by Naima Simone
I push the jeans to his ankles, leaving them gathered around his Timberlands and him standing in a black pair of cotton boxer briefs. Sitting back on my heels, I can’t help but stare. And admire.
More ink adorns thighs that look like they can lift semi-trucks without exhibiting the slightest strain. Even the back of his ruthlessly toned calves are tattooed with a heavy black tribal pattern covering the tight muscle of one, and a stylized tree with roots that stretch down and encircle his ankle on the other.
“God, you’re insanely beautiful,” I breathe, flattening my palms over his knees and slowly stroking them up, up, up, sliding over dense flesh until my fingers meet the edge of his boxers.
And I still continue on my path, my thumbs brushing the heavy, warm weight of his cock that’s tenting the cotton and damn near fighting free of it. Of its own volition, a hum rumbles free of my throat as I catch sight of the rounded head peeking above the band. Smooth, flushed, a dark, ruddy red. Only the apocalypse could prevent me from leaning forward and slicking my tongue over his flesh. And once his faintly salty, completely heady taste hits my tongue, I’m not even certain zombies and the world going to hell could pull me away from him.
Ridiculously excited and impatient, I jerk the briefs lower, revealing all of him. And God, there’s a lot of him. And what I’m realizing is a theme with him, it’s beautiful. Perfection. The broad, swollen tip, now wet from my tongue, is just a precursor of what follows. Which is a wide, thick, veined, slightly curved column that reaches to just below his navel. My sex quivers in anticipation or anxiety—I honestly can’t tell which one. Probably both.
Wrapping my fingers around the bottom half of his cock, I can’t help but pump it, savoring the feel of steel sheathed in satin. Strength covered in vulnerability. I stroke all the way up until the head disappears in my fist. And as I slide my hand back down, I open my lips and take him inside. My tongue curls around the fat head, sucking, pulling before flicking the sensitive rim. His big hands grab my head, his fingertips pressing into my scalp. He hisses, and the low, sharp sound of pleasure cuts through the silent room like a whip, and lashes at my clit. Wanting more of that—craving more of that—I hollow my cheeks, draw harder, and lower my head, swallowing the next few inches of his dick. Damn, does he fill my mouth. Already my jaw stretches to accommodate him, and there’s more than half of him I’ve yet to take. My sex swells, moisture coating my flesh and soaking my panties as hunger and anticipation wind through me.
I love giving head; I refuse to lie or be ashamed of it. I also refuse to lie about most of my enjoyment deriving from the idea of kneeling before a man but being the one in absolute control. Having the power. Both of which are important to me.
But here, in this position of submission with Jay, it’s less about control and more about dragging another one of those growls and sexy, animalistic grunts from him. It’s less about power and more about pleasing him and seeing that angelic warrior face twist in lust. There’s pleasure in that—in knowing I’m the one doing that to him.
With a groan, I arrow his cock down and, flattening my tongue, slide him over it until he prods the entrance to my throat.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grinds out. “Fuck.”
I glance up his torso, and the sight of him—his head tipped back, the tendons in his throat standing out in stark relief against his skin, his broad shoulders tight, and the muscles in his arms and chest straining—the sight of arousal in living, breathing color has me lowering a hand from his rock-hard thigh to the aching flesh between my legs.
I whimper at the first touch of my fingertips to my pussy, and maybe he caught it, or felt it over his flesh, because he tips his head down, and his hooded stare is like a wash of heated air over my face.
“That’s it,” he encourages in a rough murmur that rubs over my skin in a sensory caress. “Get it good and wet for me.” He reaches down, pulls my arm up, and grasping my wrist, pushes my wet fingers into his mouth. He sucks them clean, leaving not one inch of my skin unattended to. When he lowers my arm, his emerald gaze pierces me, stoking the blaze in me higher. “More,” he whispers.
Closing my eyes, I moan, lust a molten river that has me moments from erupting. Obeying his request, I slide my fingers back into my panties, nearly crying out at the arc of electricity that pulses inside me. I could probably light up a damn street.
