by Lauren Rowe
Jonas wraps me into his arms and gropes my backside with zeal. “Your ass should be very scared,” he whispers into my ear, grinding his hard-on into me. And then he throws his head back and howls like a wolf at the top of his lungs.
I burst out laughing. God, I love Drunk Jonas.
Before coming on this trip, I would have bet the farm no version of Jonas could love my ass more than Drunk Jonas. But here in Brazil, I’ve discovered a whole new iteration of Jonas that gets off on my backside more than I ever thought possible: Carnivale Drunk Jonas. Oh, holy crappola, how Carnivale Drunk Jonas adores my moneymaker. And it’s no wonder—the Carnivale parade Jonas and I witnessed just now was a frickin’ booty-lover’s paradise. Ass porn, you might even say. Holy Butt Cheeks, Batman, that sucker was the holy grail of beautiful bottoms.
Of course, the parade included a helluva lot more than Brazilian ass cheeks—there were spectacular floats, musicians, feathers, sequins, and dancers with plenty of spectacular body parts having absolutely nothing to do with spanking or sitting down. But as exciting and stimulating as all that other stuff was, nothing came even close to giving me a lady-boner like those jaw-dropping Brazilian backsides. And if those gyrating female asses turned me on, holy shitballs, I can only imagine the hard-on they must have induced in my ass-loving husband.
A taxi pulls up right in front of us to let some (extremely attractive) people out and Jonas grabs my arm and yanks me roughly through the wide open door. “Come on, baby,” he says, squeezing my bottom as he guides me into the backseat. “Prelude fucking over.”
The minute we stumble through the door of our rented beachfront bungalow, Carnivale Drunk Jonas literally drags me onto our moonlit deck overlooking the sand, bends me over the railing, yanks my skirt up and my panties down, and bites my ass so hard, I’m rendered momentarily mute from the delicious pain. A second later, his erection plows into my wetness with astonishing force—so hard my knees give way—and I yelp at the sensation. This is not the way Jonas normally does things—this is pure animal force—sloppy, even—and, holy fuckkola, I like it. He’s ramming my G-spot over and over with his massive erection (good lord, has that thing grown?) while groping every inch of me like he’s frisking a felon, and it doesn’t take long before my body begins clenching from deep, deep inside. This ain’t no usual orgasm, folks. This one’s emanating from a place buried deep inside me. Oh my God. What the fuck is this? I’ve never experienced an orgasm quite like this before. It’s making my entire body convulse, not just the areas immediately connected to my clit.
People are walking on the moonlit beach in the distance, but Jonas doesn’t give a fuck if anyone sees or hears us in the dark shadows of our deck and neither do I. He grabs my hair and yanks my head back, growling in my ear as he fucks me, biting my neck, groping my breasts, ripping me in two—and, all the while, whispering to me about how he’s going to fuck me ’til I “pass the fuck out.” And through it all, I’m thinking an incoherent stream of syllables that, roughly translated, mean something akin to, “Make me your bitch.”
When I climax, Jonas doesn’t. As usual, booze has given my hunky-monkey husband superhuman-stamina. (Fine by me.) After pulverizing me for what seems an awfully long time, he pulls out, roughly turns me around, puts his hands on my face, and blurts, “I fucking love the fuck out of you, woman! Fuck!” And then, without warning, he reaches down, picks me up at my knees, throws me over his broad shoulder, my ass cheeks hanging out there for the world to see, and strides into the bungalow.
He hurls me onto the bed onto my belly, rips off my clothes, and spanks my naked ass so effing hard, I stop breathing for a brief moment; and then he gropes and licks and bites my backside—every square inch of it from sea to shining sea, without exclusion, all the while grunting and moaning and extolling the virtues of my assets with exuberance.
Over the past two years, Jonas and I have performed every form of oral and vaginal intercourse known to man—at least, I think we have—good lord, if there’s something left to do on God’s green earth that involves a penis, a vagina, and two mouths, then I give up already—and yet, despite all that experimentation, Jonas has surprisingly never once pushed to penetrate my final frontier. And since I’ve never offered, it’s simply never happened. But right now, I’m feeling like a minx—a minx who can’t feel her cheeks or toes.
