Douglas moved his mouth to her ear. “Now it begins,” he whispered darkly.
Kowalski thought he knew a lot about fucking. He had to. Ugly men had to know more if they wanted to get laid on a regular basis. He needed a lot of sex so he’d learned how to do it right. The good old fist worked when necessary, but women were better and he’d learned how to please them.
So he knew how to control his strokes, he knew how to read the signals a woman’s body gave about how she wanted her fucking—slow and deep, hard and fast, a mix. He knew he did it right because they usually asked for seconds and thirds.
Pleasuring a woman meant using your head and not just your dick. Kowalski was used to keeping some consciousness alive in the back of his head while fucking, observing whoever he was with and adjusting his moves to suit her desires. There was always a little bit of him holding back, watching. He never lost it.
He knew how to keep his cool under fire, and in bed.
So nothing in his personal experience prepared him for the hot, raw pleasure of parting Allegra’s soft tissues with his cock, pleasure he felt from his hair to his toes. Fierce, hot pleasure that had him shaking, a second from coming. Pleasure that wiped almost every single rational thought from his head and reduced him to an animal operating on raw instinct.
He’d never fucked bareback and when she’d told him he could, he’d been tempted to throw her on the bed and get his cock in her cunt as fast as he could. Both because it would be the first time ever for him and because it was Allegra, the most beautiful and desirable woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
He hadn’t though. He’d held on to his self-control by his fingernails, even withstanding the initial jolt of entering her. It had been like sticking his cock in an electrical outlet, the shock was that great.
Some last vestige of thought, somewhere way back in his head, told him to go slowly because every instinct he had was screaming for him to slam into her and start doing her hard—wall-banging, violent fucking.
He couldn’t do that with Allegra. The instant his cock entered her, even just the head, he realized he’d hurt her if he let himself go. She was aroused, she was wet—that wasn’t a problem—but she was small and maybe a little unused. So he pressed forward slowly, sweat breaking out all over his body. He couldn’t plow her with his cock, but he could ravage her mouth instead, and did. He wished he had a hundred tongues, a thousand cocks, all inside Allegra.
Inside Allegra was the most fabulous place in the universe to be. Warm, welcoming, the source of mind-blowing pleasure.
He bit her lips, then licked his tongue back into her mouth, angling her head for the best, closest fit. She tasted heavenly. He just bet her cunt tasted heavenly, too, but that was for later, when the excitement died down a little, when he’d had her a few…hundred times. Oh God, just the thought…
His tongue in her mouth was as exciting as his cock in her cunt and it was there, in her mouth, that he felt her climax first.
His cock was finally in her all the way, but he didn’t dare move. He hardly dared breathe. He pressed forward, just a little, and felt her mouth soften, a little moan which he felt in his own mouth and she climaxed, just like that.
And, just like that, he did too.
It was unheard of. Kowalski could go for hours, but at the first contraction of her little vagina against the bare flesh of his cock he exploded. He ate at her mouth, holding her head with his hands because if he held her hips he’d hurt her. So they kissed and came and shook and moaned, both of them, for an eternity. At least that’s what it felt like. Kowalski lost all sense of time while he was coming inside Allegra, the first time he’d ever come inside a woman and not a rubber.
It blew the top of his head off. He clung to her mouth, gasping and moaning, holding himself rigidly inside her while every drop of liquid in his body came spurting out of his cock. What little liquid didn’t come shooting out of his cock came out his pores. At the end, he was wet all over, from her mouth, from his sweat, from his come—dripping with it.
It was the most intense climax of his life. He’d actually seen stars behind his eyelids, and he wasn’t even close to being done with her, still hard as a rock and still so aroused he could hardly breathe.
“How are you doing?” he whispered against her lips. He felt her smile against his mouth, lifted his head and, with an effort, opened his heavy lids.
