by Shandi Boyes
I want to say this type of arguing is new for us. Regretfully, it isn’t. If he isn’t silencing me with his tongue or cock, we’re bickering about something. It’s what happens when two clashing personalities agree to be fuck buddies.
“I’m not fucking you here, Lorenzo. It’s too personal.”
“And having my cock inside you five times already this week isn’t?”
After pulling into the empty spot reserved for the penthouse, Lorenzo unclicks our belts, throws open his door, then stomps around to my side of his cool ride. I hold onto the door with all my might, but my attempts to stop him removing me from his car are impossible. We rode with the top down, which means he doesn’t even need to pry open my door to throw me over his shoulder.
“I’m gonna bite more than your ass if you don’t put me down this very instant.” My threat would sound more convincing if the thrumming of my pulse didn’t chop up my words. I love when he acts dominant and aggressive—not that he’ll ever know that. “Lorenzo!”
I kick and wail when he enters the elevator, only stopping when an elderly voice greets Lorenzo as if this is a regular occurrence for him. If it is, we’re going to have issues. We have fucked more times than we’ve talked the past five weeks. If that isn’t enough to keep his cock’s interest solely on me, our contract will be null and void.
Blood rushes to my face in an entirely new manner when the elevator attendant bobs down to greet me. “Hello. You must be Skylar. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hi.” When he offers me his hand, I shake it, somewhat awkwardly. It’s hard to take in his aged, yet adorable features upside down, much less coordinate a greeting. “How do you know my name?”
His smirk is as cute as the twinkle in his worldly eyes. “How could I not know who you are? You’ve cast quite the spell on our interim sports star.”
The man I’d guess to be in his early sixties pulls a face when Lorenzo growls, “Sta ‘zitto.”
I don’t know what he said, but the elevator attendant is clearly more clued in than me. He dips his chin in regret before returning to operating the elevator panel.
I could let the silence overwhelm me, but where’s the fun in that? “Don’t mind Lorenzo. His temper is as short as his height.”
I yelp when Lorenzo’s hand lands on my backside with a crack, but before the excitement of his hit can reach my aching sex, the elevator doors ding open, and Lorenzo commences moving again. I could fight him some more, but I’m too curious to see where he’s going with this to put up a protest.
In silence, Lorenzo moves us through a living room that could sit a dozen, past a compact, yet well-fitted kitchen, and by a heavenly-looking bathroom that appears more than capable of soothing my throbbing muscles from hours of dancing.
When we reach the bedroom at the back of his suite, Lorenzo tosses me onto his ginormous bed before yanking open his bedside drawers. I’m anticipating for him to pull out a condom and a tube of lube, so you can imagine my surprise when I’m confronted by a pair of knee-high soccer socks.
“The benefits of playing a game that needs grannie socks,” he mumbles under his breath while securing one of his official team uniform socks around my wrist before tethering it to the post holding up the headboard of his bed.
I was only teasing him when I said he wore granny socks. Although I don’t regret a thing. If I knew this would be the outcome of my rile, I would have said it weeks ago.
Lust parts my veins when me being stripped and blindfolded occurs shortly after he tethers me to his bed. This is another one of my no-go zones. I hate feeling defenseless but, for some stupid reason, panic is the last thing I’m feeling. I’m buzzing all over. Both hot and horny.
When silence transcends for several long minutes, I murmur, “Lorenzo—”
“Shh, amore mio. I’m right here.”
I twist my neck in the direction his voice came from, praying the blindfold is as flimsy as my morals anytime I’m in his presence.
When I face nothing but blackness, I try another tactic.
I plead like a loser.
“Please, Lorenzo.”
“Please, what, amore mio?”
My words come out as fast as the cracks of a whip. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”
“It will be my pleasure, amore mio.” I squish my right ear to the mattress when I hear shuffling coming from that direction. He’s either undressing or sliding across the bedsheets. With how hard my pulse is thrumming I’ll take either option. “But first, you must answer one question.”