“Do it, baby,” I groan.
He licks my ass cheek and shoves his fingers into my ass crack.
“Jonas,” I slur. “Do it.”
Without another word, he leaps off the bed and bounds to his suitcase in the corner.
I bite my lip to get a read on just how drunk I really am. Yep, I’m drunky-drunkerton. I can’t feel my lip under my teeth. That’s good, because I’m suddenly nervous I’m about to experience excruciating pain.
I hear Jonas fumble with something—a bottle of lube, I’m guessing—the man never travels without it—and when he returns to me, his fingers slide without hesitation into my ass crack and then straight up my ass.
“Relax, baby,” he whispers, his lubed fingers confidently working me. “You’re gonna love it.”
My breathing is suddenly shallow. Every muscle in my body tenses, even as my clit flutters with anticipation. Maybe my body’s not going to be able to cash this particular check, after all?
“Relax,” Jonas coos, his confident fingers skimming up and down my crack. “I’m gonna make you come harder than you ever have, baby. Just trust me.”
I’m suddenly wondering when was the last time I pooped? Oh my God. Is he going to fuck the poop out of me? “Poop,” I blurt.
He laughs. “Relax.” He rubs my back and leans down into my ear. “Relax, baby.”
I take a deep breath.
I feel him crawling on top of me to mount me—his fingers enter me again—and, then, oh boy, yep, there’s no mistaking what’s just happened. He’s in. Yup. No doubt about it—the man just staked his flag in my moon. How do I know this to be true, one might wonder, given my lack of experience with this particular sex act? Oh, I dunno. Maybe because both my eyeballs just popped out of my head and rolled onto the floor. Holy What The Fuck Is Happening To Me, Batman, my husband’s got a big dick. I’ve never completely grasped the full extent of that fact until just now.
Jonas moans loudly, clearly enjoying whatever sensation my very tight ass is providing him, and, although I’m not yet sure if my body’s completely on board or not, the sound of his unadulterated pleasure makes my body spasm from a whole new set of muscles.
“Okay?” he asks, gasping. He’s moving gently, but I’m still feeling every inch of him.
My reply is nonverbal. I clutch the bed cover, trying to decide if I’m experiencing something good or bad. Oh man, this is a whole new sensation.
He shifts slightly, and his erection suddenly finds my G-spot from an angle I’ve never experienced before.
I cry out.
“Am I hurting you?” he chokes out.
“No,” I gasp. “Good. Oh my God. Good.”
He reaches around to fondle my more traditional lady parts, and Holy Taboo, Batman, that does the trick. After a few minutes of dual stimulation, I climax with the most intense orgasm of my entire life, just like he promised. My body explodes in multiple places, all at once, and so intensely, I can’t decide if I’m experiencing unparalleled ecstasy or being dragged like a dead cat through the seventh circle of hell. This sensation is inhumane is what it is. Cruel. Cataclysmic. Fucking amazing. I’m so overwhelmed, I burst into tears.
Jonas pulls out of me. “Did I hurt you?” His voice is ragged.
I shake my head and slur something that sounds like, “Beans.”
He kneels next to me on the bed, concerned. “Why are you crying?”
I’m nonverbal again. I shake my head. I don’t know why the hell I’m crying, so how can I explain it to him?
“Sarah, talk to me. Are you crying from pleasure or pain?”
I turn my head to look at him, resting my d
runken cheek on the pillow. I nod.
“Good or bad?”
I smile through my tears. “Good.”
He hoots at the ceiling. “Fuck yeah.”
“Get yours,” I choke out. “Bring it home.”
“Oh, I already got mine, baby, and then some—right along with you.” He laughs. “When you came, you squeezed my dick so fucking tight, it almost shot off and rocketed right out your mouth.”
“Jonas!”
He laughs hysterically.
“Jeez. Even for you, that was pretty crass.” I roll my eyes. “Just ’cause a girl lets you fuck her up the ass doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to be treated like a lady.”
