I knew it, felt the awareness, and even some resentment, but then his hands were on my ass, kneading, palming, caressing, and I lost the train of thought, lost the awareness and resentment. It all boiled away in the reaction to his touch.
I arched on top of him as he played with the taut, round curve of my ass, his palms rubbing in circles, lifting and releasing. I moaned, wanting more. Wanting his skin on mine. Wanting to be bare to his touch.
How can he do this to me?
Same way I do to him: it's just chemistry. I touch, he needs; he touches, I need.
Simple.
But god, it's so easy to get swept away. Especially when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants and yanks them down, urging me to lift my hips so he can peel them downward, spurring me to toe them off and kick them away; no panties, just me, bare. A concession, unconsciously, perhaps, to the fact that if I came here, if I saw him, I'd end up naked, fucking him.
I'd known it all along. Counted on it. I chose yoga pants, sports bra, and tank top ostensibly because I didn't want him to think this was a purely sexual visit, but I'd forgone underwear because deep down, I think I'd known this would happen.
Is that true? I don't know.
I don't know anything except his touch. His warm, rough hand on my bare bottom, my thighs straddling his hips. His jeans were open. My arms were pinned to my sides, and I could have easily broken free and taken the touch I wanted, but I didn't. I liked this, being held like this. He wasn't kissing me, now. He was just touching.
I arched my spine, grinding my hips against his. The zipper of his jeans scraped harsh and cold against my naked core.
"Canaan..." I murmured.
He didn't answer. Instead, he gripped the lower hem of my tank and ripped it off, and then made short work of the sports bra, peeling it up, rolling it past my breasts; I lifted up enough that he could slide it free, and then he yanked it roughly over my head and threw it aside.
Leaving me utterly naked.
What was his game?
I thought he'd be inside me by now.
Instead, he gripped each of my wrists in his strong hands and held my arms wide apart, so I was lying fully on top of him. And now...now he kissed me again. I was helpless against the onslaught of his kiss, which wasn't slow or sweet or delicate or anything like that. It was rough. Wild. Demanding. He growled as he kissed me, and his hips pivoted, teasing me, teasing us.
I yanked my wrists free of his grip, levered myself to kneel above him. Hair loose in a wild blonde cloud, my eyes surely reflecting my burning need for him. My breasts ached. My core throbbed. I knelt above him, staring down at him, fully immersed into this. Knowing it was a delay, a distraction, repayment. Knowing, too, that neither of us were capable of stopping this, now.
Maybe we never were.
Maybe this had to happen before we could talk properly. Maybe I wasn't capable of expressing my deepest emotions and fears and needs to him until after I'd exorcised the demon of my sexual need for Canaan Badd. Maybe he was incapable of the same, until he'd released his need for me.
I yanked his zipper all the way open, tugged his jeans down, and he kicked them and away. He still had underwear on, tight blue Calvin Klein boxer briefs that were barely equal to the task of containing his massive erection. I knelt around his ankles, leaned forward, slowly slid those underwear off, baring his beautiful member, thick and veined and pink and leaking from the tip, revealing that incredible V-cut.
A momentary tableau, him beneath me, staring up. His cock flat against his belly. My breasts hanging, my hair almost, but not quite, obscuring my nipples. My core aching, needing his touch. I gazed down at him, wondering if I even wanted to know what he was thinking.
And then he sat up. Knelt on the bed, facing me. He took my face in his hands, and kissed me. It was a short, violent kiss; his teeth clacking against mine, bruising my lips. And then he slid past me, off the bed. I had no chance to think, to try to figure out his next move; I had no chance to even think about what I wanted, how I wanted him. It didn't matter. He grabbed my ankle and hauled me toward him, then pinioned my hips in his hands and tugged me off the bed, so I was standing up, facing away from him. His front was to my back, his breath on the nape of my neck as he lifted my hair in both hands, pulling it to one side, and then his lips were touching my neck, and I felt his cock against my butt. He stood flush against me, his chest at my back, nestling his cock between the globes of my ass. His palms carved over my hips and grazed my belly, and then his fingers were delving into my core; I shifted my feet apart to offer him access, and he took it. A single fingertip tracing up the seam of my pussy. Nudging into the keyhole hiding my clit, circling there until I gasped, and my knees shook. I reached up behind my head, found his hair, buried my fingers in the soft cool mass, clutching at him as he slid a finger of one hand into me, circling my clit with the other, his mouth pressed against my nape as he used both hands in synch to work me to a swift, shocking orgasm. I groaned, biting my lip, grinding against his finger.
