Love Struck Bad Boys - 3 Novel Box Set

by Amber Burns

  “No!” Her protest is sharp.

  My humor is a passing rumble lifting my chest, my mouth latching onto the junction of her throat and shoulder. My sucking is provoking her hips to move, restart their tempo. My hands clamp around her hip bones. I keep her still, almost laughing at her frustrated half-whining, half-moaning response.

  Moving my mouth, I admire the hickey.

  I hadn’t ever tried it before, but I want to mark Vanna, and if she’d let me I’d do it in more permanent ways: Specifically with a large rock warning off any asshole that comes near her, and getting her round with our kids.

  She has no clue what I’ve done. Lost in a haze of lust, she’s kissing me as soon as my lips are free. And her hips are really fighting my hands. I’m questioning whether to let her rub one off on me, getting my revenge my increasing my pleasure tenfold and tripling the orgasm count I have planned for her tonight, or sinking into her and ending the exciting but torturous foreplay for the both of us.

  I make my decision, hands renewing their hold.

  “Wait for me to fuck you, Vanna, baby. I’ll let you cum then, all around me.”

  “Aaa…mos,” she’s hissing my name, her eyes squeezing shut, lower half jutting forward and her arch bringing her breasts to my face.

  I rub myself over her soft mounds, listening to her pants, her breathy pleas spelling out what she isn’t: Fuck me.

  “What do you want?” One hand slips between us, fingers brushing the stubble of her mound.

  She’s moaning, but I don’t hear what I want.

  I lock my teeth around a nipple, murmuring the question again around the hard flesh.

  “I, uh, I…want…i-inside…”

  “You want me inside – where, baby? Where do you want me?”

  “Inside,” she sighs, her head stirring up, moving back from her arch. “Me, please.”

  It’s an incoherent mess of a wish, and it’s exactly what I wanted since I met her that fateful day in the display.

  Our position makes it easy. I raise her by the support of her thick ass, freeing my erection and positioning the tip of my wet, throbbing head to her opening. The moist heat waving off of her nearly fractures my concentration; not a good thing when I’m carrying her weight and I want this to be pleasurable for both of us – hurting myself won’t get me any closer to finding the equivalent of earthly heaven in her.

  I lower her carefully, warning, “Don’t move.”

  She’s impatient as hell for a wallflower.

  I smile a bit, knowing I’m the reason she’s broken from her usual defensive emotional barrier.

  Just before she’s completely swallowed me, a brief thought flashes through my mind.

  She’s not a virgin, is she?

  Then Vanna’s surrounding me, her arms mimicking her vaginal walls and hugging me to her, clinging desperately as her breathing hitches her tone to a higher pitch.

  We haven’t started yet and already I’m batting back the urge to release.

  She’s so fucking tight though. I’m really wondering about this virgin thing when Vanna moves much quicker than I’d expect any newbie to do.

  I catch up with her, slowly, on my pace, controlling her movements because I don’t want to blow her and ruin the fun for her.

  “Ahhh… Yes… A-Amos.” I’m sure I won’t ever tire of her hissing warm breath breezing over my face as she moves to her knees over me.

  It’s not the greatest position. A chair would be nice. But it felt so, so freaking amazing to be cuffed by her – much better than my hand, and my hand’s been keeping me company longer than it should these past couple years.

  Getting serious about marriage destroyed the urge to pick up chicks from my nights out with buds.

  “Fuck, Vanna, like that. Do that thing again,” I’m begging and she squeezes again and again, tightening around me and then relaxing the sweet, sweet pressure, tightening and then relaxing.

  Her breasts are bouncing wildly, nipples kissing my chest in feather-light brushes contrasting with the painful indents of her nails in my shoulders. It’s all part of the hazy, heady mix at the back of my mind. I’d most likely come to face her version of love bites in the mirror tomorrow morning.

  I’ll wear them proudly.

  She slides to my tip and then I help sink her over me. Up and down, our thighs slap together, the wet music coming from her cooch are helping build the push off the edge into the mindless oblivion at the end of the journey.

  Vanna’s signal is a long, low wail. She arches back and her pussy has me in a hold my fist couldn’t ever compare to; it’s not a surprise I shatter inside her shortly after, her own orgasm the final push to joining her at the height of bodily gratification.

  Coming down from the high I scoot forward to avoid bashing my head against the green-and-white striped wall a little behind our heaving bodies. Our chests raising and falling from the exertion of the sex, I press a kiss to her forehead and let her slide off me, but not too far away, keeping her by my side as I bask in that glamorous thing called an afterglow.

  Her moving restlessly beside me after what feels like an eternity brings me to realize I’d fallen asleep.

  At least enough to reach up to wipe off any drool that might have accumulated before facing Vanna and figuring out what she’s up to beside me and that doesn’t take long.

  “What are in these boxes?”