Pulling my mouth off his dick, I tease the tip with light strokes, before dipping my head and not stopping until he again nudges my throat. But this time, I relax my muscles, breathe through my nose, and let him penetrate the narrow entrance.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, his grip tightening in my hair. “Your mouth—” He bites the thought off with another dark rumble of sound, then tears the control away from me.
And I don’t mind. Not. At. All.
Curling both hands around the hair-roughened backs of his thighs, I hold on as he pistons in and out of my mouth, each thrust ending with more of him in my throat. My nails bite into his skin as I focus on taking him, sucking him, swallowing so my muscles massage him. And each grunt, each snarled curse, each groan is a reward, a lewdly wrapped gift.
“I’m gonna fill this mouth, sweetheart,” he warns me in a serrated growl. “If you don’t want that, you better pull back now.”
His grasp eases up a bit, enough that I can withdraw if that’s my choice. A first for me. Usually, it’s me who pulls free, preferring to finish jacking a man off rather than have him come in my mouth. I’ve never swallowed. Never. It’s too personal. Too…intimate. That level of trust is something I’ve never given a man, as I haven’t wanted that kind of committed relationship—and given my most recent past with my job, I don’t think I have it to offer.
But for the first time, I hesitate. And that second of uncertainty—of considering how it would feel to have him pour down my throat—has me jerking off of him in the very next moment. Gusts of air heave out of me as my heart pounds against my chest, and I release him to rip my shirt over my head. Refusing to glance up his huge torso and peek at his face, I, again, fist both hands around his dick, stacking them, as I stroke his flesh, squeezing. That instant of insane curiosity and hunger is quickly swamped by the need to see him shake in release, to bring him to the brink and drag him over it.
And he obliges me. His thighs tighten, his big body stiffens, and then on a harsh moan, a shudder quakes through his frame, thick, milky ropes of cum streak my chest and throat. His hips continue to flex into my hands, his grip on my head not loosening until moments after the last of his semen splashes my skin.
The room is silent except for the coarse, mini explosions of our breath punctuating the air like exclamation points. I’m frozen, still unsettled by that moment of reluctance. Even now, I’m fighting the impulse to touch a fingertip to one of those slick, pearly lines and taste. That sly whisper creeps back into my head, taunting me with, I told you this is a mistake.
Lust rips through the ripple of unease like a flimsy sheet of paper when he swipes his T-shirt off the floor and quickly, but thoroughly, cleans my skin. Then he shoves his boxer briefs down his legs and snaps, “Get those clothes off.”
My body obeys before my brain has time to receive the order. Standing, I strip, my attention claimed by him toeing off his boots and socks, then kicking his jeans and boxers free. By the time I reach behind me to undo the clasp of my bra, he’s lifting me and setting me on the edge of his bed. With quick, sinfully skilled hands, he removes my boots, pants, and panties, tossing the clothing behind him. Then it’s his turn to kneel, splaying my legs wide and resting the backs of my thighs on his shoulders. Those long, elegant fingers spread my folds, and my lungs seize, ceasing to function as he bows his head over my glistening, swollen flesh and swipes his tongue up my slit.
Holy… My eyes almost roll to the back of my skull, and my stomach clenches so hard it teeters on painful. His starving groan mates with mine, and nothing could keep me from twisting, arching into his mouth. Begging for more. Demandi
ng he do it again.
Maybe he’s a mind reader, or maybe he’s just as desperate as I am, because he licks another path up the cleft, ending the journey with a slow, luxurious lap of my clit. I can’t contain the keening cry that breaks free from my throat. Pleasure burns through my veins, smoldering in the place where he’s eating me like he can’t get enough. Like he can’t get his fill. Like I’m the sweetest, most decadent meal he’s ever had, and pushing away from the table isn’t even an option.
He’s seducing my pussy, wooing it with teasing flicks, worshipping it with lush strokes, teasing it with playful nips. Making it swoon with greedy hums that vibrate through my flesh. And my sex is falling for him, damn near sighing.
I can’t tear my gaze away from him, from the mask of pleasure that stamps his beautiful features. From the gleam of lust glittering in his eyes when he meets my stare. Not breaking our visual fucking, he removes a hand from my thigh, trails it through my folds, and slides two fingers inside me. No, thrusts them inside me.
