Inferno Anthology

by Gow, Kailin

  “Bryson—you deserve everything that life has to offer, especially love—especially the love of a very special someone. I hope I can be that someone for you.”

  “You already are.” His arms collapse around my back as he holds me tight. “And I wouldn’t want to share my life with anyone else—just you, Baya. I mean it.”

  Bryson pulls me in by the face and lands a kiss over my lips, slow and sweet at first until it builds to something fantastically stronger, far more hungrier than any of the kisses we’ve ever shared before. His hands ride down until he’s riding hard circles over my nipples through my bathing suit. A soft moan escapes me, vibrating from my lips to his. His hot mouth melts over my neck and down to the cleft of my shoulder. I can feel his cool breath, his hot kisses, and a powerful pang of pleasure shoots through my body, starting from the most intimate part of me.

  “Do you want this with me, Baya?” Bryson pulls back and examines me as if he wasn’t quite sure he could simply trust the words streaming from my lips. He needs to see the evidence on my face because he knows I can’t hide my feelings for him, and I can’t.

  “Yes,” I whisper directly into his mouth as a smile forms on my lips. “God, yes.”

  Bryson melts over me with a kiss—his erratic breathing, his racing heart all let me know he wants this too. His hand rides down low and glides slowly into the front of my bathing suit bottom.

  I let out an audible moan, and my neck bends back from his touch.

  Bryson pulls me up as a naughty grin rides low on his lips. “How about we move this show upstairs?”

  I bite down on a smile. “I double dog dare you.”

  My lose-your-virginity party is about to begin, and the guest of honor just put all of my pleasure zones on erotic notice.

  I have a feeling this is going to be the best damn party of my life.

  Bryson scoops me up, once I have the towel secured over me. It’s freezing out, but my body is happily numb with shock at the prospect of what he might do to it. He whisks us through the house and up the stairs, wasting no time in getting us to his bedroom.

  He kicks the door shut behind us, and it sounds off like a clap of thunder. The moonlight illuminates the room even brighter than it did last night.

  “Baya.” He pulls his lips over mine, rough and needy—and, dear God, do I ever want to give him what he needs. The incessant urge to giggle crops up, and I shoo it away like a field mouse in the kitchen.

  “Last chance if you want off this train,” he offers. “We could go downstairs and watch TV—play Scrabble if you want.”

  Scrabble? I wonder how many points I could score for f-u-c-k-i-n-g? Not that it would be the type of “score” I’m hoping for.

  I belt out a laugh. “Maybe we could round out the night working on crossword puzzles together?” God, he’d better not say yes.

  His chest vibrates over mine as he pulls me to the bed. We sit on our knees and face each other, our chests still heaving from the excitement, the exertion, to get here. Bryson takes me in from his vantage point in an observational way as if I were a new scientific discovery.

  “I’ll work on crossword puzzles with you until we’re old and grey if you let me.” His cheek rides high on one side.

  “I like the old and grey part.” I pick up his hand and intertwine our fingers. “But, right now, I think we should stick to the original plan of action, and I do mean action.” I pull his hand to my mouth and graze over his fingers.

  “Sounds like you’re pretty focused.” His teeth illuminate in the dark like mirrors.

  “I’m focused one hundred percent on you, Bryson Edwards.” I brush away any apprehension I might have and hold him by the back of the neck. “Will you love me tonight?”

  He swallows hard never losing our stare. “I’ll love you every night for the rest of your life if you let me, Baya Brighton.” Bryson lands his lips over mine with a series of boiling kisses that promise a thousand tomorrows all their own. Bryson gently removes the towel from around me and peels off his shorts without his lips ever losing touch with mine.

  My insides squeeze until it feels as if I’m going to be sick. I pull back and look at him like this, naked as he bears himself to me. The quiet light of the moon settles over his skin, and I can see the ripples in his cut abs, his chest, the cut V just below his abs, then below that, every last inch— Oh. My. God.

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!

