Bad Sons

by Isla Cristeon

His forehead drops against mine and his hands tighten on my butt. “I’d be inside you already, but condoms are in my room.”

  I arch a brow. “You brought condoms on your trip?”

  “No.” Fernando’s mouth widens as he breathes out a short laugh. “I went out and bought them the first day I saw you here.”

  My short nails drag down his head. “Look at you, cocky man, so certain of this.” For a moment, I drop my gaze and nibble the side of my cheek before glancing back up at him. “I’m on the pill.”

  His forehead creases as his eyes close, chest expanding with labored breaths.

  “I-I haven’t been with anyone since I stopped … you know.” I swallow, forcing out the words reminding me of my shame, my throat clogged with nerves. “So I’m still clean.”

  He shifts his grip on me, fingers probing between my legs over the thin cotton of my sleep shorts. My loose sleeping shorts are shoved aside, baring me, and then round heated pressure replaces his fingers as he gradually fills my body with his.

  His girth is almost too much, spreading me too wide, filling me too deep. Fernando himself often exceeds my limits sometimes in the dark piercing intensity of his gaze, or in the passionate words and promises he won’t keep. The entire man is too much, and I can’t get enough.

  Fernando groans as his lips find mine again, and he breathes unsteadily into my mouth, punctuated by sloppy uncoordinated kisses that are so unlike his usual composed, experienced delivery.

  “It’s so …” he moans, “God, so hot … wet. Aida.”

  His mouth drops to my neck in deep suctioning kisses as he withdraws a bit, then pushes in again, spreading goosebumps over my skin. Straightening upright, he begins walking through the suite with our bodies connected, his arms bearing my weight effortlessly, even though I’m a curvy 150 pounds.

  We collapse onto the massive four poster bed, a fluffy down comforter billowing around us. His mouth moves frantically over mine, and I sink into the familiar rush and fervor.

  He’s still inside me, not yet moving, but I know soon his hips will begin pounding into me. I’m counting on it. It’ll hurt some, but that’s the price I willingly pay to reach the oblivion this act promises. Soon, my brain will shut down, and only then can I do what he’ll need me to do. I’ll moan words of praise and shriek curses conveying pleasure, telling him everything he needs to hear so he finishes and removes his invasion from my body.

  I open my eyes, noticing the pause a bit too late. He stares down at me, his chest expanding with breaths.

  “Where’d you go, Aida?”

  No questions, Fernando. Not that.

  I cup my breasts and his eyes drop down to my v-neck cotton cami. His tongue moistens his lips as his eyes darken, watching me touch myself. I tug my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers.

  “Please, Fernando,” I whisper with a low breath. “Fuck me hard.”

  He swallows, and his abdomen flexes as he pulls his hips back, his cock dragging through my wetness.

  Yes.

  I close my eyes, waiting with bated breath for the slam of his pelvis against mine, craving the pain his size will surely give, needing his ferocity to drug me as he finds his release. With a gentle plop, he withdraws fully, leaving me empty as he gets off the bed and pulls his sweatpants up over his hips.

  My eyes fly open. “What are you doing?”

  He gives me a curious look I can’t decipher, but thankfully brings his hands to my shorts and tugs them down my hips. The quick rising anxiety in my chest loosens as I lift my bottom to let him get the fabric down my thighs. He’s just taking off my shorts, duh. My fingers pinch the hem of my cami, pulling it over my head, before throwing it at him where he stands at the foot of the bed.

  Of course he wants me fully naked. They all do.

  I prop on my elbows, watching him as he prowls to the nightstand at the side. He grabs the room control remote, switches on the electric fireplace, then turns off the lights. Firelight flickers in a warm glow.

  Romantic nonsense.

  “Get under the blankets,” he says.

  “Take off your pants,” I counter, my eyes tracing his turgid length straining behind the gray cotton.

  He cocks an eyebrow and climbs onto me, before gripping my shoulders and rolling us away from the center, pulling me to lay against him on top. This position is good too. I know how to finish him quickly this way, and the visual of my breasts bouncing usually hastens the job.