“Okay.” I lick my lips when my one word comes out incredibly husky. I didn’t realize I was panting so hard until I tried to speak through the dryness of my throat. There’s so much tension bristling between us, my skin is roasting.
My head snaps the other side of the room when Lorenzo asks, “How many men?”
“How many men, what?”
If he’s asking how many bed partners I’ve had, the only thing about to get poked is his butthole from me shoving my foot up his ass. Agreement or not, this is not a question you should ever ask a bed companion.
“How many men saw you naked…” I’m about to snap at him, but he continues talking, calming the fire roaring in my gut, “… during the Magic Mile?”
A bolt of electricity courses through me when I say, “They didn’t see me naked.” It isn’t compliments of my somewhat lie. It’s from Lorenzo backhanding my clit. Something so simple shouldn’t feel so good. “I wore a thong and 69er helmet stickers on my nipples. I was covered.”
Another direct hit. It’s as delicious as the first.
“Then why were you arrested and given a criminal record?”
I fight against the restraints holding me hostage when my clit is aroused with another two rapid-fired hits. The sensation is overwhelming, and it has me talking freely, praying the confession of my sins will have us moving to more sinister doings. “I wasn’t arrested because I was naked. It was because I distributed the money raised after the event. Then when I refused to give up the identities of my co-conspirators, the DA went hard on me, hoping it would discourage future events.”
“Did it?”
“Only me, as I’m the only one who’ll face time if I’m caught again.” My last three words quiver when Lorenzo circles his thumb over my clit. I know it’s his thumb as the two fingers next to it are slowly notching inside of me.
“Would you participate again if there was no fear of prosecution?”
“If I answer yes, will you smack my clit again?” Please say yes. Please say yes.
He answers me by removing his thumb from my clit. I almost whine like a baby.
When his fingers remain still inside me, I switch tactics for the third time tonight. “There’s no need to be jealous, Shortie J. There were hundreds of participants. I doubt I stood out.”
I grunt an indescribable curse word when he pinches my clit with his spare hand. My God, the friction is delicious. “They would have noticed you, Skylar. You’re unmissable.”
His reply confirms my suspicion. He’s jealous about something that happened years ago. I would tell him how ridiculous he’s being if it didn’t run the risk of our exchange being benched. I’ve been fucked by Lorenzo more times the past five weeks than I’ve had sex the prior four years, but that doesn’t mean I’m eager to skip a night. I wasn’t joking when I said his cock ruined me for all cocks. I’m not even seeing my boxing instructor in the same light, and he asked me out only last week.
When another two minutes pass without Lorenzo’s fingers moving, I buck up my hips, over his torture. “I don’t know what your game plan is tonight, Shortie J, but it’s getting old really quick. It was three years ago! You need to get the fuck over yourself.”
“The press won’t care if it was three years ago or three decades ago. We went out tonight as an official couple, so you can sure as hell be guaranteed they’ll drag you through the fucking mud when they find out you have a record, much less the reason you have
one.”
I still, stunned. I never thought about that.
“Then, end our contract early to save your reputation.” You have no idea how hard that was for me to articulate. Although it stung like a thousand bees, it’s for the best. We’re only a quarter the way through our fake relationship, so it shouldn’t evoke this much emotion. The tension between us is blistering, and it has nothing to do with the fact I’m stark naked and at his complete mercy. “I don’t want your career effected by my stupidity.”
I rapidly blink when Lorenzo yanks my blindfold down until it sits around my neck. Excluding the sleeves of his dress shirt being rolled up to his elbows, he’s still dressed. That sucks even more than me suggesting we cool the turbines on the jet I’m sure is going to crash.
“That isn’t what I want, either, amore mio.”
“Then what do you want, Lorenzo? I can regret my past, but I can’t change it.” I should feel vulnerable that I’m naked and he isn’t, however, I don’t. The pain in his eyes is the most vulnerable thing in the room. “If you can’t look past the fact I have a not-so-shiny past, maybe ending things now is best for all involved.”