  Bryson Edwards has a beam between his legs. An Olympic sized balance beam, and I half-expect to see an entire string of gymnasts burst into the room with team USA leotards on and break out into a routine over it.

  Just fuck. There is no way in hell he’s ever going to fit inside me. He’s going to impale me if he tries. One good thrust, and he’ll shoot right out my throat. I can just see the paramedic ride to hospital now. Crap. I’m going to end up on YouTube and Instagram, Vine, and all sorts of social network sites as the girl who cracked in half while trying to lose her virginity. I’ll be the poster child for abstinence at Catholic schools the world over. I’ll be on Reddit, then the news, and my mother will see me and kill me, no wait, Cole will beat her to it right after he snaps off that branch hanging from Bryson’s body.

  I take a breath in sheer terror at the thought of what might come next. I must be deformed. Other girls must have a ditch you could back a dump truck in. And poor me, I have a hell of a time just inserting a slender tampon. This is never going to work. If I knew there was anything wrong with me, I would never have gotten his hopes, or his tree limb up, in the first place.

  Bryson takes my hand and runs my fingers over the length of it. He’s hot to the touch, hard as steel, more rigid than I imagined, and a little skin cap sits at the top like a crown.

  I’d say something that plays into our big bad wolf meme like my what a long penis you have. But I’m deathly afraid he’d come back with something like, the better to spear you with.

  My fingers tighten around him, and Bryson bends his head back and sucks in a quick breath. I can make out the ridge of his Adam’s apple rising and falling like a shadow.

  “Did I hurt you?” I let go as if snatching it back from a rattle snake.

  “No.” His lips curl as he says it, and he returns my hand to the foot-long splitting the difference between us. “I could come right now if I’m not careful.” He presses the words out with an ache as if he were in pain on some level. Bryson reaches over and unties my bathing suit top, extra slow, as if he were reveling in the moment. My body flinches as he whips it away. Here I am, on my knees, in front of Bryson Edwards the king of mattress tag at Whitney Briggs, and I’m ready to take that next step with him. Well, most of me is ready. My squeezebox is seriously reconsidering the idea.

  Bryson reaches down and unties my bikini bottom and pulls it off slow through the front, and the fabric rubs along the most intimate part of me like a slick, wet tongue.

  A moan works its way up my throat, and I try to cap it. I don’t want him to think this is all too much for me, that I’m overwhelmed in any way—of course, I am, but in every good way. The truth is the simple act of him stripping me nude is far more erotic than I could have ever imagined, and that vulnerable part of me is back on board with the idea.

  “I’m going to make love to you, Baya.”

  A tiny squeal escapes from me, more fear than cheer, but I doubt he heard over the bongo drum-like riot, taking place in my chest.

  His fingers feather over my cheek, and I move toward him like a magnet. Bryson’s heated hands roam over my back. He rounds out the front and gives my nipples a gentle pinch before dipping a hand down to my thighs and finding his way into the warmth of my body. I seal a breath off in my lungs and let out a hearty, yet vocally impaired, groan as my sweet spot jumps up and down in his hand as if it were happy to finally meet him.

  “Oh, yeah,” he groans. “You’re so wet.”

  “That’s because we were in the hot tub,” I whisper through a smile.

  A dull laugh
pumps from him. “And here I thought you were ready for me.”

  Ready for him. Right. Crap. I’m such a moron. Who the hell did I think I was sleeping with Bryson without at least brushing up on my sexual terminology? I’m beyond ridiculous to think I was just going to causally pick things up as we went along. I should have logged hours watching porn instead of reading Yates for Lit. It’s like I’ve got no fucking priorities. I should have read the Karma Sutra—shoved it in Cole’s face when he asked what I was reading. How do you like my book boyfriend now, bitch?

  I shake my head, quickly chasing away the desire to inadvertently tell off my brother—from thinking of my brother while my newfound boyfriend’s hand is rubbing me the right way.

  Bryson bows his head into me, his eyes close, his chest thumps with each breath. His fingers glide over my folds and I bury my lips in his neck as a dull cry rattles through me.