“Oh. God,” I whimper, my head tipping back between my shoulders. Just like in the alley, the width and length of those fingers open me up, and I buck against the invasion, wanting him to go deeper, give it to me harder.
He pulls free, those blunt fingertips resting just inside my entrance. I don’t bother to protest. He’s not finished with me; the erotic, insistent tug of those lips on my clit relays how much he’s enjoying this. The shadows swirling in that intense, green stare assures me he’s going to give me everything I want, everything I need.
And when those clever, knowledgeable fingers shove back inside me, I’m proven right.
Electricity pulses up and down my spine, congregating at the base of my back before racing down my trembling legs. I cry out, and he sets a hard but so-goddamn-good rhythm that has me charging toward an orgasm that just might eclipse the one from the alley.
I buck into each stroke, riding his hand, his mouth. Sparks tingle over my skin, behind my clit, and my hips work harder, chasing it. And when he slides his fingers free, robbing me of it, I almost sob with disappointment. But before I can voice it—or demand he puts those magical fingers back right-damn-now—he glides them down the smooth path that connects my sex and ass.
The air hitches in my chest. I fist the covers beneath me and wait. And wait. God, don’t make me wait.
Those dampened tips press against my back entrance, not pushing, not circling, just resting. Seeking permission.
I meet his scrutiny and nod. My lashes flutter, then lower at the first bright, red flare of pain that flashes as he penetrates that tight, muscular ring of muscle. I embrace it, groan with it…love it. My ass clenches around his finger, craving that invasion. He fills me in a way that isn’t the same as a cock in my sex because this is dirtier, foreign but familiar. And it should unnerve me again that he reads me so easily where I had to ask this from other men, assure them that I did want it. But with Jay, he knows.
Yeah, I should be alarmed.
Instead, I’m grateful. And hot. So goddamn hot.
I’m going up in a conflagration as he slides deeper, withdraws, then pushes back in, his knuckles bumping the under-curve of my ass. Lifting my hips, I meet his next stroke, bearing down on his fingers. Telling him I can take it harder, faster.
I can take it all.
With a rumble that rolls out of him and echoes in the room, he purses his lips around my clit, suckles it, and plunges two more fingers into my sex. He fucks my ass and my pussy, tortures my clit, the wet, lascivious sounds a beautiful assault on my ears, and I can’t hold on. I grasp for the remaining tatters of control, but they disintegrate, and I shatter.
When the pieces reconstruct, he’s crouched over me, rolling a condom down his erection, and I no longer have to debate if the spasms in my sex are due to anticipation or anxiety. Anticipation. All anticipation. I’ve just orgasmed harder than I thought possible, and yet my flesh is quivering again. The heat that should’ve been extinguished is stoked higher by the sight of that hard, thick length that will soon drive a path through me.
He falls over me, his arms braced on either side of my head preventing his weight from crushing me. The longer strands of his hair tickle my cheeks as he hovers above me.
“You ready?” he rasps, that all-seeing gaze scanning my face, searching.
“Yes.” I lift my head, crush my lips to his, tasting myself. “Yes.”
He reaches between us, guides his dick to me, and without preamble, thrusts forward, burying himself inside me. I arch so hard, my chest crashes into his. The pressure, the bite of pain, the overwhelming pleasure—they claw at me, sinking into me. I swear, for a brief, what-the-hell moment, I’m choking on them.
“Look at me.” His quiet, steel-rimmed-in-silk order penetrates the erotic cacophony gripping me, and I focus on the emerald stare that anchors me.
He lowers his body onto mine, pressing me into the bed, but not smothering me with his powerful bulk. Without freeing me, he slowly rolls his hips against mine, grinding against my clit, somehow stroking into me. Something completely unintelligible escapes me—a sob, a cry, a garbled plea for more—and I try to rock up to meet him, but he’s in utter control of this, his weight hindering my movement. All I can do is lie there and take what he gives me. But, God, what he’s giving me is…unbelievable.