  But he only lifts his hips and tugs the blankets from beneath him, unpinning the mass of sheets to toss them aside, before rolling us again to the side and replacing the blankets over our shoulders like we’re at a sleepover.

  My eyes narrow. What is his end goal here? This is the oddest dicking I’ve ever gotten. No matter. I reach my hand down and slip my fingers into his waistband.

  He shakes his head and wraps his hand around my wrist, pulling it away. “I do all the touching. Got it?”

  A fire stirs in my belly at hearing the command in his voice. Here we go. This is exactly what I want.

  “Yes, sir,” I whisper.

  His arm locks me tight against his torso, threading his fingers through my hair as his lips find mine. Chastely and with gentle pressure he explores my mouth like we’re a pair of teenagers kissing for the first time. I don’t like what my brain does in response. It softens and my thoughts go fuzzy. I nip at his lip with my teeth, giving pain in order to get it. His neck stiffens and he pulls away, searching my eyes.

  “No,” is all he says, before pressing his lips to mine as we lay side by side facing one another.

  I taste blood where I nicked his lip with my teeth, the flavor helping me recede from the emotional heights he’s urging me toward. The familiar copper saltiness in my mouth pulls me to a place of comfort, spreading a numbing layer of frost over my brain.

  I slide my thigh over his, tilting my hips in invitation. “Give it to me hard, Fernando.”

  His light brown eyes flare with a look of … irritation? What is going on?

  “My beautiful betta, always fighting, even against herself,” he murmurs, leaning forward and nudging my lips apart to sweep his tongue inside my mouth.

  Dizziness infuses my thoughts as the taste of tequila mixes with the metallic remnants of lingering blood. He savors my lips in a slow, steady rhythm, his hand moving up to cradle my neck. My throat tightens with sweet emotion and heat prickles behind my eyes.

  Damn it.

  This is why I don’t do kisses or tenderness. Somehow it always hurts worse. I shove one hand against his shoulder, rolling my body over his and climbing on top. He needs to be so hot for me that he doesn’t have the patience to be gentle or slow. This pace he’s setting is maddening.

  “I said no,” he repeats with patience, pulling me to the side again. “Neither of us on top right now. Face to face. Even ground. Relax, Aida. Let me do this for you.”

  Do what for me?

  It’s like he’s speaking a different language, riddles and nonsense, confounding me. This is so strange and foreign, it’s like I’ve never had sex before. Even though he’s already been inside me, we still aren’t even having sex yet. I don’t know what this is, and I don’t like it. It’s unfamiliar and too much.

  When I try to reach for his waistband, he pulls my hand up again, then leans away and reaches between us to grab my other hand. His fingers wrap around my wrists, anchoring them overhead, giving him unhindered access to my body.

  This is better. I’ve been in this position before.

  Fernando props his top knee up, then drapes my leg over his thigh, opening me up for him. I frown briefly, because his pants are still on. And then his lips descend on mine again, heated and wet, but still slow and gentle. His free hand moves to my breast, briefly squeezing. I wait for the sensation of my nipple being clamped between his fingers, another feeling that should help me leave my thoughts, but he only molds his hand around my breast, again, like a teenager getting to second base.

 
; His hand slides lower, coming to rest between my legs. Instead of stroking my center, he trails his fingers up and down my inner thighs as his mouth leaves my lips and moves to my neck. His hand moves up my torso, returning to my breasts, squeezing, but not pinching like I’d prefer him to do. Instead, he runs his fingertips one by one over my stiffened nipple, and immediate arousal floods my center. I grind my hips forward, needing him to fill me now. Be done with this foreplay bullshit.

  His hand returns between my legs, rubbing my clit gently as if I’m a virgin, then inserting two fingers and drawing out unexpected pleasure I can usually only find with myself when I’m alone.

  His mouth moves lower, nestling into the softness of my breast. Heat builds between my hips and simultaneously, sudden panic rises in my chest.

  This isn’t allowed.

  Men don’t feel this good.

  “N-no,” I stutter, stiffening my arms.

  His hands tighten about my wrist as his fingers and lips work in unison.

  He pauses, looking up at me. “You want me to stop, Aida?”