“No,” he shoots back, shaking his head. “I’ll keep you tied to my bed for eternity before I’ll ever backpedal on our deal.” I’m a stubbornly proud woman, but his reply makes me misty-eyed. “We just need to work out how to get the press on your side.”
“I don’t care about the press, Shortie J.”
My heart whacks my ribs when he brings his deliriously gorgeous face within an inch of mine. “You may not care, but I will if they hurt you.”
This is a prime example of how we’re steering our agreement straight toward a fiery wreck, but instead of encouraging my witty attitude to get us back onto the right course, I add gasoline to the fire. “How can we get them to see me as a friend instead of a foe?”
I pout like a child when Lorenzo scoots off the bed. It shifts to a ghost-like smile when he spots my downcast face. “Don’t worry, amore mio. I’m not going anywhere. I’m merely getting more comfortable.” Kill me now. He’s brought out his shy smirk. “Then, once I’ve fucked you to the point you can’t argue with me, we’ll work out how to fix things.”
I’m about to tell him you can’t fix shit with shit, but the lowering of his trousers steals my words. He’s veiny, thick, and oh-so-mind-numbingly long.
My eyes rocket up to Lorenzo’s when he warns, “If you mention anything about finding my missing inches, you’ll find them in the back of your throat.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lorenzo
Skylar smiles, praying it will hide the lie flaring in her eyes. “What? I wasn’t going to say anything.”
I could handle her lie with the same aggression I did when image after image of her being ogled by men ran through my mind, but I’d rather bang out my annoyance between the sheets.
Furthermore, she suggested we end things early. Since I’m not willing to do that, I need to take her thoughts off anything not associated with my cock. Then, once she’s thoroughly satisfied, I might have a chance in hell of working out why jealousy clawed at my chest like a hot, angry beast.
Her arrest was three years ago, right around the time my bedhopping of starlets was at its pinnacle, yet I’m acting as if I’ve never had a tit in my mouth. Coglione.
It doesn’t help that Skylar is watched in admiration, no matter how mundane the task she’s doing. Even while buying tampons in preparation for the dreaded witching days Elvis warned me about didn’t stop her from being hit on.
We have a signed contract to be exclusive, so I shouldn’t give a fuck that men look at her, but for some reason, I do. I hate the attention she gets, and it has nothing to do with the fact I’m treated like a lecher while it happens.
The troublesome feeling eating at my chest simmers when Skylar attempts to press her thighs together. I say ‘attempts’ as I tethered her legs so far apart, I can slip between them without touching a section of her silky, smooth skin.
“Do you remember me telling you how I wanted to taste every inch of you?”
She quivers then murmurs, “Uh-huh.”
“I’m going to do that tonight.” I give the sock I’ll never put on again without smiling a tug to loosen it before raising Skylar’s delicate ankle to my mouth. “I’ll start here. Then go all the way up here.” My words are garbled by my tongue sliding up the ravishingly sweet leg. When it stops at the erogenous zone behind her knee, her breathing quickens. “Before tracing it to here.”
Every inch my tongue tracks from the back of her knee to high on her inner thigh has her back arching off the mattress more. “Then?” she asks breathlessly.
After giving her throbbing clit the quickest swipe of my tongue, I travel it over her smooth mound, past her jeweled belly button and tattooed rib, then stop at her breasts. Her nipples are rosy and budded, begging to be touched. “Then, I’ll stop here for a little bit.”
Skylar smiles, loving the need in my voice. Her tits were the first part of her I saw, so how can I not love them?
The sexy noises she makes when my lips circle her erect bud tightens her nipples, and we won’t mention the liquid seeping from the crown of my cock. Even her surgically enhanced breasts didn’t alter the sensitivity of her nipples. She meows, purrs, and calls out with every tug, lick, and suck I do.
Once her breasts are heavy with need, my tongue recommences its travels of her body. She shudders out a long breath when it tracks the tiny vein beating in her neck.
That’s where I marked her the first time I claimed her.
It’s where I mark her every time I claim her.
Tonight will be no different.