And then he did something unexpected--with a rough, commanding shove, he pressed me forward, bending me over the bed.
"Canaan?" I queried, my voice shaky.
He gathered my hair into his fist and spread it out behind me, my cheek to the mattress, so I could see only glimpses of him behind me. His palm covered one side of my ass, pulling the cheek aside. Then his other hand gathered my other butt cheek, tugging the globes apart. What was he doing? God, god. I ached, throbbed. The orgasm had only served to whet my appetite, and now with his hands toying with my ass, pulling the cheeks apart to bare all of me for him, giving him access to every part of me, I wondered if he was going to take my asshole. I'd never been touched there, and had always secretly wanted to be. But I was afraid. I wasn't ready. If he tried to, what would I do?
Oh god, oh god. I had no idea what he was going to do, in that moment. No clue. And I liked it. God, I relished the uncertainty.
I was breathing hard, gasping in breathless anticipation.
He held my ass cheeks apart, and I craned my neck to watch as he dipped at the knees, nudging his cock against my core. Oh--oh god. Was it disappointment or relief I was feeling? Not sure. A little of both.
He said nothing, and his expression was a complicated mask, a million emotions reflected in his eyes and the set of his mouth.
"Canaan..." I breathed again.
"Yeah, babe." His voice was low, a rough growl of need.
I reached my hands across the bed and gripped the bedspread, lifted up on my toes to press myself harder against him. Urging him. Begging him silently.
He hesitated still, the firm, broad head of his cock nestled against the lips of my pussy. He released my ass, sliding his touch up my back, bending over me to press his lips against my ear.
"You want me?" he whispered.
"Yes--" I gasped it, a breathless admission.
He slid his hands up my arms, pressed his palms to the backs of my hands, and then his fingers tangled in between mine; it was an unexpected gesture of intimacy and affection, and it made my heart twist and melt, and burgeon with hope.
And then he brought my hands around, gently but firmly pulling them behind me, until my shoulder blades were pressed together. "You told me, the last time we fucked, that you wanted more craziness out of me. You told me to let go, to not be so gentle, to not be so sweet or careful." He pinioned my wrists in one hand. "You remember?"
I nodded, too breathless to speak.
"Well...here you go."
And with that, he drove into me, sudden, hard. His cock filled me all at once, a sharp piercing burning stretching ache, and his hips slapped against my ass, and his hand held my wrists pinned behind my back, just shy of painful. With his free hand, he gripped my hip and tugged me backward into his thrusts, which were rough and hard and demanding, taking me, using me.
My scream of surprise was loud, shrill, and hoarse. My whole body rocked forward with the force of his thrusts,
And holy shit, was it incredible.
My heart pounded as he fucked me. Would he gentle at the end? Would he stop or slow down long enough to give me another orgasm? He usually--always, until now--made sure I came at least twice before he did.
He was grunting, holding my wrists in his strong, harsh grip; I twisted to watch him, watching the rictus of his face as he lost himself in his pleasure. His hand, the one gripping my hipbone, spasmed, releasing my hip. Palming my ass, he pushed me away as he pulled his thrust backward and then, as he drove into me, he slapped my ass with a sudden, shocking blow that stunned another scream out of me.
It wasn't a gentle, playful smack. It was a rough, hard spank that left my ass stinging and my lungs spasming and my head spinning.
"Canaan!" It was a plea, but I wasn't sure for what. To do it again? To stop?
