One Wrong Move

by Shannon McKenna

  “Open your eyes, Nina.”

  Her eyes opened as he shoved the loose pants down over his protruding erection. It sprang up, bobbing and swaying.

  Bigger than her initial estimate. Long, broad, the gleaming head a flushed purple, a tangle of dark veins throbbing on his thick shaft. She wanted to grab, squeeze. Feel his vital energy pulsing in her hand. At her service. Oh, boy. So beautiful. Heavily muscled legs, the lean, perfectly modeled dips and curves of his hips and ass.

  She stumbled forward, grabbed him. Pressed her face to his chest. Hot, smooth, and he smelled so good. His skin was supple against her lips, springy chest hair tickling her nose. His nipples were small, tight, and puckered. She loved his taste, when she took the nub into her mouth. The hint of salt. She licked, drawing a strangled sound from him with each flicking caress. His fingers dug into her bottom.

  She grabbed his cock, stroked, squeezed. Just as good as she’d thought. That hot, vital throb. Vulnerability and power. His skin was so soft and smooth, sliding over the pulsing, steely hardness.

  “Fuck,” he rasped. “Nina. Please. Didn’t you hear what I said?

  About self-control? About coming in my pants? Did that sink in?”

  “Sure it did. It inspired me. Besides, you’re not wearing pants anymore. Come whenever you want.”

  She sank to her knees, and took him into her mouth.

  Half of her was shocked to her toes. The other half cheered like a sports stadium gone mad. Their tangled clothes padded her knees. She gripped his shaft, stroking. His pubic hair was thick and springy. She inhaled soap and hot man musk, licked off precome. Salty, perfect, magic. He stared down at her, his face a mask of tension. A man driven to the edge. And she wanted to be the one who set him soaring.

  She sucked him deeper. He made a sound like air escaping from a truck tire, and grabbed her hair, trapping her in place.

  Sound seemed amplified; the rattling hum of the air conditioner, the buzz of the bathroom fan. Televisions babbled in the guest rooms on either side of them, voices in the hall swelled in volume and receded. Aaro’s panting. The soft, wet sounds of her mouth. His shaking fists, wound full of her hair, next to her ears.

  Light from the wall sconce hit one side of them and left the other in shadow. Her knees wobbled on the snarl of discarded clothing.

  Her own heart thudded.

  She couldn’t boast of much technique, but he seemed to enjoy her efforts. And oh, he was delicious. She loved his taste, his texture, the metallic flavor of his shaft against her tongue. The broad, flushed cockhead, the tracery of swollen veins beneath her hands. Salt, sweet, slippery. She stroked his long, slick shaft two-handed while she licked his glans, tongue swirling, teasing.

  So excited, she felt faint.

  “Oh, God. Oh . . . fuck. ” He flung his head back, and came, with a guttural sound, thrusting even deeper into her mouth.

  She clutched his thighs. Powerful jets of come pulsed out of him. A lot to contain. He clamped her in place until the shudders tapered off to delicate flutters. She struggled to breathe, until Aaro unwound his fingers from her hair, pulled his gleaming cock from her mouth.

  With her guard down, fear and uncertainty made a surprise attack, whammo. She’d felt so connected, but suddenly he felt like a dangerous stranger again. She couldn’t look up, once fear had rushed into that vast space that had so inexplicably opened up inside her. Fear that he would look smug, triumphant. Or worse, contemptuous.

  It felt strange, being naked. On her knees. She hadn’t felt submissive or ashamed while it was happening. She’d felt like a goddess. Not now. It had all slipped away, and left her nervous and small. She tried to get up, knees wobbling.

  She wiped her mouth. Swallowed, with some difficulty. Her face felt hot, buzzing. Her throat, melted and shaking. Defenseless.

  And so damned nervous and self-conscious. She heaved upward, on wobbly knees. “Give me a hand up. I need to go rinse my—”

  “No.” He sank down next to her. “Not yet.”

  She squeaked in surprise as he jerked her closer, tight against his body. He cupped her face in his hand, and kissed her.

