by Jo Raven
He doesn’t tease. His thumb brushes over my clit once, twice, then presses into me and I choke on a cry. I’m suddenly so frigging close to coming it’s unreal. I’m gripping his arms, probably leaving gouges in his flesh, but my whole existence is centered where he’s touching me, finally touching me, breaching me.
He pushes a finger inside me and I hiss, then groan when he strokes something deep that sends a flood of pleasure through me.
“Please…” If he presses a bit deeper, a bit harder… “Oh God…”
He stops, then the pressure increases, and I’m right there, on the edge again, shaking and clawing at his arms, gasping and moaning.
I can’t recognize myself. Who is this girl who’s humping her employer’s hand—legs spread, breasts hanging out, begging for more? I’d never even been kissed a guy properly before.
And now I’m spoiled for life, kissed so thoroughly I doubt I’ll be able to feel any other kiss, want any other kiss after this one, any other man—and oh God, the way he’s touching me, I’m…
“No,” he says, withdrawing his fingers, and a sob escapes me. His gaze is again boring into mine, dark and hard and inexorable. “You’ll come on my dick.”
I jolt at the words, then again when he captures my mouth in one more hard kiss before straightening and dropping his pants. Distracted from the way my pussy is aching and pulsing, needing release, I can’t help but lick my lips at the way his cock tents his black briefs.
This… this isn’t normal, is it? This isn’t like me. All my life I’ve been a good, quiet girl, keeping my head down and not even looking at guys much. Not except for Jake Hammond at school, and even touching myself at night in bed sometimes thinking of his mouth, but that’s just to be expected. All the girls wanted him.
And who cares about Jake frigging Hammond now, when Matt Hansen is in front of me, every mouthwatering inch of him on display, with the promise of seeing, feeling his cock at any moment? It’s thrilling. Exhilarating.
So damn hot.
I lift a hand to my mouth, trailing my fingers over the tender, reddened flesh, still feeling his mouth there, his teeth, his wiry beard. I slip my thumb into my mouth, needing… needing him. Not sure what to do, how to satisfy that burning ache.
His eyes follow my movements, transfixed, gleaming in the dimness like a wolf’s. “Oh fuck…” he whispers.
And pushes his briefs down, taking his cock in his hand. Long and thick, veined and flushed, it seems to pulse in his fist, and a heavy bolt of lust slams into me, laced with a healthy bit of apprehension.
He’s going to put that inside me?
Unconsciously I scoot back on the counter, trying to get away, until my back hits the wall, bringing me up short.
His eyes narrow. Letting go of his hard cock, he grabs my legs and hauls me back to the edge of the counter. Dipping his head, he pins me with his eyes, with that frightening intensity he has tonight that has me torn between wanting to run away and climb all over him.
His scent hits me again, stronger than before, and my hands trail over his bare chest, over his ink, over his frantic heartbeat, and then drift lower, over his taut stomach, grazing his hard-on.
The sound that escapes him is so animal-like, a groan so deep it raises the fine hairs on my arms. I brush my fingertips over the wet head of his erection again, deliberately, just to hear him make that sound again, feel how my touch affects him.
He’s looking down, where my hand is hovering over his cock, his mouth slack.
Emboldened, I stroke my fingertips down his length, and its heat sears me. It feels so good, the skin soft, sliding over that hard length when I wrap my fingers around it, and he grunts, pushing into my grip.
His hands tighten on my legs as he rocks his hips, his cock swelling more in my grasp as I stare down at it, mesmerized. It’s throbbing. I can feel his heartbeat at its base.
He steps away and I let go, startled. Swiping his pants from the floor, he pulls out his wallet and from there a silver foil.
A condom.
The reality of what we’re about to do crashes on me again. My mom’s face flashes in front of my eyes, set in a frown of disapproval. That’s how she ended up pregnant so young and left home, only to be abandoned by my father when Merc was born.
If she knew what I’m doing right now she’d have a screaming fit.
