by Lily Harlem
A sudden bout of insecurity gripped me, a closing fist around my heart, creating a flutter of panic and the inability to breathe properly. I’d been so free and easy before we’d had the girls, so ready to try anything, do anything; caught up in the first flush of love. And now…
“I can’t.” I squeezed my eyes closed and waited for the feeling to pass.
“Can’t?”
He covered my hands with his, the warmth of his touch giving me a jolt of longing. I imagined those hands roving my skin, seeking out my special places, erogenous zones that he knew by heart. My pulse thrummed, loud in my ears, the throb of my heartbeat an almost violent smack against my ribs. I cracked open my eyes, peeked around him to see his fingertips pressed down on my hand, the ends white where he held me so tightly. Did he hold me like that because he’d anticipated a negative answer? A rush of guilt took over me, heating my cheeks and bringing on the need to cry. I was spoiling this, wasn’t I—by not keeping to my promise to play the game as though we were free spirits who could do anything we wanted?
“I feel stupid,” I said quietly, wanting him to take over, to talk to me dirty and remind me how it was done.
Because I had forgotten.
“Stupid? Why?” His chest inflated, his back rising beneath my face, and he held his breath. “Because…because I’ve forgotten how to do it. And if I say what I want, it might not come out right and I’ll feel silly.” He turned, just that movement alone soaking my cunt, and cradled me against him.
Hands on my back, he rubbed them up and down, the motion soothing, chasing away the goosebumps, giving me the sense that everything would always be all right when he held me like this. He was magic, my husband, this man who had promised to take care of me until the day he died, ensuring I was never sad, never had reason to cry. I was the kind of woman who floundered without him near, who, when panicked or insecure, only needed him to walk in the room and everything bad would melt away.
“You never have to feel silly with me,” he said, the words low and reassuring. “Never. I’ve told you that before. Did you forget that too?”
How could I? He’d said it often enough, and I wondered then whether he got tired of his constant encouragement, of always having to work to make me believe him. He was devoted, I knew that. Knew it deep inside me, where I kept the special memories, the nuggets of love he’d shown me, those private moments between us that no one else knew about. Small touches, glances in a crowded room, even in the supermarket, where the gap between us was too wide and I wanted nothing more than to rush to him, to have his arms about me.
To have the cushioned feeling of being adored.
I embraced him, splaying my palms on his back and resting my cheek on his chest. His heart beat wildly, a manic rhythm that matched mine, as though we both anticipated what was to come. We knew I would give it a try, that I’d utter words I hadn’t spoken in years, in a voice that was husky and all kinds of sexy.
We just had to wait for me to fully come back. She was there, simmering below the surface, filling my mind with all manner of filthy things—she just needed that extra push to come out, that was all.
“Tell me. Remind me what I used to say,” I whispered. I held my breath, knowing I would blush when he recited words from the past. How had I become so…boring? So shy?
“Ah, that’s easy. I’ll never forget.” He held me tighter, his warmth oozing into my skin like the heat of bath water. “Some days I sit and remember, think about the old days and wish—”
“That I was like that again?”
Oh, God. I’ve made him as boring as me, having to turn to daydreams in order to get his jollies. How long has he been thinking of the past?
He took a moment before he answered. Weighing up how to phrase it, I’d bet.
“Not necessarily that, no. Just wishing that you’d let yourself go every so often. Not be so good all the time.”
“Good?” I lifted my head and stared up at him, into dark brown eyes that melted my knees with their long, thick black lashes. “Is that what I am now? Good?”
God, I was boring. I’d slipped into that rut people talked about. The one where the wife became staid and unyielding in the bedroom. Where a bed was just for sleeping, maybe a quick fuck once a month. The rut I’d always vowed never to get into. But that rut was deep; it went so far down that I couldn’t see over the damn top when it came to talking dirty. I bristled, knowing exactly what he meant, knowing I ought to keep my mouth shut because I’d let things spill out that weren’t intended for him. No, what I wanted to say was a torrent of sentences berating myself, and I couldn’t do that, not in front of Jacob. He said it hurt him when I put myself down. Like a physical pain deep inside. If I ranted now, I’d do so knowing I’d upset him.