He’d let her choose whether to have the lights on or off to give her a semblance of control, but he had excellent night vision and saw just fine by the light of the streetlamps outside her window. She was still coming, he could feel the contractions of her pussy. In his experience, women got tense when they came, muscles rigid, faces strained, looking almost as if they were in pain. But not Allegra. Allegra’s face was soft, dreamy, tender. Her mouth was swollen and wet from his. She was smiling, sightless eyes half-closed.
Her open palm was against his face, delicate fingers caressing him.
The contractions were dying down and her thighs fell open from where they’d been clinging to his hips.
“How am I doing?” she sighed. “Wow. That’s how I’m doing.” She lifted her head and kissed him, awkwardly, off center, hitting the side of his mouth. “Thank you,” she said softly.
His chest felt tight, his muscles tense. The kiss had been tender, touching. He wasn’t used to tenderness while fucking. It staggered him, made him uneasy. He wasn’t recognizing anything that was happening as fucking-as-usual. It was all new and a little scary. “Don’t thank me yet,” he growled. “It’s not over.”
“Oh? Oh!” she cried out, startled, when he reversed their positions suddenly, rolling over with her in his arms until she was lying on top of him. A soft, fragrant curtain of red hair surrounded his head, fell over her shoulders onto his, like a warm, living blanket. He needed to start moving and if he was on top, he’d get rough.
That was the theory, anyway—putting her on top to give her a little control over what he was doing. In practice, he held her still, tightly against him, breasts to chest, mouth to mouth, hands on her hips holding her still for the thrusting he couldn’t help now. It turned hard and fast because he was losing control. Putting her on top at least made sure he didn’t have his heavy weight behind the thrusts.
She was warm and slick with her own juices and his come. His cock was probably making noises in her but he couldn’t hear it above his grunts, the creaking of the bed and the thundering of his heart in his ears.
His big hands cupped her ass, pressing down and he settled into a driving rhythm, the hard, fast thrusts that usually came just before climaxing. He had no sense of time or even timing, he just moved straight into another orgasm with totally unstoppable and uncontrollable force, jetting into her and crying out at the same time.
Kowalski usually wore a watch but he didn’t need to. He had an accurate clock in his head and could tell you the time to a minute, night or day, without checking his watch. The clock in his head always ran in the background and he could tell you how long anything had taken. Except now. Now he had no idea how long he spent in her, whether it was five minutes or five hours. He just lost himself inside her until he exploded.
Kowalski clung to her, shaking, as he came. He fucked her all the way through it, unable to stop, short hard jabs up into her, his cock on fire, coming so hard he almost blacked out. By the time the last drop of come had been wrung out of him, he was able to think, just a little.
She’d come again, too, thank God. When he stopped moving, he could feel her contractions, a gift of the universe because he hadn’t done anything to merit that orgasm. He was behaving like an animal. He was lucky she wasn’t sitting up in disgust, ordering him out of her bed, which is what he deserved.
She moaned and he stopped, panting, lifting her up a little so he could see her face. Her eyes were closed and she tried to smile.
“Douglas,” she murmured. She was sweating too, not like a pig, as he was, but that was definitely the dew of sweat on her uppe
r lip and forehead. She looked exhausted and wasn’t responding to the exploratory little thrusts he was making with his cock. He wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot, but she was.
Kowalski kissed her neck and her mouth, lightly—her mouth was a little honey trap—and lifted her off him as he pulled out of her. Her muscles were lax, pliant, unresisting.
Kowalski ran a hand down her side, marveling at how beautiful she was in this dim light, like a princess in a fairy tale. A very tired princess. He kissed her cheek, said, “Sleep now,” and watched as she drifted off instantly.
He watched her for a long while as the sweat cooled on his skin. He’d sweated horribly, the sheets were wet with it and with his semen. He’d pumped what felt like several quarts of come into her and he wondered if he’d dehydrated himself.
Allegra was lying on her side, lower leg out, her thighs wet, pearly drops of come like little jewels in her pubic hair.