And then Gigi’s voice says in my ear. “Live a little, Tati.”
My body agrees. My mind falls in line when he tears the foil with his teeth and grabs his cock in his big hand, giving it a few strokes. He’s watching me from under those long lashes, measuring me.
Wanting me.
And I want him, too. Screw tomorrow. Screw the consequences. I reach for him, sliding my hands over his arms to his corded neck.
His body is a statue, powerful and hard, still and unyielding, but as my hands tug on his hair, on his beard, touching his face, he breaks, unbends, and comes to life.
With a low groan, he rolls the condom over his hard-on, and presses between my legs, rubbing the head of his cock over my entrance—then pushing into me.
Pushing and rocking and thrusting deep.
“Oh fuck, Tay…” He chokes on a pained grunt, bending over me, his cock twitching inside me, and I’m speechless.
In shock.
I’m so full of him, nailed down, split open, and I’m not sure I can do this.
Again he doesn’t leave me time to react. His hands drop to my hips as he starts moving, thrusting into me. He moves his hands under my legs, lifting them, locking them around his hips and lifts me right off the counter, slamming into me, groaning with every thrust.
Holy crap. Tears sting my eyes. I choke on the pain of his big, hard cock inside me, splitting me apart, driving so deep I want to scream, but as his mouth fastens on one of my nipples, the pain turns to discomfort, and then to blinding pleasure.
“Oh God, ohgodohgod…” My voice fails me when he rolls his hips and the angle changes, a rush of pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever felt burning through me. “Matt!”
His harsh breathing answers me, his breath scalding on my breast, his cock sliding in and out of me as he effortlessly lifts and lowers me, fucking me so hard.
So hard, God, and I’m starting to come before I even realize it, my nipple in his mouth, his cock buried deep inside me, his name on my lips.
I cry out, the hot wave of release jerking me like a puppet on a string. I hold on to him with all I have as another wave rolls on top of the first, the pleasure burning. Annihilating me.
Dazedly I think that this might be what flying—or what dying—must feel like.
Dying—or maybe, finally living.
Chapter Twenty-One
Matt
Seeing her, feeling her come on my dick is one of the sweetest things in the world. I’m fucking lost in the moment, in the dreamy expression on her face as she comes down slowly, her tight pussy still milking my cock, her legs wrapped around me, trembling.
Fucking hell, she’s beautiful.
A memory tries to distract me, choke me up—but I’m riding a razor-sharp edge between pain and pleasure, my body taut and clenched tight, about to explode.
That’s how I feel, that’s how my dick feels. Explosive. Contained in a cage for too long, kept in a dark cell, and now…
Now I’m about to fucking come and fuck knows how I’ll survive it.
She moans again, pulling my thoughts away from the waiting pit of writhing blackness, and my body’s back in the game. No need for conscious thought. My hips are pistoning, my ass clenching, my dick thrusting in her sweet heat, and I lose myself once more in the sensation.
In the illusion.
Setting her down on the counter, I lift her legs higher, curl them around my waist as I pound into her harder. Every muscle in my body is locked tight, all the tension of the past hours catching up with me, demanding release.
She’s holding on to my shoulders, dark hair spilling around her face like a cloud.
Her head falls back, my thrusting lifting her off the counter, and she’s spread out underneath me like a dream, tits heaving, mouth open. A dream come true in the faint light coming through the door, so damn sexy, giving herself up to me, her pussy gripping me so tight.
So fucking tight, oh fuck…
Dimly I’m aware that I don’t want to come yet, don’t want this to end, this moment of pure, mindless need and pleasure that’s suspended in time.
Her thighs clench around my waist, her pussy pulses around me. She’s about to come again, and the realization sends another rush of heat into my dick. Holy fuck, I can’t hold back much longer.
But I want her coming with me.
Releasing her leg, I reach blindly between us, finding her clit and pressing. She tenses, her grip on my cock tight like a vise, her breath coming in stuttered little puffs.
