing my cock, her pupils dilate.
I almost lose it.
Shedding the rest of my clothing only takes a moment, and then I join her on the bed. She reaches for me, eager, and though I know it’s going to
cost me, I can’t tell her not to play with my cock, not when she’s waited this long.
Her breath goes shallow as she wraps her hand around me. “The skin is so soft,” she says, her voice husky. “So silky.”
I close my hand over hers, tightening her grip a little. She slides her fist up, then all the way down and back up again, staring fascinated as precum wells in my slit. “Can I lick it?”
My cock jerks. “Sweetheart, if you lick it, there’s a good chance I’m going to come in your face.”
“I don’t care.”
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. “No teeth.”
“Right. Okay.” She scoots down so she can get at me, and then she’s licking me like an ice cream cone, her hand still on me.
Her own curiosity leads her from licking to sucking. Through superhuman levels of concentration, I somehow manage not to shoot my load all over her face or in her mouth, but she’s nowhere near ready to quit when I gently stop her. The disappointed look on her face almost makes me laugh.
Almost. Except that now it’s time, and my caveman wants to beat his chest. The possessiveness she ignites in me, the need to make her mine, burns in my veins.
Though the thought of waiting just about kills me, I want to be sure. “Are you ready, babe? We don’t have to do anything else, if you’re not.”
“Don’t you dare stop.” She sounds almost furious.
“It might hurt a little, at first.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
“Gabriel.” Her hands frame my face. “I know you will. I know.”
My fierce, sweet girl. Positioning myself over her, I wrap her hand around me. She guides me to her entrance, and I hold her gaze as I start to enter her.
Rachel’s eyes go wide. I stop, cursing silently. “Is it too much?”
“No. Just—” Her hand splays out on my chest, and I hold my position while she breathes, in and out, adjusting. “Okay.”
I draw back, then press in again. I hate that I’m hurting her, even a little, but she’s made it clear that she wants this. And fuck knows I do.
She’s so wet, so hot, so fucking tight. I’m afraid I won’t last long. Bit by bit, I ease inside her, and gradually her expression changes, her lips parting, her eyelids fluttering.
Fuck. That is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life; I’m ready to go off again. Control is not usually a problem for me, but Rachel has me all undone.
I kiss her lips, her nose, her forehead, while I wrestle myself back into line. It’s her first time, for fuck’s sake; it needs to be as good as I can make it.
“Gabriel?”
“Hmm?”
She bites her lip. She’s trying to look solemn, but a smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “Aren’t we supposed to … move?” Mischief colors her voice, lightens her eyes.
I nuzzle her neck. “Someone’s feeling bratty.”
Rachel laughs. “Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just, you know … I’ve been led to expect certain things.”
“Oh, you’ve been led, have you?” It delights me that she’s playing with me like this. “And who, precisely, has done this leading?”
“Society,” she says in a mock-dramatic voice. “TV, movies, advertisements …”
I try to channel my inner British gentleman. “I believe, madame, that you are describing popular culture.”
She giggles; it’s a musical sound. “Popular culture has a lot to answer for. Just saying.”
“We could move. A little.”
Her eyes dance. “All right. Just a little.”
I pull back, slowly, until I’m just barely inside her, then sink deep. Her merriment vanishes, to be replaced by something like wonder. “Do that again.”
This time, I’m happy to have her give the orders. I do it again. And then again.
Rachel’s legs lock around my waist; her nails dig into my back. Her eyes are all pupil. “Don’t stop.”
I reach between us to find her clit as I rock against her. Our earlier interplay gave me time to recover, but now that I’m moving in her, gripped so tightly by her inner muscles, my body’s urging me to let go and fuck her like a randy teenager. The sooner I can get her off, this first time, the better for both of us.
Her clit’s swollen, so I hope it won’t take long to send her. She’s panting, letting out tiny little cries, each and every one of which seems to send a bolt of lightning straight to my cock, begging me to go faster, harder, all in. I hold back, working her nub in time with my strokes, then rub faster as her cries get louder.
“Gabriel!” It’s a shout that fills the room, bouncing off the walls as she convulses around my cock, clamping down so hard that I don’t stand a chance. My balls tighten, electricity shoots down my spine, and I follow her over the edge,
* * *
As soon as I can move, I roll us over. Rachel lifts her head from my chest. Her dark hair’s a tousled mess around her face; her skin is mottled, her makeup smeared.