He stroked my face with both hands, staring down at me as though I was the most precious thing to walk the planet, and I felt wretched. For letting him down. Becoming ‘one of those women’. For allowing us to change.
“Tell me,” I said, disliking the begging tone that rimmed the words. “Come on. Tell me what I used to say. Help me say it again.”
I was desperate now, truly desperate to recapture what we’d once had. The thought of how we’d been lately… God, it was shameful. I wanted to say the words so badly, but something blocked their exit. They were all there in my head; delicious, filthy sentences that would make any grandmother’s toes curl; ones I’d read in a book many years ago, yet when I opened my mouth to force them out, they lodged in my throat. Frustration added to desperation made me whimper. I felt so helpless, useless, a stupid, insecure bundle of nerves.
He smiled, a stretch of those beautiful lips that showed his straight teeth, all except the one canine that stuck out a little. “Let me see. What did you used to say…?”
My heart contracted with love for him. He was doing what he always did—making everything okay again. Taking the pressure off me and having the burden on his shoulders. How the hell had I been so lucky to find him, to keep him? My eyes stung, and I blinked, swallowed hard and prayed the tears wouldn’t fall.
He glanced up at the ceiling, a teasing gesture that had me wanting to grasp him around the neck and force his gaze back to me. I wanted to reach up and touch the knobbly scar beside his eye, to brush my thumb down his cheek. His pretence of being deep in thought drove a spike of new frustration into my gut, yet I smiled, because as well as doing this for me, he was playing with me. Enjoying it, too.
“Fuck my cunt,” he said, lowering his head so his gaze met mine again. “Fuck my cunt, that’s what you used to say. Jacob, come over here and lick my wet pussy.” He brushed his lips over mine. “Remember that?”
I blushed—damn it, I knew I would—and memories came flooding back. Me on the bed with my legs open wide, my clit aching, throbbing, the need for him to lick it, suck it into his mouth, so strong it took my breath away. Me bending over the bed, hands on the mattress, feet apart on the rug, begging him to fuck my cunt from behind. I’d said those words and more, my God I had, but could I say them again?
He continued. “Jacob, suck my nipples. God, yes, suck them harder. Suck them until they hurt. That’s it, baby, bite them. Hold them between your teeth and pull. Harder. Fuck, Jacob, fuck I’m so wet…”
And I was wet now. As I shifted slightly from foot to foot, my labia glided and juices seeped, dampening my inner thighs. My channel clenched, a sharp spasm that coincided with my clit expanding. I dug my nails into his back, drawing them down to his buttocks, and counted to ten. He kissed the top of my head, his hands exploring, casting warming circles on my arse. We stood this way for what seemed a long time, me rolling those words around in my head to test them; see how they sounded years after I’d last spoken them.
“Fuck my cunt,” I whispered, tasting the delicious filth of those words on my tongue. “Suck my nipples,” said with a little more courage and a little less embarrassment.
“Just a bit louder, love. I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
“Do it, Jacob,” I said, staring straight at him, a challenge to myself to see this through. “Fuck my cunt and suck my nipples. Hard.”
CHAPTER TWO
In what seemed less than half a second, Jacob had spun me around and pressed my back to the window. His big hands were firm and determined and radiated brute strength, the action just rough enough to send yet another wave of giddy excitement through me—that damn book again.
The thick, tempered glass was cold, a shock of ice that brought more goosebumps. My heart was beating so hard and so fast that the sound of my pulse drowned everything out except the rasping of our breath. It was the accompaniment to the dull thuds, a sexy scratch of noise that scuffed the air, our own form of music.
“Fuck, it’s good to hear you’re back,” he said, bending his head to lick up and down the column of my neck. “I’ve missed you.”