He sighs happily and flops onto the bed next to me. “Good times in Rio were had by all.” There’s a long pause. “Jesus, I’m drunk.” He looks at me with half-mast eyes and puckers his lips at me like he’s a blowfish kissing me through the air. “Sarah,” he whispers. He puckers again. “My precious baby. Me. Drunk.” There’s another long pause—so long, in fact, I’m not sure if he’s passed out or if he’s just thinking deep, drunken thoughts. A long minute passes. Well, hmm. It seems like the party’s over. Okay. He must have passed out. Well, then. That was interesting. I close my eyes. It’s been nice knowing ya. Nighty-night.
“And guess what else I am?” he suddenly says, as if there’s been no pause whatsoever in our conversation.
I open my eyes and look at him with sleepy eyes.
“Guess what else I am, My Magnificent Sarah.” He flashes me a toothy smile.
“Um.” I twist my mouth. “What else besides what?”
“Besides drunk.”
“Oh. Gorgeous?”
“Well, yeah. That goes without saying. I’m Jonas Fucking Faraday. Women beg me to fuck them because I’ve got sad eyes and luscious lips and because I’m a fucking woman wizard.” He puckers again. “But guess what else?”
“Silly?”
“Never.”
“Creepy?”
“Always. But what else, My Beautiful Intake Agent?”
I smile broadly. He only calls me that when he’s drunk, which he so rarely is. “Intense?”
“You’re a terrible guesser. You’re really starting to annoy me, you know that?”
I shrug. “Well, jeez, hell if I know—oh, wait, I know. Drunk!”
He exhales, annoyed. “That was the first thing I said, you big dummy—the question was what else, numnuts.”
I burst out laughing and so does he.
“You’re not supposed to call your wife numnuts, Jonas. That’s what a guy should call, like, a fraternity brother.”
“I wasn’t in a fraternity.”
“Okay, then your brother.”
“Yeah, Josh was in a fraternity. He knows how to make friends and get people to like him.”
I laugh. “No. I mean, you should call your brother numnuts, not your wife—and, by the way, you know how to make friends and get people to like you, too.”
“No, I don’t. The only person I could ever get to like me was you, numnuts.”
“You’re totally missing my point here—which is this: you should call your brother numnuts, not your wife.”
“Jesus, woman. Don’t mention my brother when I’m trying to get my fuck on. Talk about a boner-killer.”
“What the fuck! You just went on and on about how your brother knows how to make friends.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, numnuts, you did.”
“Oh.”
We laugh like little kids for several minutes, calling each other “numnuts” over and over. Who knows if we’re actually funny, but right now we both think we’re freaking hilarious. After we’ve finally calmed down, there’s another long silence. More deep thoughts, I presume. I throw my arm over his broad chest and close my eyes. Oh, how I love my hunky-monkey-drunky husband with the big ol’ dick. I sigh happily. I hope my butt doesn’t hurt too much in the morning—but if it does, it was well worth it. Nighty-night.
“You know what I am?” Jonas says out of nowhere.
I open my eyes as best I can. “Drunk?”
“That is correct. But what else am I?”
“Dude. Just tell me already.”
He sits up and grins down at me. “I’m hungry.”
Before I can even process what he means by that statement, he turns my limp body onto my back, spreads my thighs wide and begins licking me voraciously... for, oh, a solid forty-five seconds... until, suddenly, with a loud gorilla-grunt, he heaves his drunken body next to mine on the bed and promptly passes out.
Chapter 15
Jonas
A nurse comes into the room. “Mr. Faraday?”
I’ve got my fingers interlaced with Sarah’s, my forehead resting on the bed next to her. I don’t look up.
“Mr. Faraday?” the nurse whispers again. “Mrs. Cruz was asking for a turn with her.”
There’s only one visitor at a time allowed in the SICU, no exceptions. And even though I know it’s only fair to let Gloria have a little time with her unconscious daughter now and again, I want my baby all to myself. I’ve been with Sarah almost constantly over the past two days, holding her hand, whispering to her, stroking her cheek, only ceding my spot next to her bed for a couple hours here or there to give Gloria or Kat a turn with her. And during those times, I’ve headed straight to the NICU to visit my babies. I haven’t eaten a proper meal or slept more than fifteen minutes at a time during the past two days.
