Down & Dirty

by Tracy Wolff

  I want to touch him everywhere, to kiss him everywhere. He’s like my own personal playground right here in front of me, and I want to take my time, want to savor him, want to taste and touch him everywhere. But we are in the middle of someone’s backyard—someone who might come home anytime now—and no matter what taste they have in sculptures and sex, I’m pretty sure they won’t appreciate the sight of San Diego’s quarterback getting off in their garden. So instead of taking my time, instead of doing every single one of the dirty things running through my mind at the moment, I settle on letting him slip out of my mouth so I can press hot, openmouthed kisses on first one hip and then the other. And if I long for more, if I long for everything, well then, nobody has to know that but me.

  Hunter groans, his hands fisting in my hair as I push his T-shirt up and out of the way so that I can see, touch, taste, more of him.

  I skim my way across his stomach, kissing every inch of exposed skin I can get my lips on. But then the shirt falls down, covering him up again and I make a sound of frustration deep in my throat. If this is the only chance I’ll ever have to explore him, I’m damn well going to get a look at as much of him as I can.

  He must recognize the source of my frustration—or maybe he just wants the shirt gone as much as I do. Either way, it only takes a second for Hunter to rip the offending garment over his head and drop it on the ground next to my torn panties. As he does, the muscles of his chest and stomach flex and bunch. And suddenly, it’s all I can do to keep my tongue in my mouth.

  Because, dear God, the man is sporting the first ten pack I’ve ever had my hands on. Hell, it’s the only ten pack I’ve ever seen, period. Sure, I’ve seen the ads with him—he has a lot of endorsement deals and he has to take his shirt off for some of them—but I’d always assumed his unbelievable body was photoshopped like everyone else’s. It’s never occurred to me, even for a second, that when he poses in his Calvins, all those beautiful muscles are really his. I knew quarterbacks were ripped, knew they had to use all these glorious core muscles to throw the ball and dodge opponents bent on destroying them. But knowing that and seeing it up close and personal—as up close and personal as it gets—are two different stories.

  My mouth waters with the need to taste him, and so I do, petting his chest and stomach and hips even as I lick my way up the center of his torso as far as I can reach while on my knees. He groans a little, his hand cupping the back of my head to hold me to him as I kiss and lick and suck my way back down his stomach and abdomen to his cock. I pause right below his navel, suck a small, round bruise into the skin to the left of his happy trail. Then lick my way over and around it a few times, relishing the way his muscles jump and flex under my tongue.

  He smells so good, tastes so good—like orange and bergamot and dark, hot sex. I want to roll around in his scent, to pull it over me like a blanket. To wrap it, and him, around myself for long, lust-filled nights.

  But I don’t have nights, don’t have anything but this one, sun-drenched afternoon and I am determined to take advantage of it—and the freedom I have to touch him, to taste him, to take him. To let him take me.

  And so I kiss my way over to his cock, then pause, my mouth hovering inches above his tip. He’s big, long and thick and heavily aroused, and I’m pretty sure if I press his dick against his abdomen, the tip would stretch past his belly button.

  He’s an arousing sight, no doubt about that, but I’m not sure I can take all of him—in my mouth or my body. So instead of swallowing him down as I long to do, I choose instead to kiss just the very tip before pulling the head into my mouth and licking around and around it, my tongue flat and firm against the sensitive crown.

  He shivers, his back arching a little in a desperate bid for more. He looks hot, so hot, his eyes hyper focused and electric green as he puts a little pressure on my head in an attempt to urge me closer. To get me to take more of him—and to give him more of myself in return.

  Because I can’t resist the way he “asks”—any more than I can resist the way he looks at me—I give in, widening my circles until I’m licking halfway down his shaft. As I do, I make sure to pay attention to the sensitive area at the bottom of the tip, spiking my tongue and flicking against the spot again and again and again.

  “Fuck, Emerson.” Hunter’s fingers tighten in my hair, holding me in place as he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper into my mouth. “Baby, please…it’s been so long…I need…I need—” His voice, already low and gravelly and so, so sexy, breaks on a groan as he pulls me into him at the same time he slams his hips forward.