  I let out a breath. Oh, hell, yes.

  Bryson rubs over me slowly, methodically as if he had an entire game plan mapped out, and I am so loving the game plan. His fingers brush back until he carefully inserts one into me, and my hips writhe with pleasure right there in his hand. I crash my body against his and push my cheek into his shoulder with my mouth open and panting. My entire body demands to detonate over him. This is something far stronger than those pansy-like quivers I’ve been experiencing, and just the thought that he can elicit in me an excitement I had no idea existed makes my muscles twitch with ecstasy.

  “You’re so tight,” he whispers close in my ear, gliding his finger in and out.

  I try to agree with him, but I’m biting down over my lips, outright refusing to open my mouth in fear a viral scream will leap from my lungs. He’s loving me, touching me in ways that I could never imagine, and I’d hate to break the magic with the unearthly shriek begging to rip from my vocal cords.

  Bryson peppers my face with a soft string of kisses. His hand moves inside me spiraling deeper until it feels as if he’s going to touch my belly. “Does that feel good, baby?”

  A small choking sound evicts itself from my throat.

  “Mmm,” he moans softly in my ear with a kiss. “I thought so. I love watching you. You’re fucking beautiful when you’re about to come, you know that?”

  Oh God. As if being in bed with Bryson wasn’t enough, he has to go and turn up the dirty talk. And I freaking LOVE the dirty talk!

  My body bucks into his, and I hold onto his shoulders, digging my fingers into his flesh, trembling as a wash of heat takes over my body. I’m going to lose it right on his hand before we ever get to the part where he injects his tree trunk into me. I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my head back as he presses into my body with an earnest desire.

  “Baya,” he whispers as his voice drills through my spine—between my legs where his hand is still loving me, slow and purposeful.

  Bryson lays me on the bed with his body hovering gently over mine. My head arches back as I push my hips to meet his. I’m writhing, unable to settle down. Each nerve in my body is raw and alive at his touch. My senses are at attention, every inch of my flesh is calling him to cover me like a sheet. A moan gets locked in my throat as he pulls his hand away, and a severe ache is left in his absence. Maybe this is as far as we’ll ever get. Maybe he’s already done the vaginal math, and he knows he’ll never fit inside, so why bother trying.

  Bryson touches his lips to my ear. He covers my lobe with his mouth and runs his tongue along the rim like an erotic warning.

  “Bryson,” I hiss, writhing from his volcanic-like kisses.

  Just as I’m about to suggest he get the hell back down there, his hand covers me again. His finger glides in and out, and a sweet throb rockets through me, slow and steady as he picks up his pace.

  He presses a kiss to my ear. “I want you to come for me, Baya,” it streams like an inferno from his mouth.

  A breath gets caught in my throat as he plunges deep inside me, his thumb moves over my folds, and I let out a breath as I flex into him. I’m shaking so hard, the entire bed rattles.

  “But not like this,” he whispers. A quiet laugh filters through his chest. Bryson reaches up and cups my breasts again, his hand still wet from touching me. He presses me together and buries his lips between the soft mounds of flesh for a moment. He sears his mouth across my chest until his lips are secured over one, and gives a playful bite before sucking on it careful and slow. He lands his teeth gently over my nipple and pulls it out, stretching it until it feels as if I’m about to burst. “Did you like that?” He teases as he rides his lips up toward mine.

  “Yes.” I can barely manage the word as I lose myself in his kisses.

  “Good.” He slips his fingers below my waist. “Now I’m going to make you come, Baya.” He lies me back and rises above me. “In my mouth.”

  Did he just say his mouth?

  I take in a breath and can’t seem to shut off the intake valve.

  His mouth is like twelve times better than his hand, not that there was anything wrong with Bryson’s hand. God no. It should be cast in a mold and sold at those naughty adult stores worldwide. It would be a best seller because each finger holds its own magical property. I have a feeling that little joy toy would turn the entire vibrator market on its ear—penis, whichever.

  “Do you want that?” He smolders over me with his bedroom eyes, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. A sharp sting ignites over me when he asks the question.