  She had about as much experience kissing as she did with fel-latio. Which was to say, not much. But it wouldn’t have made any difference if she had been an expert. Aaro was in absolute control, and her body knew it. She responded instinctively to his every silent, implacable demand. Her lips parted when he wanted them to, his tongue thrust, seeking, tasting, exploring her. Pleasing her.

  He lifted his head. “I wanted to taste myself on your mouth.”

  “Oh,” was all she managed, before the masterful kiss resumed.

  Going down on him had turned her on, but kissing him lit up something even deeper, wider. Lights flicked on in all directions inside her, into the far distance. Color and sparkle and heat, as far as she could feel. She took what he offered, offering herself up in return. Cupping his cheek as if his face were precious, intensely dear to her. There was no end to it. No limit to how good he could make her feel.

  Which meant that the opposite of that was also true.

  She shoved that bone-chilling thought away, and threw herself back into the kiss. Seize the day, damn it. Might not be many left.

  He leaned back, after several long, panting, clinging moments, and his expression made her eyes fill. It looked like . . . tender-ness.

  Tears flashed down over her cheeks. She was a fucking idiot, getting all emotional about this.

  He brushed her tears away with his knuckle, and licked them off.

  “Wouldn’t have taken you for the kissing type,” she said.

  “You’d have been right,” he said. “It’s never been my thing before.”

  “Oh. Well, you’re awfully good at it. For a non-kisser, I mean.”

  “Glad it works for you. Beginner’s luck.”

  The words seemed banal, silly, but she had to keep it light.

  She’d promised him. No expectations. She was putting aside the baggage, the issues. She didn’t want to scare him away. Not yet.

  Please, God. Not yet.

  She tried to smile. “That was, um . . . intense.”

  “Yeah. Blew my every last functioning brain cell right to hell.”

  She licked her lips. “I got the timing wrong,” she said shyly.

  “Making you come before we could, um—”

  He grabbed her hand, and pulled it, wrapping her fingers around his extremely stiff cock. “Not a problem.”

  She squeezed appreciatively. “I thought, recovery time, and all.”

  “Not tonight.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, lifted heavy skeins, letting them slide through his fingers. “You just did us both a big favor by taking the edge off.”

  She blinked. “You call that an edge?”

  “Now I can make up for the fact that you made me come first.

  You have to come at least ten times now, to compensate for that.”

  She giggled. “That’s overkill. I’m so ready.”

  “Yeah? Let me see.” He reached around to her bottom, stroking the undercurve. She was sopping wet, shivering. When he tickled the tender seam of her vulva, she moaned, squirming.

  He let the tip of his finger slide inside her, to the first knuckle.

  Circling, stroking. She reached down to squeeze his cock. Their moans became a sighing duet.

  “Oh, fuck. Not again,” he growled. “Nina. Damn it. Stop.”

  “It’s too much fun,” she protested. “I can’t stop.”

  “So much for taking the edge off,” he grumbled. “You’ve got me right back where I started. On the edge of the cliff again.”

  “It’s your own fault, for being such a great kisser.”

  His chest vibrated as his mouth covered hers again, his hand delving boldly. Swirling, stroking, in, out. She arched, writhing.

  “I’ve never been this ready in my life,” she said, when they came up for air.

  “Not for me.” He laid his open m
outh against her throat, nipping, tonguing. “You’re so tight. You hug my finger. I want you soft, open, soaking wet down to your knees. Ten orgasms. Then we’ll see.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “We’ll be here all night.”

  He smiled with all his teeth. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  She giggled helplessly at that, and in the meantime Aaro yanked at bed coverings and pillows, piling them on the floor.

  He lifted her so that they faced the full-length mirror, and her giggles choked off. She wasn’t quite ready to confront the brazen spectacle of the new, improved Nina the hellcat wanton in her studly lover’s arms yet. It was like looking at a too-bright light.

  She tried to curl up, to hide the tender bits, but Aaro was having none of that. He perched her on the pillows, and positioned her, limb by limb, legs splayed wide, knees bent, the soles of her feet propped up flat against the wall on either side of the mirror.