She rocks against the leg wedged between her thighs when I suck her skin into my mouth. I’m rougher than I usually am, wanting to ensure even if Skylar doesn’t get the hint about my constant need to mark her, any man who comes into contact with her over the next week will.
“I love seeing you wear my marks, amore mio. Makes every other victory I’ve had seem inconsequential.” I say my last sentence in Italian, saving me from ruining the intensity of our exchange. Skylar would freak if she knew the thoughts I’ve had about her the past month, much less the two before we started our agreement.
We moan in sync when her endeavor to run the heat between her legs against my thickened shaft isn’t hindered by the restraints keeping her at my complete mercy. Just the quickest brush of my cock’s head against her clit sends a crazed, hungry shudder running through every inch of her.
I love how sensitized her body is. She thought she could only orgasm once if she were lucky. I’ve shown her differently. She now not only craves multiple orgasms, but she also doesn’t starfish until she’s hit her much-sought-after trifecta.
Her addiction is addictive. The more I feed her habit, the more I want. It’s a cycle I don’t plan to kill anytime soon. She’s tied to my bed, saturating wet. I’ve never had it better than this.
After trekking my tongue back down the path it traveled mere minutes ago, stopping to pay dedicated attention to her left breast, I spread her legs to savor the sight of her naked and waiting for me. “Bellissimo, amore mio, così fottutamente bello.”
With Skylar on birth control and both of us undertaking an embarrassingly detailed STI screening at a local clinic four weeks ago, I dip the first inch of my unwrapped cock into her weeping pussy. My jaw tightens when she sucks at me, wordlessly begging for more.
I could listen to her silent pleas, but what can I say? I’m a man. I love hearing my woman beg.
“Tell me how much you want my cock, amore mio. Beg for more.”
She swivels her hips, the desperateness on her face enough to have cum racing to the crest of my cock. “I want it so much. I want you so much.”
I give her another inch, closely followed by another, then another. “More, amore mio?”
“Yes. Always more.”
I lunge forward until almost every inch of me is inside her,
my wish to have her screaming my name almost cruel. I fuck her hard and fast, not slowing even when she’s blindsided by a sudden orgasm. We ride the crazy wave together, bringing her screams from husky to frantic. She claws at the restraints circling her wrists before giving in to the sensation overwhelming every inch of her. Her head rolls back as my name shreds from her throat in a garbled moan. She falls apart, her undoing the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Once the shudders wreaking havoc with her subside, I loosen the restraints around her wrists and ankles, then lift her to straddle my lap. “Ride me, amore mio. Show me how much you love my cock.”
Although she’s still bound, my socks aren’t tight enough to restrict her movements. Her rises and falls on my cock are remarkedly strong for how hazy her eyes are. She looks seconds from collapse, her wish to climax for the second time the only thing keeping her awake.
“Yes, like that.” Cum is biting at my cock, begging to be released, and my balls are tucked close to my body, but I need to get her over the line another two times before I can succumb to the sensation gripping my sack. “Fuck me like your pussy is hungry for my cum. Like you’ll never get enough.”
Skylar rocks above me, every thrust producing sexy moans. “You feel so good, Lorenzo.”
I meet her thrust grind for grind, loving the way she huskily purred my name. After spreading her thighs wider with mine, I add a flick to the roll of my hips. Her wetness is coating every inch of my shaft and balls, and her moan will heat my blood for days. I love the way she can’t control herself around me. How any argument we have becomes null and void when we’re fucking.
I lower my head to the bouncing globes of flesh on her chest. When I suck one of her highly sensitive pink buds into my mouth, her second orgasm transpires. “Oh… shit… Jesus… fuck.”
Her mouth is filthy, and I fucking love it.
As she rides the climax train all the way to the station, I cup her creamy breast in my hand and lick the peak peering up at me. I need to concentrate on anything but my urge to come. Despite my efforts the night we reached our agreement to be ‘fuck buddies,’ Skylar was adamant we needed a no-climax escape clause added to our contract. Supposedly, the signing of an official document between a man and a woman is where sex goes to die.