  I let out a little whimper because, holy shit, YES I motherfucking want that. I give a little nod in the event my whimper could be misconstrued in any way, shape, or form.

  A wild prickle of excitement tracks over my skin as every cell in my body cheers him on.

  Bryson trails his kisses down to my chest, and I jump with each one. These weren’t just any kisses, these were blazing a trail to a place where no mouth has ever ventured before. He lands his lips over my nipple one more time, and it melts from his heated tongue before he dives lower still, burying a kiss in my belly. My eyes flutter back in my head, and all sorts of feel good vibrations rocket through me like errant missiles shooting off in every direction at once.

  Oh God, the belly kiss. Yes—God yes, the belly kiss.

  “Bryson,” I groan and hold him there for a second.

  “Does that feel good?” He sinks lower, not waiting for an answer and pushes my knees apart until I feel vulnerable, and my entire lower half spasms from sheer titillation.

  My heart gyrates its way into my throat. I glance down and notice he’s paused his efforts.

  God, something’s wrong. I knew it, I’m deformed down there, and now he wants nothing to do with me and my misshapen vagina. Or maybe he can’t find it because I didn’t take the time to do some serious landscaping. It was like hacking through swampland, and my poor razor dulled out before I could put a decent dent in the curly curtains. Crap. He’s face to face with Furby and now he wants nothing more than to box it up and take me back to Boys “R” Us for a refund.

  I hike up on my elbows and try to pull him back.

  “Whoa.” He snatches my hand and presses a hot kiss over one finger. “I’m just enjoying the view, honey. I’m not coming up for a while.” He tucks a kiss into my inner thigh, and my vagina all but starts singing, Welcome to the Jungle. A sizzle of electricity spirals through me as his tongue tracks in a long hot line, closer and closer, to that tender part of me that’s been waving him in like an air traffic controller since the day we met.

  Oh God, he’s going to do it. I fall back on the pillow and bite over my bottom lip until I’m sure I’m about to draw blood. I fist the covers, and my head twists back and forth in anticipation of where his searing lips might land next.

  He pulls back up, and my sweet spot sags with disappointment.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He sinks a kiss just below my belly then trails his kisses further south, touching down over the dark triangle of hair, then below that, and I give a heated breath, then lower still until hi
s lips press into the most tender part of me, and every ounce of estrogen in me screams YES because his rock star of a mouth just took center stage.

  My head arches back, deliriously writhing into the pillow.

  His tongue does a quick exploratory lay of the land, and I can feel him breathing over me. It sort of tickles in a deliciously sweet way. His teeth graze over me as he tracks lower, penetrating deep into me with his tongue, and I let out a fierce groan because, holy hell, I so was not expecting that.

  WOW.

  I twist my head until I bite down into my pillow. Bryson Edwards is killing me in the most erotic way possible. It’s becoming painfully clear that I’m never going to survive this night. My heart is going to launch out of my throat at any moment because obviously I’m not designed to handle excitement of this caliber. Crap. I’m not even designed to handle a pedicure, what in the hell was I thinking climbing into bed with Bryson Edwards?

  I have no idea how those countless girls he bedded ever survived the explosiveness of his lips, his body—the olive branch between his legs he’s so ready and willing to extend. I bet there’s some survivors group I can join after, that is if I manage to live through the endeavor, and we can all talk about how amazing the sex god of Whitney Briggs is in bed.

  He runs his tongue along the slick between my thighs, and I groan as I grind my shoulders into the mattress. He lashes out over me until I’m clawing at the covers, scratching over his back, raking my fingers through his hair. His hand tracks down over my hips, and his finger finds its way inside me once again, this time with much more purpose and force behind it. His mouth remains steady over me while his hand pulsates in and out. I let out a fierce groan because it’s all way too much more than this girl, or any of her parts, can handle.

  The room starts in on a silent spin. My head and chest build with incredible pressure. That small space between my thighs has become the entire focus of my universe as an invisible blaze consumes me from the inside out.