God, I’d really let things go, hadn’t I? There was no time to ponder that now, because his wet tongue was working wonders on my libido, preventing anything other than what he was doing from filling my mind. His breath heated my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck, and a small shiver went through me. It spread inside and out, encompassing me as though it were a live being coming out of hibernation. It left me giddy and hyper-alert, sensitive to everything related to heat—the mugginess of our close proximity, the slowly warming glass at my back and arse, the hotness where our bellies and chests touched.
I clutched his arse, massaging with slow kneads, pulling him towards me a little more so his erection pressed against my lower belly. He was so much taller than me, and the need to have that hard length between my folds prompted me to place my arms around his neck and stand on tiptoe.
“I need to feel your cock on my cunt,” I said into his ear, more forcefully than I’d intended. I was still trying on my old self, seeing if it fit me these days, and for a pleased moment I realised it did.
Very well.
Bolder, I went on. “Need it rubbing up and down my slit. Wet from my juices. You like that, right? Yeah, you like it, don’t you, Jacob?” I smiled a small smile as he stiffened further, and it gave me courage. “Fuck, yes, you like your cock covered in my wetness. Like me licking it clean.” I raised one leg, bent at the knee, indicating I wanted him to pull me, hold me over his rigid length. “Come on, Jacob. Lift me up so I can press my sopping pussy against you.”
His sharp intake of air made my smile grow wider, and a stutter of breath huffed out of his mouth and onto my neck. I had him right there, right where I wanted him, and it hadn’t taken much effort at all.
Back into the swing of things, growing more daring by the second, and adoring the fact that he was loving my words so much, I said, “I want to get off just by sliding up and down. Just from your fat, wide cock head brushing my clit.” The thought of it snatched the air from my lungs for a moment, but I recovered quickly enough to say, “And you remember when we did that before, don’t you? Yes, you remember. You came too, my pressure dragging down your foreskin…”
“Jesus, Karen. You’re fucking killing me here.”
He lifted me, settled my slit against his cock, and grabbed my arse. Pressing down, he applied light force and, my God, I could’ve come just from that. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, willing myself to calm down. It was difficult, though—my clit throbbed in time with my heart, and that thought returned, the one about someone using binoculars, and I found myself more turned on than ever. This wasn’t indecent exposure, it was decent— fabulous, exciting and off-the-charts hot.
Not being so ‘good’ now, was I?
He began to move, sliding and rubbing through my slick folds. I hooked one ankle over the other and gripped as best I could, thankful that he was holding me so tight. I was weak with desire—all my energy had been diverted to my cunt. All I could think of was the pressure of his shaft working over my clit and the sensation of my pussy moistening further for him. It was so wet I imagined it dripping down my thighs, trickling to my knees and soaking onto the plush carpet.
“Talk to me some more,” he demanded, his lips just touching my left temple. “God, talk to me some more, love. Talk dirty, talk filthy, whatever comes into your head, just say it. I want to hear it. I want to hear all of it.”
A whole host of words tumbled through my mind. Foul, rank words, utterances suitable for porn films or worse. Words I wouldn’t have said to him before when we’d talked dirty. But we were older now, life had moved on. We had been through so much together.
As though my inhibitions had become as transparent as the window I was pressed against, I suddenly found it easy to let loose these new words. This was Jacob—I could say anything and it would be okay.
I took a deep breath; surprised by how husky my voice sounded when I started to speak. “Your cock is like a steel rod fucking against my clit. But I want more. I want you to ram it anywhere you want. Take me and do whatever you want with my body, Jacob. I’m yours. What I want doesn’t matter—this is all about you and sating your needs.”
He grunted, and, although he kept one hand tight on my arse, he slid the other upwards and tangled it in my hair, squashing it between my crown and the glass pane. He pulled me closer, my head and my arse, as if he couldn’t get near enough despite the fact that the fronts of our bodies were connected completely.
“Yes, that’s it, harder, rougher,” I gasped. “Do whatever you want. I’m just a rag doll. I’m here for your pleasure. It doesn’t matter what I feel. Hurt me, overpower me, drag me to hell with your most primitive desires and fuck me into oblivion. To a place that’s so dark and hot that I won’t even remember my own name. You own my cunt, my mouth, my…my arsehole. It’s all yours. Fuck me harder, Jacob, so much harder!”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, easing his head back to look at my face.