I rub her clit and thrust deeper, faster, giving it to her hard and she starts to come. I feel it in the shudder going through her body, hear it in her low cry. It echoes through me, that shock of pleasure, and my control snaps. I’m rutting like an animal, grunting and growling.
Giving up all pretense at being civilized, at trying to find my way back to the world. Giving in. I’m gone, slumped over her, my dick spasming, spilling into the condom, into her heat.
My hands slam on the counter, to avoid crushing her. My heart is hammering its way out of my chest. My teeth are still gritting with the violence of my release, my muscles twitching, still unsure if to relax or cramp again.
“Tay…” She’s soft and warm underneath me, her legs trembling around my waist, her scent musky and sweet, wrapping me up like a hug.
So tempting to take it, relax into it, fucking let go for a moment.
“Matt, can you…?” She pushes at me.
Fuck, am I crushing her? Gripping the condom at the base of my dick, I carefully pull out as her legs begin to slide off my hips.
Letting go of my dick, I grab her legs to stop her from falling down to the floor and settle her on the counter. I turn toward the living room door to remove the condom and throw it into the trash.
And that’s when I see it.
Blood on the condom.
Not much, but still. It takes me a long moment to process the meaning of his, and when it does, I spin back toward her.
For fuck’s sake. “Tell me this wasn’t your first goddamn time?”
She says nothing, turning her face away, her cheeks red.
Son of a bitch. Fucking goddamn son of a bitch.
Shaking my head, I tie off the condom with shaking hands, chuck it into the trash and wipe my face on the back of my hand, my pulse roaring in my ears.
No idea why I’m so motherfucking pissed. This—me fucking her, her opening up so sweetly—doesn’t mean anything.
Maybe that’s why. It doesn’t mean anything. Not to me. It’s just a fuck.
And it shouldn’t mean anything to her, either, but Christ, her first time? Like that, on a kitchen counter, in the dark, with me pounding into her like I have demons riding at my heels?
“Go home,” I tell her, my voice like gravel.
“Matt…” Her voice is broken down the middle. I don’t wanna hear. Don’t wanna see her tears.
That’s what I keep telling myself, though I can’t help a moment of weakness, that something I always feel around her. Lifting my hand, I touch her face, swipe my thumb through her hot tears.
My own eyes burn.
But I can’t. I fucking can’t.
“Just go home.” Jerking my hand away, I pull up my pants. I pick up her clothes from the floor and pile them on the counter beside her.
Then I turn and go, getting the hell out of the kitchen, starting up the stairs.
This was a fucking huge mistake. Fucking my nanny, a girl who never slept with anyone before, a girl… who isn’t Emma.
I barely manage not to slam the door of my bedroom shut, not to wake the kids, but I slam my fist into the wall, regardless, needing an outlet.
Fuck calm. Fuck trying. Fuck letting go even for five minutes. It’s not working. Reality always comes back and screws me over.
I should never have let her walk into my house and my life. Deep in my gut I knew it from the start. She’s not Emma, but I fucking want her, and she tugs at heartstrings I thought were dead and gone.
But that’s not an issue anymore. I just bet that after tonight, after I left her naked in my kitchen and walked out, she’s never coming back.
And why the hell does the thought feel like a punch to my gut? She’d be right not to. It’d only be fair.
By the time I finally give up on sleep and head back downstairs to grab a stiff drink and my smokes, she’s gone from the kitchen. From the house.
It’s so damn empty.
My face hurts from the punch Ross gave me. My head aches. My heart smarts.
All par for the course. No use complaining.
And who would I complain to, huh? Suck it up, Matt. Reality, remember?
My thoughts chase each other, and I’m starting to work myself into a panic about tomorrow.
If Octavia is a no show, what will I do with the kids? Drop them off at Dolly’s again? They hate it there, and Dolly—or Holly?—doesn’t have time for them. Doesn’t really care, and that’s the goddamn truth.
Not like Octavia does. My kids… I’ve never seen them as happy as since Octavia started looking after them. They don’t cry so much. They eat their food. They laugh more. And Mary’s night terrors have become less frequent.