Jay uses his entire body to take me. His chest rubs over my nipples, his abdomen caresses mine, his hips stroke forward, dragging his pelvic bone over my clit. He kneads my walls, nudges a place so high and deep inside me, it’s quickly enslaving me. Even his thighs sweep a tender caress over mine.
“Please.” I wrap my arms around his wide shoulders. Embrace his waist with my legs. “Please, Jay,” I breathe, uttering his name for the first time since the alley.
It’s as if his name on my lips snaps some restraint.
He lets go. Like a strong, indomitable tree limb being snapped by lightning. And I swear, I heard—felt—the crack.
He jackknifes up, sitting back on his heels and hauling me with him so I’m straddling his thighs. His mouth crashes down on mine as his hands fall to my ass. Cupping my flesh, he lifts me off him, the display of strength stealing my breath, as does the drag of him over my sensitive, nerve-packed core. And when he drops me back down, driving up into me, I forget about breathing, about existing, about everything but what his dick is doing to me. All I can do is hold on, like a shipwreck victim clinging to a piece of debris, as he uses my body like I’m his own palm in a hand job.
And I love. Every. Moment.
Wild. Raw. Devastating. That’s what he is.
His tongue plunges between my lips, tangling with mine as he buries himself over and over inside me, branding me. With every stroke, he bumps into that place that has my legs shaking, my heart racing, my ears ringing. Tearing my mouth from his, I turn my head, pressing my cheek to his damp shoulder. We don’t speak, the only sounds the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh, the suction of his cock withdrawing and pistoning back into me, the harsh air from our lungs.
All of it is too much. And oh so not enough. That telltale tightening begins deep inside me, behind my clit, and I whimper, needing something more. I’m so close…so damn close…
He slams me down on his erection. Spreads my ass. And thrusts a finger in that hole.
I scream. Explode. Detonate.
It’s like splintering from the inside out, and as I plummet to God-knows-where, I don’t care if those pieces are ever found.
“Fuck.” Jay’s grunt is muted in my ear. Both of his arms are wrapped around me now, jackhammering into me. In seconds, he stiffens against me, and even through the condom I can feel him throb with release.
As one, we tumble to the mattress, me still captured in his embrace. He rolls so I’m sprawled on top of him, my ear to his chest and a front row seat to the pounding of his heart.
I should get up, leave now. And I will. In just a second.
Yet even as the words echo in my head, I sigh and
my lashes lower.
Because for the first time in over a year, I feel…safe. Protected. Needed in a way that is so different from the sometimes suffocating dependency of my mother.
The same unsettling sense of danger whispers another warning, but warm and sweaty from the best sex of my life, I don’t dwell on it.
There’s no need to be worried.
This is just a one-night stand.
I’ll never see Jay again.
Chapter Five
Jude
“Here you go, honey,” Mom says, offering me a glass of wine.
I sigh, hiding my grimace behind a smile. What I wouldn’t give for one of those Budweisers my stepfather, Dan, hides in the refrigerator’s vegetable drawer. Well, the ones he believes he’s hiding. It’s the worst-kept secret in this house. Mom is fine with his “low-brow taste in beer,” as long as he only indulges when company outside of family isn’t in the house. I hate to say it, but Mom’s bougie. It’s one of her quirks, and we all go along with it because no one feels like getting their asses handed to them by one Katherine Gordon Keller. She might be short in stature, but she’s a freaking giant in temper.
“Thanks, Mom.” I accept the glass and place a kiss on her cheek. The familiar scent of lilac and lavender that has been a staple since childhood greets me.
“You’re welcome, honey.” She smiles, patting my cheek as if I’m seven instead of twenty-seven, the blue eyes that she shared with only one of her children warm with affection.
It’s a good day for her. The grief that has weighed her down like a shroud the last two years isn’t as heavy today. The dark blond hair my brother Simon and I inherited from her is swept back into her signature twist, and not one strand is out of place. They wouldn’t dare. The lines that life has etched into her skin at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth can’t be erased, but today, they’re not as deep.
I release a breath I hadn’t been aware of holding, and the band surrounding my chest slightly loosens. Relief sprinkles through me like a late April mist. Nothing to worry about. Not today.