It had hurt, and not just a little. But it had also sent a dark thrill through me. He slowed the pace of his fucking. Slow, deliberate. He let go of my wrists, and I clawed at the bed, arching my spine, pressing my upper torso off the bed, lifting up onto my toes. Staring over my shoulder at him. My eyes were wild, my heart crashing, pulse thundering.
Smack!
He spanked the other cheek now, just as hard. A resounding, echoing crack of his hand across my ass, jolting me forward, the spank coming in the exact moment he slammed into me. His cock filled me and his hand spanked me in the same instant, and I screamed. I thrashed in pain and excitement and pleasure, the stinging ache on my ass cheeks morphing and throbbing through me. I felt him pulling back, felt his cock sliding out of me, and I gripped the bedsheet and arched forward to draw away, watching over my shoulder, and now he palmed both cheeks in his hands, and instead of spanking as he thrust, he met my gaze and feathered a few short shallow thrusts, teasing me, kneading my ass as he toyed with my expectations.
"Again!" I breathed, slapping my ass back into his body, filling myself with him.
"You want more? You want me to spank you again?"
I nodded. "Fuck yes."
"You want me to really spank you?" His eyes were dark with lust, need.
I wasn't at all sure. "That wasn't really spanking me?"
He shook his head. "That was just...a few smacks as I fuck you."
"Holy shit." I gasped as he filled me with slow, deep thrusts. "Yes. Yes, Canaan. Spank me."
He pulled out of me, left me aching and gasping and whimpering in surprise. "Stay like that. Bend over the bed. Get that beautiful ass as high as you can."
I complied, shifting forward to bend fully over the bed, presenting my ass high, feet together. "Like this?"
"Exactly." He caressed my ass. "Now I'm going to spank you."
"While you fuck me?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm going to spank you, and you're going to masturbate while I do it."
I throbbed, ached. "Oh."
"So let me see you touch yourself."
I slid one hand between my thighs, hesitantly touching my clit. Anticipating his hand cracking across my ass. Instead, he just gently caressed me, one side, the other, again and again, in slow alternating circles, soothing where he'd spanked before. My fingers found my clit and I gasped at my own touch, my clit swollen with need. His fucking had left me aching, needing, and his spanking had turned me on, and now I was left with only my own touch to alleviate the need, and I was trembling with anticipation of him spanking me again, and thus it took only a few slow circling touches to bring myself to the quaking edge of orgasm; I slowed my touch, wanting to make it last, wanting to draw it out, make it intense. I gasped, though, aching, and then I couldn't help a whimper of ecstasy as Canaan gripped my ass in both hands again, spreading the globes apart.
"Oh--oh god," I gasped. "Why--why do you keep doing that?" I asked, as I shook, as I touched myself, as I quavered on the edge of a swelling orgasm.
"Do what?"
"Pull my ass cheeks apart like that."
He did it again. "This?"
I nodded, whimpering. "Uh-huh. Why do you do that?"
"Because your ass drives me wild. I love the feel of it. I love holding it, jiggling it--" and here, he clutched the cheeks and shook them until they jiggled like Jell-O, "and I love...I just love your ass." He let go, and then gripped them again, spreading them apart again.
"Is that...is that all?" I asked. "Is that the only reason?"
"You want another reason?" He kept one side tugged away, letting go of the other, and used his finger to trace down the crack, teasing the knot of muscle. "I want this. I want to put my finger inside you and see how loud you'll scream."
I slid my fingers inside myself, backing away from a clitoral orgasm, massaging myself inside, working toward a vaginal orgasm. Needing more. Aching. I blinked over my shoulder, twisted a little so I could fully look at him. I said nothing, only drew my fingers out and returned my touch to my clit, gasping shrill and breathless as I neared the unavoidable edge of climax.
That was the only invitation he needed, my lack of a demurral, and the gasp, the obvious arousal in my voice, in my expression.
I watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, letting a pool of saliva coat his fingers, which he then touched to my asshole, warm and wet and darkly thrilling.
"Oh--god, oh god--" I whimpered.
"I haven't even touched you yet."
"I'm already so close."
"I know."
I held his gaze. "Your touch, there--that's the first time for me, ever."