She looked so lovely lying there, long hair in silky ringlets over her shoulders and breasts, one strand lying across her mouth. The strand moved gently with her soft breaths. Kowalski shifted it with a finger, trying not to touch her skin. If he touched her, even gently, he’d want more, now that he had the feel of her in his hands. The temptation to bend down and take her mouth again was so great he nearly shook.
Kowalski wasn’t used to holding back in bed. Once a woman was there, he took it as a given that he could have as much of her as he wanted and he hadn’t been wrong yet. But Allegra was tired and stressed from the violence and the sex. However much he wanted her—more than he’d ever desired another woman—he wanted her to rest, too.
He looked down at himself, chest and pubic hair dark with dampness, his hard-on practically bursting out of its skin. It showed no sign whatsoever of going down. He hadn’t even begun to get her out of his system. Well, there was only one remedy for a hard-on he couldn’t use on a woman. With a sigh he headed for the shower, where he could take care of two problems at the same time.
Once in the shower, though, he had a shock, the latest in a whole goddamned series of them tonight. He lathered up with soap that smelled of Allegra while his hand reached reflexively for his cock. His fist had barely closed around his penis when he yanked it back, as if his cock were radioactive.
Kowalski had rough hands, the hands of someone who worked with them a lot outdoors. He made sure his nails were clean and cut short but that was it. The skin of his palms was calloused and he’d never thought twice about it until he clutched his cock and it practically howled its protest.
His cock did not want his rough hand around it. It wanted Allegra around it. It wanted her soft tissues, clasping warmly around him, it didn’t want his fist.
And the damned thing was, it only wanted her, Allegra. Another woman wouldn’t do.
Kowalski looked down at himself in bemusement, hot water sluicing over his body, running down in rivulets and circling around the drain. He stood there for a long time under the jets, feeling as if his life was circling that drain together with the shower water. He looked down at his red, inflamed cock that simply wouldn’t go down. His tried-and-true remedy—jerking off—wasn’t working. The only remedy in the world was Allegra, and that was scary as hell.
Gritting his teeth, Kowalski turned the water off, dried himself and padded back into the bedroom.
There she was, stretched out on the bed, slender and luscious and pale. Fairy princess and angel and magical musician, all rolled into one. She’d moved, to clasp her arms around herself. Maybe she was cold. The thought of Allegra even vaguely uncomfortable was unsettling.
He climbed into bed, rolled her into his arms and pulled the blanket up, tucking it around her shoulders. She sighed deeply and settled against him, a knee high up against his groin.
Jesus. Right against his inflamed cock.
He gently edged her knee back down and stared at the ceiling, left hand full of wondrous woman, right hand longing to drop down to his groin and do something, anything, to get rid of his hard-on. There wasn’t anything he could do.
Finally, he cradled his head with his right hand and started counting sheep.
He stared at the ceiling, listening to Allegra breathe, until the sky turned pearl-gray.
Chapter Seven
For the first time in five months, Allegra woke up happy. She usually woke up with tears drying on her cheeks. She had nightmares almost every night, judging from the heavy feeling of oppression every morning. Only the very bad ones woke her up in the night, the others were jagged, fleeting shards of horror and terror leaving a heavy residue in her mind, like lead dust. She never remembered the content of the nightmares, only the feeling of panic and terror. It often took her until midmorning to get a grip on her feelings.
Not this morning, though. This morning, she woke up on a hard, warm, hairy surface. Douglas’ chest, to be precise. Her lips curled upwards in a smile as her hand moved across that broad hairy chest. The man was so big and so strong, she was constantly amazed.
He was awake. There was something about the quality of the air around him that told her that. Was she developing the extra-sensory abilities all the doctors had told her about? She shoved that thought away from her as soon as it formed.
“Hello,” she whispered against the hard, warm skin of his biceps.
“Good morning.” Oh God, she’d almost forgotten how lusciously deep his voice was. The voice vibrated in his chest.