  My heart hammers in my chest, static roaring in my ears. He withdraws his fingers from the sheath of my body, and I make a sound of protest.

  His eyes remain locked with mine. “Tell me to stop.”

  I shake my head and relax my arms.

  Fernando sinks his fingers inside me again, moving in short, rhythmic strokes. My body tightens and the panic hits me again.

  “I can’t,” I gasp. “Don’t make me.”

  His brow furrows. “You’re so close, I can feel you tightening around my fingers. Stop fighting, amor.” He shifts himself upward, bringing his face level with mine as he releases my wrists.

  I greedily press my lips to his, angling my head to the side to get better access. Kissing him is becoming one of my most favorite things. I no longer taste blood. Just hints of tequila and a depth of flavor and heat I can only describe as Fernando. His mouth comforts me, pushing down the disquiet raging in my chest.

  A knot swells deep inside me and I want to shrink away from it, but his mouth on mine keeps me centered. He rolls between my legs and shifts around, tugging his pants down.

  “Don’t leave me, Aida,” he says.

  Pushing forward, he merges our bodies, filling me inch by inch, and then his mouth returns to mine, torturing my soul in sweet, tender touching of lips on lips.

  My arms wrap around his shoulders and my fingers thread through his thick hair. He lowers his body to mine, bracing his forearms by the sides of my head as he slowly withdraws then sinks deep in.

  Or I sink into him.

  At this point, I don’t know where I end or he begins, I only sense him in overwhelming measure. He presses into me, locking himself in place as his mouth caresses my lips, then my jaw.

  I arch my back, seeking the rhythmic momentum again, but he shakes his head and pulls out for a moment. “Sorry, I can’t keep this up long, I’m close.”

  My hands tangle in his hair as he moves down, teasing his fingers over one breast while his lips and tongue feast on the other. Even as heat swirls and rises, my mind pushes it away, unable to allow anything resembling bliss to pass my wall of safety.

  “I’m not going to orgasm with you, Fernando. It’s impossible,” I say with a short gasp of pleasure.

  I roll my hips upward, needing him inside me again, but he keeps himself pulled away, and returns his hand between my legs, expertly working his fingers and keeping me warm while allowing himself to cool some.

  It’s a novelty I’ve never experienced. For me, sex has always been about the man’s orgasm, ending after he finds his release. I’ve never had a man stave off his own pleasure to wait for mine.

  I’m pulled to the crest again, and I mentally dig in my heels, resisting. There is nothing safe about letting this happen.

  “God, Aida, let go.”

  With a quick movement, he shifts and notches himself into me again. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to mine.

  “You feel so damn good,” he groans, finding my mouth and teasing my lips apart.

  He kisses me deeply, and thoroughly, and so passionately, I feel like I’m flying.

  “I love everything about you,” he whispers, moving his kisses to my neck. “This scent right here … I could die happy right now.”

  The low rumble of his voice and sweet words keeps me in the moment, here with him. He reaches down and grabs my hips, lifting them higher off the bed, then brings his knees in closer to keep my bottom resting between his narrowly spread thighs. The position prevents him from going deep like I prefer, but with three short thrusts, I understand the angle he’s going for.

  My hands grip his forearms as my body tightens. With his hips, he sets a slow rhythm, and with his hands and lips, pushes me higher and higher.

  It’s perfect. Pressure builds, and bliss rolls over my protective wall as unstoppable as a blanket of fog, pushing out thought and immersing my brain in pure sensation. The height climbs to an impossible level, and my chest tightens in reflexive fear. Then his mouth meets mine as his hips rock upward, and my agitation recedes, allowing my body to coil inward, everything pulling tighter and tighter.

  “Let me give this to you, mi amor,” he says against my mouth. “La dueña de mi corazón.”

  I don’t even know what that means, but there’s a comforting energy carried by his words, and it’s like I’m standing at the top of a cliff. His voice smacks me between the shoulder blades, and I pitch forward over nothing … and fall.

  Unintelligible sounds wail from my throat as my body implodes, my inner muscles clenching tightly around him. Ecstasy floods my cells and soul with a light so pure I could glow nuclear with it. He groans, then stiffens as he swells inside, pushing against my orgasm with his own.

