by Shayla Black
I’m going to come.
“Nia…” I manage to grind out as I fist her hair and fuck her mouth hard.
She can’t answer with words, but she moans. Encouraging. Inviting.
“If you don’t want me like this, in your mouth…” I grit my teeth and try to find the strength to pull away.
Nia sucks me deeper, holds me tighter. Her mewls sound like a protest.
I grip the sink tighter. This orgasm is coming hard and fast. It’s going to be like crashing into a concrete wall at warp speed. It’s going to mean certain death—and I don’t think twice. I let it happen.
“Jesus. Motherfucking… Oh, my… Yeah. Nia… Honey! I’m—”
Climax rips away the rest of my nonsensical babble. In its place is the most astonishing, spine-bending explosion, a nuclear mushroom cloud that’s somehow a good thing. It’s peeling the skin from my flesh, tearing the muscle from my bone. It’s utterly dissolving me. And it feels so good I’d give my entire fortune to do it again.
Slowly, consciousness returns. Nia laps at my softening cock and hums in what sounds like satisfaction. My ragged breathing and the pelting of raindrops on the roof fill the rest of the space.
Struggling to assimilate, I tug on her silky hair and stare down at her. She relinquishes my cock from her mouth with a soft pop, then blinks up at me with fluttering lashes and a temptress’s smile.
Two thoughts hit me at once. First, she has every right to feel supremely satisfied with what she’s done. Second, I don’t want to know how many times she had to perform that act on other guys to do it so perfectly.
Like everything else with Nia, she infuriates me. She enthralls me. She conflicts me.
“Evan?”
Still struggling to find words, I help her to her feet and search her face. “Nia.”
She presses her lips together. “Has any woman ever done that to you?”
Slowly, I shake my head.
“Seriously?”
Nia is probably thinking it’s crazy that a grown-ass man has never had a blow job. I’m thinking how brain-bending it is that, in less than five minutes, she redefined pleasure. I still can’t wrap my head around it.
“Seriously.”
She regards me with solemn eyes. “Becca never…?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “Becca… Remember I said her foster father abused her? Yeah. Sexually. He especially liked to force her to give him head. So when we got married, she tried, but she couldn’t bring herself to…”
“Without having flashbacks. Got it. What else couldn’t she do?”
The list is long, and in the face of Nia’s obvious experience, I’m almost embarrassed to admit all the sexual acts and positions I’ve never performed.
“I need to know,” she says softly. “If we’re going to live together for the next few weeks and really give us a try, then—”
“She…” I swallow nervously. “She preferred to be on top.”
“Where she was in control?”
“Yes.”
“And you let her.”
“Yes.”
“Even though it went against your grain?”
“How did you know?”
Nia sighs. “Evan, you like to control everything, all the way down to the kind of pencils we buy in the office. Why would sex be any different for you?”
I open my mouth to refute her, but can I? Should I? Unlike Becca, she’s not crying or blaming me for being insensitive to her past. She’s simply trying to understand me. “You’re right; it’s not.”
My whispered admission seems loud in the room.
She cups my face. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”
“I’m overbearing. Demanding.” At least according to Becca.
“No, you’re not.” She seems to laugh at my contention. “You obviously restrained yourself to accommodate her. But at some point, she had to concede that you aren’t her rapist.”
“Sex…was something she did for me.”
“Not for her own pleasure. I see.” Nia frowns. “Missionary?”
“Every once in a blue moon, usually only when I couldn’t climax with her on top.”
“Could she climax?”
“Eventually. It took a lot of effort. I learned patience, figured out her body, and discovered a lot of shortcuts and tricks.”
“No wonder you always seem so focused on making me come and you can do it so fast,” she murmurs. “What else? Did she like it when you went down on her?”
“Yeah. That was a guaranteed orgasm. Jesus, why am I spitting all this out? What I really want to know is how many blow jobs you’ve given to be that good at it.”
“I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. I don’t have any sexual baggage that’s going to stop us from being happy in bed. But I think you have a whole lot of unexplored territory. Why couldn’t Becca stand missionary sex?”
“Because that bastard fucking climbed on top of her, pinned her down, and took her virginity against her will. I don’t want to talk about her hang-ups. I want to talk about you.”
“And I’d rather talk about us,” she says calmly. “Tell me your fantasies.”
I blink at her. I’m standing in the middle of her kitchen, hair still wet, shivering, with my pants around my ankles. And she wants to know what I think about when I jack off?
“Nia…” I shake my head. “The sex seems to be pretty fucking awesome without this conversation.”
She raises a brow at me. “Just because Becca never wanted to talk about sex doesn’t mean I don’t. I do. I really do. Don’t filter. Don’t worry that whatever you’re thinking is something she wouldn’t have approved of. I’m willing to try anything once. If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you. But I want to devote the next week to letting you try whatever your heart—and cock—desires and hopefully put a huge smile on your face.” She leans in and places her lips against my ear. “Tell me.”
I shudder. “I’ll never get tired of being on top of you.”
“I’ll never get tired of you being there. But I know there’s more. I’ll bet there’s way more.”