“Yes,” she said simply. She could feel the smile on her face. “It’s a very good morning.”
“Are you…all right? I got a little carried away there. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Allegra didn’t even pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about. He had gotten carried away, pounding inside her until she’d finally been too exhausted to continue. When he’d realized, he’d simply pulled out, still hard as a rock, draped her over him, anchoring her with a big, warm arm around her waist and kissed her on her sweaty cheek.
“Sleep,” he’d ordered in a deep rumble, and she’d gone out like a light. And slept dreamlessly for the first time in five months.
Allegra stretched, and was caught unawares by all the sore muscles. She ached everywhere, particularly between her legs, where she seemed to still feel him. There she was sore and sticky. Her nipples were super-sensitized where he’d suckled her hard. Even her arms were sore from holding tightly to his broad shoulders.
Every sense she had—except for sight—was on sensory overload. She could smell him and—she sighed—herself. She could even distinguish between his smell, a mixture of male musk and something metallic—which she imagined was the cordite from the gun he’d fired, though there was an overlay of her soap so maybe he’d showered during the night—and her smell, cologne and sweat. Then there was the smell of sex, a combination of both their smells and the amazing amount of semen he’d pumped into her last night.
She could hear his heartbeat, slow and powerful in the deep chest. She could feel him against every inch of her body, warm and hard.
Douglas shook her lightly. “Allegra,” he said, his deep voice worried, muscles suddenly tense. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you. Tell me you’re all right.”
“Oh, yeah,” she sighed, and turned her head so he could see her face. His tense shoulder muscles relaxed when he saw her smile. She was sore, but it felt distant, as if it belonged to another body. “I’m fine.” She shifted on him a little and came up against his penis. Hugely erect, just like the night before. “And you seem to be fine, too. Once again.”
“Not again.” His big hand was caressing the back of her head. “Still.”
“Still?” Allegra lifted her head at that, mouth falling open. He’d been erect all night? “Is that—is that normal? Are you on something?”
There was a deep rustling noise in his broad chest. It took her a moment to realize he was laughing. She smiled. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined waking up to this. To this big, strong man in her bed. Last night he’
d burned away her usual nighttime anguish. Grief, sadness, fear, panic—it all burned away in the heat of passion.
“On something? On what? You mean like—Viagra?”
“Well, something like that. I didn’t know it was possible for men to stay, um, erect for so long.”
Another deep chuckle. “No, I’m not on Viagra. I’m not on anything. In fact, technically speaking, you’re on me.”
Allegra smiled. “So I am.” She rubbed her toe against his hairy shin and cupped his huge, hard shoulders.
“So I guess the question this morning is, what are you going to do about it?”
“Do?” Allegra lifted her head at that. “What do you mean—”
As if she were a doll, Douglas lifted her torso up and, opening her legs with his own, shifted her until she was sitting on him, straddling him.
“Oh.” That’s what he meant.
She wiggled experimentally. He’d placed her—quite by design she was sure—so that her sex was over his penis. All it took was a small movement and the lips of her sex opened up over him. It was electrifying. He managed to swell even larger—she could actually feel the ripples of his penis against the sensitive flesh of her sex.
She flushed deeply. She had very pale skin and even the slightest flush was visible. She must be beet red. His hands spanned her waist and she leaned forward to brace her own hands against his chest. When his penis had moved, there’d been an instantaneous reaction in her own sex.
She was melting, hot all over, but still sore.
Douglas lifted his hips, moving back and forth so that he was stroking her. She could feel every inch of him, the ridges and heavy veins. It excited her, but…
“Douglas,” she murmured as his hands tensed on her waist. He was about to lift her again, position her for penetration. She couldn’t do it. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can. Not right now.” She was too sore. The thought of having him inside her again, moving hard and fast, was enticing in theory but she couldn’t take it. Not yet.
Midnight Angel Page 10