"For me too." He spread the saliva against the knotty tissue, and then I felt his fingertip pressing, pressing. "Talk to me, Aerie. Tell me what you're feeling."
"I'm feeling like I thought you were going to spank me, not finger my asshole."
"You complaining?"
"No."
"What if I'm planning on doing both? Spanking you while I finger you?"
"That would be..." My eyes crossed and I trailed off as he pressed more firmly, until his fingertip pierced me, sliding in ever so slightly. "Oh god, oh fuck!"
"Good?"
I nodded, whimpering. "Weird. But good."
It was weird, too. A strange, dark, dirty intrusion into a secret place that had never felt such a touch. But it made my stomach clench, and my pussy throb, and my head spin, and my thighs quake, and my fingers flew around my clit now, and the orgasm rocked and teetered, shaking me, threatening to explode through me.
"I'm gonna come, Canaan," I breathed, as he slid his finger a little deeper yet.
"Now?"
"Almost."
I felt his other hand palm my ass cheek, and I gasped, expecting a slap. Instead, he just caressed. And his finger slid deeper. How much? Up to the first knuckle, maybe? It felt like so much inside me, so much, too much, but it was so slow, a deep stretch, a burning that throbbed in strange, explosive, expansive ways.
My hips rocked, and I felt the climax begin to break through me. "Now! Canaan, god, god, god, I'm coming, I'm coming!"
The instant the words left me, as the orgasm started to shatter, he brought his hand down on my ass, hard and sudden and sharp, and the stinging pain blazed through me and turned to a glory of ecstatic thrill, and I felt his finger inside me, more and more as I came and came, and now I heard myself screaming, and I was helpless against the bashing white-hot wave of orgasm, wave after wave, and now I felt another smack to the other side, and the orgasm shattered again, breaking apart into something more.
"Canaan!" I wanted more. I wanted him. I wanted his orgasm. I wanted his cum. "Fuck me, Canaan! Please, now! While I'm coming. Please...fuck me."
He filled me, his cock sliding deep, his cock hard and thick and warm and bare.
He fucked me.
Hard.
His hips slapped, and his finger was deep, his knuckles bumping my ass cheeks, and I was touching my clit and now my climax became another one, hard on the heels of the first, the second one making me scream so loud my throat hurt, the wrenching agony of ecstasy too much to bear as I clenched around his slamming cock, around his finger, and he slapped my ass, harder and harder, the smacks and cracks stinging and becoming deeper aches of exploding pleasure.
I felt him shuddering, slowing. Heard him growling, cursing.
"Don't come, don't come--" I gasped. "Canaan, don't--don't!"
My orgasm was a spasmodic, quavering, wracking thing, alive, shaking me to pieces, but I knew I couldn't let him come inside me like this, no matter how much I wanted him to.
As the waves of climax rocked through me, I reached behind and pushed at his wrist, and he slowly, slowly withdrew his finger. My ass stung. As his finger popped free, a fresh wave of something dark and intense slammed through me, and I nearly collapsed from it, but he was there, holding me by the hips, and his cock wasn't inside me, and I ached for the need of him. From the absence of him. I went from being full of Canaan to being empty in an instant, and it was too much, too much of not enough.
I collapsed to my knees, and then fell to my ass, turning around to sit on the floor facing Canaan, who stood over me, staring down, his expression hard and fierce and pained.
"I don't have any condoms," he said.
"Neither do I." I gazed up at him. "But...I need to feel you come the way you made me come."
"Then we have to go get some."
He turned away and went to the bureau, yanked open a drawer, withdrew a pair of gym shorts and stepped into them, and then from another drawer he produced an oversized hoodie, which he put on over his bare chest, the bottom of the hoodie long enough to hide the evidence of his straining arousal still tenting the shorts.
He quirked an eyebrow at me. "Put on something. We're gonna go together."
I reached over and snagged my backpack, dug through it, and found what I was looking for--the loose, comfy, knee-length maxi dress I'd packed; I stood up, tugged it on, and then bent to look for underwear and a bra. Canaan grabbed my wrist and pulled me away.
-->