She’s not wrong, and I should be freaked out that she sees me so deeply. Instead, I’m relieved. “I want to fuck you from behind.”
She smiles. “Hmm. And?”
If I’m really going to let my mind go there, I have a lot more to say. “I want to fuck you in the office.”
Her smile turns naughty. Her teeth nip my ear just before she whispers, “That’s one of my favorite fantasies, too. You bending me over your desk and muttering filthy words to me while you smother my mouth with your hand to keep me from screaming out in pleasure.”
I just had an orgasm less than five minutes ago, but her words stiffen my cock. “Yeah, that. Totally that.”
“Keep going.”
“I want to fuck you against a wall. I want to finger your pussy in public, under a table, where you can’t do anything but take the pleasure I give you and figure out how to stifle your cries when I make you come.”
Nia shivers. “Hell, yes. What else?”
Do I dare go on? The rest of my fantasies are filthier, things Becca would never have consented to, no matter how slowly I took them, no matter how much therapy she had. Nia is clearly more open and irritatingly more experienced, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to go to these dark places with me.
“Evan, you’re thinking, not talking. Lay it on me. Every bit.”
I huff in a breath. She’s serious. My brain races, but I keep coming to the same conclusion: I’m either going to freak her out or light her up.
“All right.” I drag in a bracing breath. Here goes nothing… “Anal?”
“Yeah.” She sounds breathless.
I’m both thrilled and piqued. “You’ve already tried that?”
Nia is silent for a long minute as she regards me with a little furrow between her brows. “I’m a girl who likes to be touched. I don’t have a lot of hang-ups about sex. In my mind, any
expression of affection and pleasure between two consenting adults is good. I like to fully enjoy whomever I’m with, doing things I want and trying things he likes, too. So yes.”
She’s not saying anything wrong. Logically, I know that’s the way sex should be—without fears and limits and artificial boundaries. I’ve simply never had that. I’m jealous of her experience, both that it’s been so easy and that she’s had more than me. But I’m the man with her now. She’ll give me her sexual curiosity and passion if I stop fixating on who she’s fucked before. She wants me. I need to embrace that and let the other shit go.
“Bondage?”
Her breath catches. “I’d like to try.”
I let out a breath. Finally, something we can explore together. I’m stupidly relieved that we’ll be on a level playing field for something.
“When?”
She shrugs. “Whenever. Tonight, why don’t we have tea and talk some more and—”
“I want inside you.”
A big smile curls up her lips, and I can’t stop staring at the full, pouty bow and remembering it wrapped around me. “When you look at me like that, there’s no way I can say no.”
Kicking my pants away, I stalk naked to my suitcase, conscious of her gaze on me as she follows. I hear her footsteps behind as I crouch to retrieve the box of prophylactics. Then I toss it on the coffee table and grab a fuzzy white blanket off the back of the couch. Ignoring the wrinkle of confusion between her brows, I spread it out on the living room floor.
“What’s that for?” she asks.
But her voice sounds suggestive, challenging. She knows exactly what I want. “On the blanket. Hands and knees.”
Nia looks between the furry throw and my face. She must see the resolution there because she draws in a shaky breath, for the first time looking nervous. “What do you have in mind?”
“Did I forget to mention that I’ve fantasized about spanking you?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
My words ring through the room. Long moments of silence pass.
Nia bites her lip with a little shiver. “You didn’t mention that.”
“Now I am. Will you let me?”
She doesn’t answer with words, simply walks to the middle of the blanket and drops to her knees in a graceful slide. Next, she falls on her hands and arches her back, lifting to me.
I almost lose my fucking mind. That ass. It’s right in front of me—juicy, taut, round. And between her legs, I see her pouting pussy, wet and plump and dark with need.
I fall to my knees behind her. Keeping my hands off her flesh is too much to ask. As if they have a mind of their own, my palms glide over the small of her back, down her butt in a caress that should tell her exactly how much I covet her, then dip between her thighs. Yes, she’s as drenched as she looks.
Bending to her, I whisper in her ear, “Do you like being spanked?”
“M-Maybe.”
That tells me nothing. I need more information to proceed, and my patience is thinning. My hands are shaking. My cock stands up, stretching desperately as if I haven’t had an orgasm in months, rather than minutes.
“Explain,” I demand.
“I’ve only done this twice. Once, it was…” She shakes her head. “Wrong mood, I guess. Too playful, maybe? I giggled the whole time.”
“I’m not feeling playful.”
Nia turns her gaze over her shoulder at me. “I know.”
“The second time?”
“It hurt. A lot. He was angry.”
I glower, my hand tightening protectively on her flesh. “No man should ever hit you in anger.”
“That’s why it’s the last time he ever touched me.”
Gnashing my teeth, I resist the urge to ask who and when and where to find this prick. I want to beat the shit out of him. I want to make sure he understands that he should never have touched Nia at all, much less in any way that hurt or scared her.
“Evan…” Her gentle voice sounds like she’s talking me off a ledge. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m fine.”
“He doesn’t deserve to breathe.”