  She’s got her back to me, finger running along the label of the bottom box of the stack I’d built while cleaning out the corner we’re partially lying in and that now looked dangerously close to toppling.

  Tugging her back by the waist, I answer while she’s peeling herself off of my side to peer up at me. “More of the stuff you and your siblings collected.” I share my name for the room.

  “Sterling dump yard?”

  “Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?” Vanna’s wrinkled nose says enough about my joking. I’m massaging her arm, shifting her away enough to trail my free hand over her, down to cup her not entirely hairless mound. Short dark stubs pepper the area.

  “I forgot to shave,” her voice is lower, softer, tone changing evidence of her growing desire, apology smacking off the comment. Her breath hitches in place at my errant finger over the pink-red hooded tip of her clit.

  “It’s fucking beautiful.”

  And I can see she believes me.

  I pass the sopping digit up her belly, enjoying the soft, pudginess around her middle and encompassing her breasts. I rouse her nipples, circling the areolas, and only a couple rounds pucker the sensitive flesh.

  “Amos, don’t,” she tosses her head away from me, exposing the shoulder with my love bite.

  “Are you planning to stop me?”

  Her put-upon sigh earns my chuckle. “Okay, I’ll stop. Only if you come here,” I tap my chest, “and kiss me.”

  Vanna rolls over and climbs on me. I let her do it alone. It takes her longer. It’s also hot as hell to feel her struggle. Her thighs must brush my cock three times before she’s settled over me, lips pursed.

  “That’s not kissing me.”

  I drop my head and laugh at her rolling eyes and exasperated breath fluffing up the long dark strands over her face.

  “My drama queen,” the mirth thickens with lust. I’m coming to life under her, her ministrations and show, jumping to a preview of my thrusting into her soaking heat, sluicing her walls until I’m climaxing in her again.

  Anticipating my thoughts, Vanna widens her legs and struggles to sit up using my chest as a launching point. I trap her palms by the wrists and lean up to bring our faces closer. “Glad you want to fuck me, too. I want you so bad, Vanna sweetheart.”

  “Amos,” she struggles with the rest, breaking up in completing the thought with slight, tricky slides of her hips, back and forth, wedging my cock in her ass crack with the back movement. “I w-want you, too.”

  Her boldness sparks a memory of her wanton controlling of our sex the first round, and in turn it has me switchin
g the conversation direction in case I forget to ask after another round robs me of my senses.

  “I’m not your first.”

  Vanna drops her chin from its perch on my chest. She traces the wings. She’s doing that a lot. Clearly avoiding my question this time, and I can’t blame her. It’s touchy ground.

  “No,” she finally whispers, deciding to answer. I’ve already decided not to push her. I know Vanna will tell me what necessary if she values this relationship as much as I do.

  “I did it for the first time in high school.”

  7

  “In high school?” I tease. “You dirty girl. Was it the boys’ locker room? The science lab? I hope not the cafeteria. Mhm, maybe the utility closet?”

  She flattens her hand over my tat and ducks her head. Her lips are kissing my chest, warm breath raising my temperature…and my cock. I twitch.

  “Not in the school.” I strain to hear her strangled words, grinning at her obvious embarrassment. “We were in high school. Brody was in my grade, but a year older.”

  “Brody, huh? First and last time I hear his name.” I’ve come on too strong. “Since you’re my girl now, I don’t want to hear about any dumbass that let you slip by.”

  “You asked!”

  Stilling atop me, Vanna’s indignation sparks her eyes, heating the deep brown pools.

  “Yeah, well, why did you answer? You’re as much in fault as me.” I’m smiling, unable to feign my annoyance to Vanna’s pouty variant of the same irritation.

  “Let’s call it even, kiss and make up then.”

  “Why do I have to call it even?” she’s preaching to the tears pricking the corners of my eyes; I really should stop poking fun at her.

  My hands glide up and down her arms, feeling the tension sweeping from her body, her mind returning to the crush of our naked bodies.

  “Vanna, I’m going to fuck you now.”

  She initiates the lip-lock, but my tongue insists on gaining entrance to her mouth. We clash, my slick appendage winning, tugging her tongue gently and inflaming a series of shudders through her.

  From the sloppy smooch I go to trailing a path of similar damp, fast kisses from her jaw down her flushed throat, pausing once over a definite circular swat of color to ring the island-like pattern with my tongue.

  “Amos, please,” she’s half-panting the order; I’m left conflicted just like last time: Do I fuck her? Or do I continue our harrowing foreplay?

  My decision is made for me by Vanna.

  I’d never imagine my shy, sweet Vanna lining her cunt with my cock, take matters into her own hand.

  And what a fucking awesome hand it is. Her palm is warm and smooth on my hard length. Vanna’s gentle. I can sense the uncertainty of how to hold me, the fear of hurting me smacking off her action.

  I’m about to tell her to tighten her grip and increase the sweet pressure, then she’s rubbing the tip over her slick slit, finding the right angle to...