Why was I so damn stupid and I went at Octavia like a bull on steroids, without asking first? Without thinking. She’s just eighteen, for fuck’s sake. Should I have guessed she was a damn virgin?
Emma hadn’t been at her age. Loads of girls aren’t.
She said she wanted it, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind. Wanted you.
Yeah, and now she sure is regretting it. If she thought fucking her would change me, change what I’ve become…
There’s no way back to what I once was.
I take a long drag from the bottle, then suck on my cig. Same place as always, on the porch, staring out at the dark night.
Again wondering what the hell I think I’m doing here.
Maybe it’s time I admitted defeat. Take the kids back to their grandma and hit the road alone, until I find an answer—or the end.
Whichever comes first.
I can’t find Cole.
Mary is playing in the living room, I’m running late, there’s no sign of Octavia—shocker, yeah—and no sign of Cole.
No panic, I tell myself. Don’t you fucking panic.
He’s somewhere inside the house. Has to be. I’d left the two of them eating breakfast and went upstairs to shower the stench of cigarettes and booze-infused sweat off, got dressed and came back down. Took me, what, twenty minutes?
Less.
I check again behind the stairs, the kitchen, the entrance hall. Run upstairs, check the bedrooms and the bathroom.
Go back down.
Mary said she left him finishing his cereal in the kitchen and came to the living room to give some breakfast to her dolls who inexplicably migrated and live now downstairs.
Where the fuck is Cole?
My heart is hammering, jammed up in my throat. No way he would have gotten out, right? The doors are closed. Locked, too.
…I think. Did I lock them last night? After I left Octavia in the kitchen and went upstairs, after I returned to the kitchen later and broke out the booze and my smokes… After I spent hours drinking and smoking on the front porch, did I lock and check the windows like the police said I should do, like I fucking know I should?
Ah fuck. Fuck!
I throw the door open and ran out, stopping at the top of the three steps leading to the yard and staring wildly about.
No sign of Cole among the overgrown weeds.
Tearing through the living room, through the kitchen, I open the back door and jump out into th
e back yard, scanning the space.
“Cole!” I yell. “Goddammit, Cole! Where are you?”
I check the yard, but it’s not that big that a little kid can hide in it as I run up and down, raising hell. If nothing else, if he was crouching down, hiding for whatever inane reason, I’d have stepped on him and found him.
He’s not here.
I walk out to the front and start walking down the street. “Cole! Cole, can you hear me?” But he doesn’t answer, and nobody comes out. No dark-haired little boy.
No Cole.
What do I do? My mind blanks out. My phone. Need to get my cell phone. My legs tremble as I let myself back in the house.
Mary looks up. “Did you find him, daddy?”
Daddy. Can’t remember when she last called me that, when her eyes weren’t filled with anger or fear when looking at me—and I wish I could relish this moment, sit with her and ruffle her blond curls.
“Not yet, sweetheart.” I strive to keep my voice low. “Don’t worry, I will.”
I grab my phone, dial the police and ask for help. I barely understand what the voice at the other end says, except ask for my name and address and I give it to her.
“Don’t worry, sir,” she says as I’m about to disconnect. “He probably wandered off nearby. We’ll find him.”
Will we?
What kind of dad would leave the doors unlocked and allow his three-year-old son to wander off? What a fuck-up I am, dammit.
I manage not to throw the phone across the room, but I can’t sit on my ass and do nothing while waiting, either. For all I know, Cole is in danger, at the very least from cars passing by.
“Mary,” I say and reach for her. “Come with me. We’re gonna search for Cole.”
She puts down the doll she’d been holding. “But Dad, I have to feed Eleanor and Ruby. They’re hungry.”
“Please, Mary. Come on.”
“Maybe Tati has him. Where is Tati?”
I swallow hard. “She had to go, baby.”
Her lower lip trembles and she sits up, her dolls forgotten. “Tati wouldn’t go. Tati always comes.”