That makes her smile. “He was an insecure, immature asshole, and that’s why we’re done now. Let it go.”
I’d rather not, but I understand her point. This is about us.
I drag in a steadying breath and trail my gaze over her exposed backside again. I want that. I want her. But I want to give her pleasure, too.
“Tell me exactly how this makes you feel.”
“What?”
I lift my hand. Adrenaline surges through my system, but I restrain myself. The last thing I want to do is frighten her or give her any reason to think we’re incompatible and she needs to show me the door.
My swat lands on her right cheek, a dull thud meant to test her reaction more than assuage the hunger roaring inside me, which I don’t fully understand.
“Nia?”
She tilts her head to look at me again. “Are you testing to see if I’m awake? Because I am and that wasn’t a spanking.”
“Do you want it harder?”
“What do you want?”
I swallow, gather my thoughts. She’s been open-minded and receptive so far. If she doesn’t like something, she’ll let me know.
“To spank you harder. To make you claw, gasp, and beg.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Fuck, this woman has a way of peering inside my head and knowing exactly how to put me on edge. I like it. No, I love it and I want more.
“Absolutely nothing.”
Except the fact I don’t really know how this is done. But is there a science to it? Spanking classes I should take? I swallow a scoff. I don’t need to logic this through. I just need to do it.
Rearing back, I lift my hand to her again. I swoop down with a whoosh and strike her left cheek. Satisfaction winds through me at the sound of the crack of my palm to her skin. At the way her breath catches and her body braces. At the visual of my big, pale hands against her soft, dark flesh. Everything about it turns me on. Everything about her turns me on.
“One,” she counts, her voice almost a breathy sob.
I don’t ask if she likes it. Her body language and the hitch in that one syllable tell me she does.
“We’ll go to ten,” I tell her.
I hope that will be enough to satisfy the straining, stretching dark side rooting around in my body and filling my brain with more sensual images than I can process.
“Yes, Sir.”
That shouldn’t turn me on half as much as it does, but yeah… The impatience to slowly, sensually spank her to incoherent arousal before I fuck her into panting, screaming sobs claws at my restraint.
“Damn it, Nia…” I curse her even as I land another blow to her right cheek, this one higher and harder than the first.
Her body bucks. “Two.”
After that, I get into a rhythm. Left and low. Right and high. In the center. On her thigh.
“Six.”
She’s panting now, and something inside me I don’t understand is eating this up. I cup her pussy and find she’s even wetter than before. At my touch, she tosses her head, wriggles her hips…
“Evan?”
She wants me to forget seven through ten and simply get inside her.
I fist her hair and lean over her as I force her to look at me, shaking my head in answer. “No. I made you a promise. Unless something hurts too much to carry on?”
But I already know she’s not in pain, and I can’t deny that I’m enjoying this even more than I imagined.
I remember reading once that the body’s biggest sex organ is the brain. I’m finally understanding what that means.
“It does,” she protests.
“Where?”
“My clit.”
“I’ll make it all better…eventually.” I laugh, mimicking her earlier words.
She mewls in protest, but when I nudge her thighs wider apart, she do
esn’t do anything except rush to comply. Blows eight and nine fall in the center of each cheek. The last strike I can’t resist. I swing low, far gentler than before, and swat her swollen sex.
That makes Nia gasp, then let out a low, aroused moan.
“What number was that?” I prompt.
Why am I enjoying this so much? I’m not sure. We both know the answer to my question, but I need to hear her say it. Because, for the first time in my life, I’m able to have more than a cursory say-so about the sex I have? Because I’m finally able to act out the fantasies in my head? I’m sure there’s a rationale here, but puzzling through it now is the last thing I want to do.
“Ten,” she keens out. “Evan, please…”
I linger, my fingers tracing her slick folds, breezing over her hard clit. “Did you enjoy that?”
Again, I know the answer. I like making her admit the truth. I enjoy feeling arousal at more than a physical level, beyond skin and bone and cock. Our exchange now? It’s as if we’ve entered something forbidden together. As if my brain being engaged is ramping up the rest of my responses.
“Yes. God, yes.”
Her panting confession tells me it’s the same for her.
Maybe a stronger man would toy with her, make her wait more. But she already sounds desperate. No denying I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been, and it’s all I can do to make my shaking hands rip into the condom. It still feels foreign to roll it down my length, but I do it hastily, then position my knees between her spread calves and grip her hips.
“Good. I did, too. Ready?”
Nia doesn’t answer with words, simply arches her back, lifts her ass even higher, and wiggles impatiently.
I’ll never turn down that invitation.
Fitting my cock against her opening, I slide into her slick sex. And I groan long and low, filling the room with the sound of my need. She’s scalding and tight, and the fact she’s fulfilling another one of my fantasies notches me up even more.
Urgency drives me. I set a hard pace, shuttling in and out so fast it’s a blur. Nia throws her head back, digs her fingers into the blanket, wailing for more. She tightens—a good sign. But I’m already dangerously close to orgasm. After sharing something I’ve wanted for a decade with the woman I want more than any other? It’s a recipe to lose control.