  The movement catches me by surprise, but he feels so good and I’m so turned on that it only makes me hotter. Stretching my jaw wide, I take him deep. Take him all the way to the back of my throat and still that isn’t enough. Still there’s more of him.

  I’ve never done this before, never opened myself up to a guy like this before. Never let him use my mouth—use me—the way I’m letting Hunter. But then I’ve never understood how powerful surrendering could make me, never understood that in yielding to him I get at least as much as I give. Maybe more.

  Because even as tears spring to my eyes, even as I struggle to breathe, I realize this mid-fall afternoon fuck isn’t just about him. About what he needs. It’s about me, too. Because the more he takes, the more I want to give him.

  Considering the fact that I might never see him again, it’s a terrifying thought. Terrifying, and so, so arousing.

  My nipples peak.

  My breath comes faster and faster.

  My sex throbs.

  “Fuck, sweetheart,” Hunter groans, and it’s the first time the endearment doesn’t get to

  me. Then again, with his hands tugging me back instead of pulling me forward, I have more to concentrate on than any pet name he uses for me. “That’s so good. That’s so—”

  I moan then, and the vibrations have him breaking off, have his hips thrusting forward fast and hard. Suddenly I’m taking all of him, his whole cock in my throat. My nose buried against his skin.

  It’s a lot—he’s a lot. Almost too much, really. But I want this for him, want it for myself, so I concentrate on breathing through my nose. On relaxing my jaw. On tamping down my instinctive need to panic at the dominance of his position.

  On one hand, it isn’t easy—I’m a control freak who doesn’t believe in giving a man control of anything having to do with me—and my heart is beating fast, my skin prickling with awareness, my body half-frightened, half-enthralled by the sensation of yielding control to him. But on the other hand, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Giving myself over to Hunter, taking what he gives me in return. It’s been a long time—maybe never—since anything I’ve done felt this right.

  Because the knowledge scares me, I shove it away. Ignore it. Concentrate instead on giving him as much pleasure as I can.

  Lifting my hands to his hips, I tug his jeans down a little more. I want to touch the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, to hold his balls in my hands. To scratch my nails down his ass, his hips, the backs of his thighs. I want to experiment, to figure out what turns him on.

  I want to make him feel as much as he’s made me feel ever since he kissed me yesterday.

  With that goal in mind, I slip a hand between his thighs. Brush my fingers over his testicles and then move back, behind them, to rub softly at his taint. Hunter stiffens, his fists going lax, and I pull off him slowly, savoring the way his breathing has grown harsh. The way his body is suddenly mine to command.

  I spend a minute sucking at just the tip of his cock, my tongue sliding over and around the slit as his breathing turns labored. Then I turn my head, rest my cheek against his hip and press soft, sweet kisses to his abdomen. His navel. His V-line.

  God. His body truly is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. Everything about it—everything about him—appeals to me. I’ve just come and I’m already on the brink again, just from touching him. Just from feeling, seei
ng, tasting what my touch does to him.

  I feel him relax slowly under my ministrations, his legs opening just a little bit wider in order to give me better access. As he does, his cock brushes against my cheek and I reward his gradual surrender by licking my way from his tip to his base and then back again.

  My name shatters on his lips, the pieces of it hanging in the air around us like magic as I begin a slow, steady stroking of his taint that has sweat rolling down his abdomen and broken curses falling from his lips.

  I love the sound of them, of him—breath catching in his chest, growl emanating from his throat, words breaking on his lips. All dark and deep and dangerous, so raspy it’s almost impossible to understand the words he’s growling.

  It’s enough to have heat shimmering through me, my sex clenching emptily.

  “Emerson, sweetheart, please—”

  The way he calls my name, all needy and desperate, does it for me like few things ever have. As a reward—and because, suddenly, I’m as anxious as he obviously is—I swallow him down, sucking so hard that my cheeks hollow out and my throat aches.