  A wildly erotic pose.

  Her face burned. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a visual thing,” he said. “I want you to see what happens when I touch your pussy. Anatomically, that’s hard, without a mirror. Just go with it. Look. You’re so hot.”

  Um. Easier said than done. She wasn’t used to staring at her intimate parts at all, let alone having a gorgeous naked man watch her do it. Her face was hot pink, her mouth even pinker.

  Shiny, flushed.

  Aaro ran his hand up her thigh. “So fucking soft,” he whispered.

  Too soft, part of her wanted to scoff, but she was not going to ruin the fantasy by focusing on how she wanted firmer thighs, and besides, he wasn’t complaining. Just go with it. The muscles in her legs and her butt clenched and released as he slid his hands toward her groin. His palms felt tough, smooth, hot. He nuzzled her neck, parting her muff, opening tight-furled folds, stroking. They gleamed, glowing pink. He splayed his fingers in a vee on either side of her mound, lifting until her clit popped out of its hood, shiny and taut and eager. Everything shone with lube, a foggy soft-focus glow of arousal that made it hard to breathe. There was a heavy, liquid ache in her lower body. She felt like the lightest touch could make her scream with pleasure and unravel.

  His teeth grazed her, nipping and dragging just as he opened her and slid his finger inside, pushing with a low, triumphant growl into the snug channel. She gasped, and lifted against his hand. Offering herself.

  He thrust again, easing two fingers in and out, in and out, then took his own sweet, tortuous time about licking his fingers. “You taste so sweet. I want to lick up your juice. Look. Open your eyes.”

  She opened her eyes, to see his two fingers disappearing inside her, caressing some excellent spot in there and simul-tanously doing something amazing with his thumb to her clit.

  She lifted her hips, clenching around his hand. Wiggling so much, he lifted her, clamping her against his chest while his other hand plunged and delved and thrust. She made strange, high-pitched sounds as the ache swelled . . .

  And broke. Pleasure shuddered through her in rhythmic waves.

  She became aware of the slow, sensual rasp of his tongue against her throat, her ear. Licking away sweat. Her eyes fluttered open, lazily.

  One of his arms was clamped across her pale belly, her breasts propped on top of it. The other tenderly cupped her mound, petting the wet ringlets as if she were a fuzzy kitten he was coaxing to purr. Every delicate stroke sparked a rippling shudder, a delicious sparkle.

  Time stopped, as she stared into his hooded eyes. She was caught and held like a vise by what she saw in there. So many things that he desperately wanted to say, but couldn’t. He was trapped behind inches of soundproof, bulletproof glass. She actually felt the pressure bottled up inside him. How strangled he felt. She felt it in every glance, every stroke of his sensitive hands. The desperation of his ravishing kisses.

  She dragged in a deep breath. “I want it now,” she announced.

  He looked disapproving. “I wanted to go down on you first.”

  “Do that later, if you want,” she said. “But do this now. Right now. I want you inside me. And I want you to kiss me while you do it.”

  His eyelid twitched, wary as always. “Kiss?”

  “Remember? The lip contact thing? Mouth-to-mouth, inter-mittent tongue action? Afraid of multitasking, Aaro? Too much challenge?”

  His grin was gone before she could be sure she’d seen it.

  “I’m afraid of everything right now,” he admitted.

  “I’m surprised you admit that, knowing you.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes narrowed, glittered. “You think you know me?”

  She stared straight at him. “Yeah, Aaro,” she said. “I think I do.”

  She wondered, in the stark silence that followed, if she’d gone too far, presumed too much. Then she saw another very fleeting smile.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said, and leaned to snag his bag. He dug through it, pulling out a flapping tail of condoms. Ripped one off, deftly rolled it into place. Then he stretched out against the heap of pillows, lounging in a deceptively lazy pose, stroking his flushed cock, which lay stiff against his belly. He braced it, so that it stood conveniently vertical.

  “Help yourself,” he said. “At your service.”

  She was dismayed. She’d been hoping to abandon herself to his amazing skill and experience. “What happened to the two-hundred-and thirty-pound wild boar who couldn’t control himself?” she complained.