“Don’t leave me,” I whisper softly to Sarah, stroking her cheek with my free hand. It’s the same thing I’ve said to her over and over again for the past two days. I keep thinking maybe the sound of my voice will lure her back to me, perhaps giving her a lifeline to latch onto in the dark, the way it seemed to do yesterday when she ever so briefly opened her eyes and looked right at me.
“I love you, Sarah,” I whisper. “I’m right here waiting for you, baby. Please, please come back to me.” I stroke her cheek again.
“Should I tell Mrs. Cruz now’s not a good time?” the nurse asks, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.
I lean down and press a gentle kiss to Sarah’s lips. She doesn’t even stir. “No, it’s okay,” I say. “I’ll go check on the babies again. Gloria can come in.”
In the waiting room, I’m surprised to find Henn and his girlfriend, Hannah, sitting next to Josh and Kat. Henn stands and opens his arms like he’s going to hug me.
“Hey, Jonas. I’m so sorry, man.”
My body surges with sudden adrenaline. “Henn, come with me,” I say abruptly, and march down the hall. There’s an empty examination room and I duck inside quickly. I whirl around to face him. “What do we know?” I bark.
“About?” Henn asks.
“Has there been any activity at all?”
“Oh. You mean with The Club. Um. No. I’ve been monitoring things like camo on a redneck, man, just like I keep telling you every single time we talk, and there’s still no sign of anything.” He shrugs. “But that’s not why I came. Hannah and I are just here to show our support—”
“A billion-dollar organization’s not gonna just vanish into thin air,” I say, grabbing at my hair. “You and I both know they’re gonna rise up again like a phoenix, and we’ve got to be ready to take them out when they do.”
Henn shakes his head. “The minute I see anything that looks even the slightest bit hinky, I’ll let you know, boss. I’ve been checking in with Agent Eric in Washington, too, and he says the same thing—”
“We need to take pre-emptive action. If there are even embers left, we need to piss all over them and snuff them out.”
“Hey, guys.” It’s Josh, entering the examination room. His voice is strained. “What’s going on, Jonas?” He walks into the room and stands right next to me, his body language tight.
I grit my teeth. “I’m talking to Henn.”
“About The Club?”
I don’t reply.
“Jonas is a bit concerned,�
�� Henn says.
Josh glares at me. “That’s the last thing you should be thinking about right now, bro.”
“Oh, really?” I shout, instantly at full volume. “What should I be thinking about, Josh? About the fact that I’m teetering on the edge of total and complete obliteration and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it?”
Josh exhales. “Jonas, I know this is stressful, but you’ve got plenty on your plate right now without adding to your stress by freaking out about—”
I lunge at him and push on his chest forcefully. He stumbles back, totally blindsided. I advance on him again, intending to... I don’t know what. Pummel him? Beat the shit out of him? All I know is I want to smash someone or something, and kicking Josh’s condescending ass would really fit the bill.
“What the fuck?” Josh says, incredulous.
I advance again, but Josh quickly gathers himself and shoves me back. Hard.
Just as we begin to scuffle, Henn wedges himself between the two of us, putting out his arms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he shouts, his eyes wide. “What the fuck is this? Magic Mike on ’roids?”
My pulse is pounding in my ears.
“Don’t fucking touch me again,” Josh says, his eyes blazing. “Or I swear to God, I’ll break your pretty face.” He sets his jaw.
I know I’ve crossed a line by attacking Josh—I’ve never done anything even remotely like that before—but I can’t bring myself to back down. I glare at him, puffing my chest and flexing my arms.
“Dudes, this is so fucking cliché right now,” Henn says. “‘Oh, gee, look at us. We’re two ridiculously good-looking guys with muscles. We lose our shit and fuck each other up when we get stressed out. Yay! Look at us! We’re so alpha!” He shakes his head. “How about, for once, the tortured heroes with demons do something unexpected like, oh, I dunno, act like rational adults? Wouldn’t that be fucking crazy-pants?”
Josh and I mutually glare at Henn for a long beat—but then Josh breaks down and laughs, which totally pisses me off.
“Look at me! I’m so alpha!” Josh says, mimicking Henn and waving his arms. He laughs again. “I’m a tortured hero. Waaah!”