  Again and again I take him, relishing the broken sounds he makes at each pull of my mouth. Relishing the urgent grip of his hands in my hair and the desperate way his hips move against me. He’s lost his rhythm now, lost the smooth, sexual confidence that is such a part of him. Now he’s all about sensation, all about need, all about pleasure and the desperate, burning drive for release.

  As am I. I can feel the sting of his nails scraping against my scalp, the ache of the hard ground beneath my knees, the burn of his cock stretching out my throat. I’ve never had any desire to mix pain with pleasure before, but this moment—on my knees in front of Hunter as he uses me, as he thrusts into my mouth again and again and again and takes what he wants—is, by far, the most erotic experience of my life.

  And I’m nowhere near ready for it to end, even though I’m nearly as strung out on sexual pleasure as he was.

  Slipping one hand under his swollen balls, I cup him, rubbing and squeezing and stroking until he’s panting like a cornered animal. Until his fingers are twisting hard in my hair and he’s calling out my name with each thrust of his cock into my mouth.

  Tears leak from my eyes, run down my cheeks—a by-product of having him so deep for so long—and still I don’t let up.

  My jaw aches, my lips and mouth and tongue threaten to go numb under the fast, brutal pace of his hips jacking against them, and still I don’t finish him. If this is all I’m ever going to have of Hunter, then I’m going to make it last. Going to relish every second of it.

  But then he’s reaching between us, cupping my breast in his hand. Stroking and pinching and pulling at first one nipple and then the other through my blouse and bra. It’s too much stimulation, too much pleasure, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.

  “That’s it, sweetheart,” Hunter grates out as he pinches my nipple between two fingers and then flicks his thumbnail across the very tip of it again and again and again. “Let me get you there, too.”

  I’m already there, and would have told him so if my mouth wasn’t still stuffed with his cock. My clit burns, my pussy throbs, and my whole body feels like it’s on the verge of shattering into a million jagged pieces.

  Desperate to stop the ache, to hold myself together, I slip a hand between my thighs. Press my palm flat against my clit.

  But that only makes it worse, as does the deep rumble of Hunter’s voice urging me on. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. Spread your thighs for me. Let me see you touch yourself.”

  Any other time I would have been embarrassed, but right now I’m too needy, too frantic, to do anything but follow his instructions. “Fuck yeah, baby. Let me see you. You’re so pretty,” he croons even as he starts thrusting harder, faster, into my mouth. “So. Fucking. Pretty.” Each word punctuates another thrust into my mouth, another squeeze of my nipple, another step up the precarious ladder of my own pleasure.

  “You’re so good, baby,” he tells me as he clamps down on my left nipple hard enough to have me gasping around his cock as a quick shock of pain shoots through me. It’s immediately followed by a very pleasurable heat, though, so I go with it, arching against him, into him, as shocked and needy tears slide down my cheeks.

  “So good,” he repeats. “You take it so well.” His hand slips from my hair, and then he cups my cheek. Tilts my head up so that I am looking directly into his eyes.

  What I see there has me nearly gasping again.

  Dominance, yes.

  A need for control, absolutely. But there’s tenderness, too. And just a hint of the vulnerability I’d seen earlier. I’m giving myself to Hunter here, letting him take from me what he needs from me. But as I look up at him, as I see the openness on his face as he gazes down at me, I can’t help thinking that he really is giving just as much of himself to me.

  It’s terrifying and exhilarating and arousing, all at the same time. My pleasure ratchets up another notch and I know I’m close. Know it won’t take much to send me careening over the edge into oblivion.

  Hunter must sense it, too, because his eyes darken to a wild, dangerous green that just might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “You like that, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice taut as a circus tightrope. “Does that feel good?”

  I nod as much as I can considering his hand is on my jaw and his cock is down my throat. But the wicked grin he flashes me tells me he got the message. As does the hoarseness of his voice as he instructs, “Now slip a finger inside that sweet pussy of yours.”

  He watches avidly as I follow his instructions. “That’s good. Fuck, that’s perfect. Spread your thighs a little more so I can see. I want to watch you finger fuck yourself. I want—” He breaks off as I do what he asks, spreading my thighs so wide they burn. And then I’m thrusting my finger in and out of myself, fucking myself the way I so desperately want him to fuck me.