  Just as quickly as mine reaches its peak, another emotion slams into me, unexpected and powerful, transforming my cries of pleasure into uncontrollable sobs wracking my body. Tears flow from my eyes, pouring out from somewhere deep, as if a drill hit an underground springhead.

  “Aida,” he says in a soft, worried tone.

  His lips repeatedly press to my cheeks, my eyes, my lips, tasting the salt of my tears as he flattens himself against my body. He slips himself out of me then rolls us sideways, tucking my head under his chin and wrapping his arms tightly around my trembling frame as I crumble into pieces.

  Chapter 8

  FOR LONG MINUTES AFTER, she sobs in my arms, her tears soaking my skin. Several times, she breathes in shuddering gasps as she tries to reel in her emotions, but then it just bursts out again.

  After a while, she flips away from me. I sense her scrambling to retreat behind the safety of whatever protection she’s built.

  Stubbornly, I curve myself around her back, staying pressed to her skin. With every beat of my heart, I will peace and comfort from my body to hers, wishing I could take away whatever hurts her. My hand runs over her dark head, trying to soothe something I don’t understand.

  I know she orgasmed … which she claimed was impossible. It had taken a good thirty minutes of work on my part, but we got it done. I’d felt cocky for all of the ten seconds she jerked and pulsated around me, but then as her orgasm peaked, boom. Tears.

  It’s like the bursts of pleasure punched holes into a carefully constructed dam and the orgasm weakened the entire thing.

  My arms remain locked around her, holding her through whatever it is she’s feeling. I hope it’s not regret. I’ll take anything but that.

  After a while, the crying slows, her tiny, sharp inhales punctuated by a sniffle.

  “Let me get you some tissue, okay?”

  She nods, and I roll off the bed and enter the attached bathroom. I flip on the shower then return to the bed with tissue in hand.

  Once I’m between the sheets again, I lift the blankets up toward us and cocoon us inside the warmth as best I can, trying to give her even a slight measure of comfort.

  She uses the tissue to wipe her e
yes then blows her nose noisily. Once she’s done, she crumples the soiled tissue loosely in her fist.

  I trace my fingers in a shape on her back.

  She breathes out a soft laugh. “Heart.”

  “Right.”

  “Now you,” she says.

  We flip to the other side, and she traces her finger on my back. Letters. S-E-X-G-O-D.

  I release a loud belly laugh as she finishes her last letter.

  “That was amazing, Fernando,” Aida says softly. “I’m stunned. Really. And I’m sorry I cried. I don’t know what that was about.”

  Turning to face her, I flash a smug grin, then twirl my finger in a circle as a signal for her to give me her back. She complies.

  I trace my own word on her back. B-E-T-T-A.

  Aida chuckles.

  Pressing my lips to her spine, I mumble, “You fought both me and yourself the entire time. Was it so bad?”

  Aida exhales. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. That can’t be normal.”

  I glide my fingers down her arm, watching goosebumps rise in my wake. “Your life hasn’t been normal. It’s okay. We made do, didn't we?”

  She nods silently, then whispers. “You made love to me, Fernando. I didn’t want that.”

  “You didn’t want to feel, Aida. That’s what you didn’t want. You’re only used to sex being something it’s not supposed to be. I’m showing you what it was meant to be. That’s why we’re keeping things simple, basic, vanilla for now.”

  My eyes flicker with heat at the thought of doing the opposite of vanilla with Aida. I’d love to have this woman bound and spread for me while I bury my face between her legs and draw out her repeated pleasure.

  But for her, I’m choosing to rein in my sexual nature when it comes to what we do in bed. It seemed like anytime I moved lower, she’d retreat within herself. My lips against hers kept us in sync and connected. I wasn’t rough. I didn’t go down on her, even though my tongue aches to taste her.

  Her very first sexual experience was fueled by a selfish man whose goal was to use her, and it stayed that way. She needs to be reminded of the inherent beauty her body holds, and what it feels like to be in the hands of a man who treats her as sacred.