  Do that. Holy fuck.

  I clench my jaw, head falling back for a second, fastening a grip on the urge to thrust. She’s so wonderfully tight. Makes sense, almost nubile that she is.

  She’s above me now, bearing her weight down, down until the bottom of her butt cheeks warming my balls and all six and half inches of me sheathed inside of her. Her re-positioning separates our torsos, her breasts are swaying in the space between us, easy enough temptation.

  I end up reaching for her tits, rubbing my beard back and forth from one dark coral nipple to the other.

  “Amos,” she moans, dragging her nails lightly down my chest, splaying her palms over my abs as she arches out of reach. I don’t let her get away that quickly. My tongue dashes out, covering the distance to flick a nipple.

  Her breath hitches on a moan, and I take it as an incentive to rouse the other breast. A natural progression is to catch her nipple in my mouth and suck. I start at the pebbly tip, and then slurp in her wrinkled areola and as much of her breast as my mouth will allow.

  My jaw stretches to sate her growing fervor.

  “Ahh!”

  Vanna’s discordant cry twitches my pulsing shaft inside of her. I’ve been waiting for her to set the tempo, but she’s moving slowly, taking as much time to lift herself off me by her knees and to bear down for me to consider it torment of its own category.

  I switch breasts, hands digging into her hips and jerking up to meet her strenuous efforts. It takes a lot of concentration and forearm muscles work, but I move a hand from her hip to her butt cheek and guide my sneaky digit into her back entrance.

  With a stalled breath, Vanna stretches forward, her tits particularly covering my face, and she tightens over both my dick and my thumb.

  There’s a first time for everything. I’ve never considered doing that to anyone, and I decided a while ago Vanna wasn’t anyone – wouldn’t be just anyone to me. Ever.

  “Ahh...” I’m waiting for the first sign of displeasure to remove the digit. Vanna’s rocking hips renew their tempo, gradually building up to the pace she had before I rudely interrupted her.

  “A-Amos.”

  Judging by that, my girl likes it a lot.

  It’s getting harder to focus. My mind zeroing in on her squeezing muscles cuffing me so beautifully... I barely note the tremble in my peripheral vision, instead casually turning my head and stilling my thrusts up into Vanna’s goodness.

  I move Vanna to the other side, shielding her with my arm. Only one box smacks against me, landing on my side. The second box is lying behind it, a victim of the catalytic first box. The third box is resolutely on the floor, unaffected.

  Vanna’s moving must have elicited the fuck-slow, eventual fall and subsequent mess.

  “Are you okay?”

  Doe-like expression, Vanna nods readily. “What about you?”

  I’m still inside her, so that’s beside the point. Grumpy that we couldn’t finish. Out loud I say, “Fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Maybe my girl is starting to get me and my moods. I brighten at that realization: The silver lining to the shit-fest of bad timing.

  “I’m fine. Really. This is nothing compared to the desert.” She looks stricken. I tone down the sarcasm, reminding my blood to return from my dick to my other head – the one I should be using now. “Sorry. I mean, I’m not bleeding.”

  Vanna’s pulling away, literally now.

  My member slips out with a schlick, the exposure to air only stiffening me more. I want to beg for her to finish me, but I can sense the shift in the air – the mood is ebbing and any attempt at seduction would cause her to retreat behind the shields she’d erected before I’d met her.

  And dammit if I ruin five days of work, chipping away and proving the last thing I would do is hurt her.

  So I man up and do the right thing, let her go.

  “What a mess.” My grumbling doesn’t get a reply. “Forever to clean up…”

  Vanna is quiet. Ignoring me?

  I seriously hope not, but she’s making me want to jump up and down, make funny faces, and just about anything else that will break the pleated V of her brows.

  We’re sitting up, the moment destroyed. I kick a box away and watch Vanna come up to her knees, her hand and arm shielding a complete view of her swaying breasts. She rushes to fetch her clothing out from under the boxes, and with the unoccupied hand, starts dressing herself slowly.

  I draw my knees up, comfortable in my nudity, my stiff cock jutting out from my legs.

  “Please tell me you’re dressing to only undress again.”

  “Why would I do that?” her incredulity aside, Vanna gives me a hell of a send-off show. I figure I could settle with watching her dress almost as much as I enjoy her in the buff.

  I’m stroking myself, aware she’s slowing…completely stopped dressing.

  That’s one way to get her attention.

  “Amos?”

  “Vanna.”

  She doesn’t like my sassy response, her han
ds righting her tee over her creamy belly and then folding across her breasts. “Up. We have to get out of here.”

  “Why?” I groan, breathing labored from my self-ministrations. I’m tugging harder, grip tightening and squeezing, attempting and flat-out failing to replicate Vanna’s wondrous pussy.

  “Wes and Violet are probably on their way to check out what’s happening.”

  “Were they busy when you came up?” my question takes longer to ask; I break for a grunt here and groan there.