His eyes were wild and flashing; swirling vats of lust. It thrilled me utterly to see something so new and exciting in irises I’d stared into so many times, and knew like the back of my own hand.
“I’ve got to get inside you, now,” he groaned. He bent his knees and shoved his cock deep into my cunt.
I cried out at the forceful stretch of his invasion, but he silenced me with a savage kiss, his open mouth hot and wet and frantic. Against my cheek his breath was hard and fast as he pistoned his hips back and forth. Squeaks from my sweat-damp skin rubbing on the window filled my ears, and I had a fleeting mental image of what my soft, pale body must look like from the outside—my flattened arse pressed to a bloodless white with a big, hairy hand digging into the left cheek and creating dents. My pussy and the dark cleft of my anus exposed and my spine and shoulders shifting with the force of his thrusting.
Gasping for air around our passionate kiss, I locked my hands at his nape. My pussy squeezed him tight, building up to a fantastic orgasm. I remembered how much I enjoyed fucking while we were standing. His rock-hard pubic bone bashed into my clit so perfectly, dragging it upwards with each sublime thrust. Why had we gone for missionary so many times over the last few years when this was so divine? What else had we forgotten that was so good?
“More,” he said sharply into my mouth. “Come on, tell me more of what I should do to you, Karen.”
I willed my mind to work. It was hard when I was flying high on the thrilling ride to climax, but there was a scenario in my head. Like a seedling bursting through the soil, it stretched to my mouth.
Out it spilled.
“Don’t say my name.” I gasped as a particularly forceful thrust had his glans stroking my G-spot. “You don’t know me. This is a dark alley. I was going home after seeing friends for the evening. A lone lady, vulnerable, heels loud on the cobbles.” I paused to heave in a breath, my lungs desperate with the effort of talki
ng as he pounded into me with fervour.
As if sensing my struggle, he slowed his hips but increased the depth of penetration. Every time he was seated to the hilt he jerked, hitting my cervix and reeling my clit into a wondrous state of building pressure.
With a little less air being shunted from my lungs I carried on. My lips touched his neck, just a fraction below his ear, where he smelt masculine and raw and the texture of his skin was smooth but tough. “You saw me, walking into this alley. You were rock-hard for a fuck, so hard, but you were sick of your own hand. Tired of getting yourself off while you looked at porn. So you decided to just take me against my will. It didn’t matter that it was me, it could have been any woman, but I happened to be there, that night, when you were feeling hard and brave and desperate. So damn desperate.”
“So how did it happen?” he whispered, breathily. He kissed across my cheek and nibbled the shell of my ear, the tempo of his hips a wonderful rhythm that kept my orgasm within reach but also under control. “I need to know. Tell me how we got to this stage. The me-fucking-you stage.”
I shut my eyes to the harsh daylight of the room. “I heard your footsteps behind me and turned, scared. When I started to run, you chased me, grabbed me, hauled me against a wall and ripped off my skirt. You were so big and strong and so damn determined.” The image in my head was scarily vivid. I could see us wrestling, limbs tangled, and hear the sound of material tearing. Jacob all horny and powerful; me scared and helpless. “You tore off my panties. I screamed for you to get off me, let me go home. But you clamped your hand over my mouth, you didn’t care. You wanted me. You wanted to fuck my pretty cunt hard and fast.”
Gripping his tense biceps, I built up to that moment of bliss, where climax is inevitable; a beautiful knowledge spreading over me that satiation would soon be mine.
“Ah, love, talk while we come. Keep telling me the story.”
I shook, feverish with need now. “You’re thrusting into me, your big, bad cock penetrating my pussy, your hands groping my breasts, harsh and cruel. I bite your shoulder. You’re furious and twist me to face the wall. My hands flail against sharp brick. The wall is cold and gritty. It smells of damp and rotting food.”