She’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
I curve a hand around the back of her neck. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” She gives me a crooked smile. “I feel like I want to kiss you, but I don’t have the strength to move that many inches.”
“I’ll take an IOU.”
“Deal.” Rachel cuddles against me, her finger tracing idle patterns on my shoulder. A moment later, her head snaps up again.
“What?” I say. She just looks at me. And then it hits me.
“Oh. We skipped a step.” The condom/birth control talk. That step. Just a little detail. “Are you, uh, on anything?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Fuck, what was I thinking? I wasn’t; that’s the answer to that.
Not that the notion of Rachel pregnant with my baby bothers me — quite the opposite. But this might not be the best time.
On the other hand, if she gets pregnant and doesn’t want it … I can’t even bear to think about that. Her body, her choice, but fuck, that’ll tear me up.
Moving right along from that train of thought. “I, uh, I’ve been tested. And I’m clear. So no worries there.”
“Gabriel.” Her face is so solemn. “I just want you to know that I wouldn’t expect you to—”
My hand tightens on her neck. I force it to relax. “Rachel. Let me be crystal clear. If you get pregnant, I’m not gonna be upset.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” I try to marshal my thoughts. “I know we just met, again, and this is all brand new. But I already told you I don’t want this to end, and I meant it.
“I’ll support you no matter what; but you, carrying my child, is not my idea of a bad thing. Far from it.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yeah.” Fuck, we’re gonna have to talk about it. “Does that — I mean, I don’t know if you ever planned to have kids, or how you feel about them. Or any of that — stuff.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it,” she mutters.
My heart sinks. “You don’t want kids, then.”
Rachel blinks. “Oh, no, sorry. I’ve always wanted children. I’m just kind of shocked at how completely you melted my brain.”
“Yeah, well, back atcha, babe.”
That gets me a smile. “I’m just counting in my head … I’m due soon, I think, so I should be safe. I hope.
“Not that I don’t — I mean, I always wanted kids, but I wasn’t sure if it would ever happen for me. I never imagined this, with you.” She shakes her head like she can’t believe we’re really a thing.
“If it were anyone else, I’d be losing my mind right now. But with you … well, I’m not.” Color creeps up her cheeks.
“Good.” I don’t mention the caveman part of me that is secretly rooting for my swimmers to make it all the way upstream, that would love nothing more than to plant a baby in her belly. It feels right, like everything else about being with her.
One day at
a time, though. Rachel seems a lot more comfortable with me than she did a few hours ago, but I’m not kidding myself that whatever’s in her head has magically gone away. I’m prepared for a few more bumps in the road before she settles into this.
“Time for food,” I announce. She’s probably sore, and if we stay in bed there’s no way we’ll stick to talking.
Rachel looks startled. “I’m not sure I can eat anything.”
“Well, you can keep me company in the kitchen. I’ll eat, and maybe you’ll have a snack.”
I give her one of my t-shirts; she emerges from the bathroom wearing that plus my robe. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s a little chilly.”
“Of course not.” I’ve pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt myself, but I bump up the thermostat as we go down the hall.
“I’m not sure I should eat your survival-level cooking,” she teases when we reach the kitchen.
“Brat.” I hook an arm around her waist and pull her to me for a kiss. “I can make several perfectly acceptable dishes, including spaghetti, which is what I’m going to do right now.”
“Can I help?”
“You can chop veggies.” I take them out, along with a cutting board and a knife, and get to work on the sauce.
We’re working with our backs to each other — her at the island, me at the stove — which is just as well, because every time I look at Rachel, standing in my kitchen, wearing my robe, I get hard. I’d be happy if we didn’t get out of bed for the next month.
7
Doorbell
I can’t believe I’m hungry again, but my stomach is honest-to-goodness growling. The fact that the food smells amazing helps, but it’s like my body is waking up in all sorts of ways.
We eat in the dining nook at one end of the kitchen, at a round table with matching chairs. I have spaghetti and salad and garlic bread, and don’t even feel guilty. Well, maybe a little, in a corner of my brain that I do my best to ignore.
As I twirl pasta onto my fork, I’m more preoccupied with the fact that I don’t really care if I get pregnant. Part of me is startlingly willing to settle down with Gabriel. Another part — the bigger part — is waiting for something to go wrong.