  “I want to be sure that I don’t muscle you into anything. Only way to be sure of that is to have you drive. At least the first time.”

  She licked her lips. “How many times did you have in mind?”

  “For as long as you’re having fun.”

  Wow. She took him in, the whole length of his lean, solid body, his simmering vibe of controlled power. She sensed that it was difficult for him to be passive. His natural instinct was to take control and run the show, start to finish. He cared a lot about not screwing up. That moved her. He gazed at her, his sharp cheekbones flushed, his mouth grim. He seemed to be relaxed, but it was all for show.

  “I give you permission to drive,” she said, just for the hell of it.

  “So? I never asked permission in the first place. Touch me.”

  She edged closer, perched on her knees, and grabbed his cock.

  His fist clamped around hers, guiding her on the tight, swirling pull all the way up the lubricated latex that covered him. Beneath it, he was so taut. Stone hard. She petted and squeezed until his breath hitched.

  “Show me you want me.” His low, rasping tone made her body clench. Yearning sharpened into something approaching pain, but there would be no relief until she took it herself. In both hands. So to speak.

  So she did, struggling not to laugh. It felt awkward and strange. Mounting up on the oversized phallus of a gorgeous sex god commando warrior. Not on her usual daily to-do list.

  She swung her thigh over his. He gripped her hips, positioning her, helping to find just the right spot, the right angle. Then he petted her bottom, stroking her butt cheeks, cupping and spreading them so that her slick folds parted for him, just as he nudged inside her.

  He prodded her with the bulbous tip of his cock, moistening himself. Petting, twisting, and rocking, pressing against the resistence inside. A soft, pleading caress. Not pushing. Just waiting.

  Their eyes were locked. He was so big and blunt, lodged . . .

  just so. Oh . . . God. She wiggled, as her own weight forced her down over him. Thick and unyielding, but she was so excited, even the tight, stinging stretch around him was an afterthought to the excitement.

  He stroked her hips as she got used to his girth. Feeling his heartbeat pulse deep against her womb. “You’re so tight,” he whispered. “But you take all of me. You’re perfect.”

  She had no idea what next, immobilized as she was by his big cock throbbing inside her, so she defaulted to mindless babbling.

  “I
have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m glad it works for you,”

  she said. “But what about the kissing? Weren’t kisses part of the deal?”

  “Be my guest. Kiss me, fuck me, ride me. Do as you will with me.”

  “It’s not the same,” she informed him. “I want kisses like before.”

  “Picky, picky.” He jackknifed up so fast, it rocked her backward, but he caught her before she fell. He sat beneath her cross-legged and set her astride his lap facing him, legs around his waist. “Fucking complicated woman,” he complained, and kissed her again.

  If anything, it was more devouring than before. Or maybe that was the effect of having him stuffed three miles up inside her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and devoured him right back. So hot and strong. He smelled good, tasted good.

  Toothpaste, aftershave, tickling her nose. The tang of salt. She was weightless, suspended in a molten liquid, clinging to him.

  His big body was her anchor, her lifeline.

  The sinuous dance began, with such inevitability, there was no telling who initiated it. It was timeless, the deepening strokes of his cock, of his tongue, the rise and fall and pulse of her hips.

  His arms trembled, his fingers dug into her hips. She twined, flowering, fruiting, heavy with juice, flowing abundance. Her chest was going to supernova. She felt godlike, blessed, yielding to every thrust, each plunge of ravishing pleasure. Every stroke a new revelation. Surging, falling.

  It could have been hours. She came more times than she could count, pleasure cresting through her until she was liquid and boneless, again, and again. She was a shimmering cloud, contained by his fierce embrace. Defined by the strong body, clutching hers.

  He held his own release back, even when she urged him on, but finally flipped her, pinning her against blankets and pilows.

  He lifted his mouth to stare into her eyes. “You sure? This is OK?

  Me on top?”

  She nodded, gasping vainly for air.

  “You want me to fuck you harder?”

  “Yes.” The words came out a tight, breathless squeak.