  “Fuck, yes. God, baby, you look so fucking hot. Fuck. Now add another one.”

  I whimper as I do what he asks, sliding my fingers in and out of my drenched sex in the same rhythm he’s sliding in and out of my mouth.

  “Does that feel good, sweetheart? Do you like that?”

  My only answer is a high-pitched whine that comes from deep inside of me.

  He’s deep in my throat when I feel the cry go through him like an electric shock, his body stiffening and eyes going wide. In response, he thrusts even deeper, faster, harder.

  I suck at him as best I can, but his hand is back in my hair and he’s in control now, fucking my mouth with a blazing intensity that I know will leave me sore later. Not that I care about being sore. How can I when I’m on the brink of an orgasm that threatens to consume me whole?

  “That’s it, baby. Oh, fuck, that’s it. You’ve got the best mouth, sweetheart. You take my dick so good.” As he speaks, he never takes his eyes off my wet, swollen sex. “I just want you to do one more thing for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”

  I don’t know. I’m drowning in sensation, drowning in a razor-sharp pleasure that is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. But I nod anyway, determined to give Hunter whatever he wants. Whatever he needs.

  “Good girl,” he tells me as he tightens his fingers around my nipple just a little more. A shock of electricity slams through me at the strength of it, and I jump. Squeak. He laughs a little, a low, dark sound that has my eyes falling shut and my body climbing even higher. “Now pinch your clit between your thumb and index finger like I’m pinching your nipple. Squeeze a little harder, a little harder—Fuck!”

  He breaks off as I whimper, a high-pitched, broken sound that comes from deep inside of me and resonates all the way through his cock. And then he’s thrusting wildly, fucking my mouth, his rhythm shot to hell as he drives himself closer and closer to orgasm.

  I’m right there with him, though, ecstasy sparking deep inside of me. Pleasure shooting along my every nerve ending. Fire racing down my spin
e, tearing through my limbs, engulfing my every sense.

  “Fuck, baby, I need you to come with me. I’m coming. Fuck, I’m—” Hunter groans, his fingers tightening in my hair as he tries to pull me off. But I’m teetering on the edge of my own orgasm and there’s no way I’m going to deny myself the feel and taste of him on my tongue.

  So I suck him hard, suck him deep, one more time. And then he slams over the edge, his release shooting onto my tongue and down my throat in a series of powerful pulses that have my own climax rising up like a wave to swamp me. To pull me under.

  My last coherent thought is that I want to see and I blink my eyes open just in time to watch Hunter’s skin flush and his sharp eyes turn blurry as he gives himself over to a pleasure so intense that for a moment I fear it will tear us both to shreds.

  Chapter 14

  When it’s over, when the last, shaky tremors of orgasm finally slip away, my ability to do more than feel finally returns. And all I can think is, What have I done? Well, that and, When can I do it again?

  The latter is exactly the wrong question to ask, but as Hunter reaches down and helps me to my feet, it’s almost all that I can think about.

  Kissing him again.

  Feeling him inside me for the first time.

  Taking him over the edge one more time.

  Letting him make me come again and again and again. God knows, he managed to do it twice in this garden with little more than his thumb and the sexiest set of instructions ever directed at me. Who knows what he can do if he actually gets his cock inside me?

  My knees go weak at the thought and suddenly I want nothing more than for him to back me up against the nearest tree and pound into me until we both explode all over again.

  But he obviously doesn’t feel the same way, as he’s pulling down my skirt now, his hands gentle as he smooths the soft material over my hips and down my thighs.

  “You okay?” he murmurs, lips pressed against my temple as he straightens my blouse next.

  I nod, then stand frozen as he carefully fastens the buttons he undid earlier. He starts at the bottom, his fingers gliding softly—so softly—over the skin of my abdomen, my midriff, my chest, until the last button is done. And then he leans forward and presses one more tender kiss to the hollow of my throat.