Crazy Love

by Madelynne Ellis

  I abandon my phone next to hers on the vanity unit, then I lean in and whisper right into her ear. “I want to taste your slick, hot cunt. I want to fuck you with my tongue until you cream all over it. Then I want to lick you clean before filling your tight wet cunt with my cock.”

  “How do you know I’m tight?” she whispers back. “Could be that I’ve been around the block a few times. I might have squeezed a kid out for all you know.”

  “Have you?”

  “No.”

  I’m relieved in an almost unfathomable way—some half formed notion that the only seed I want to see planted in her belly is mine. This girl has me on a visceral level. It’s not just lust that grabs me by the goolies when I touch her, there’s something deeper sizzling away in the background too.

  We joust a few more moments, the conversation played out in the silence between our breaths and the slight shifts in our stances. Skin touches skin. Our hips fit neatly together. We don’t kiss though, not yet. When we do, that’ll be the point of no return, when we both stop thinking about Knox snoring in the bathtub, and our respective groups and the crap that’s due to rain down upon them.

  We fumble about, failing to decide which direction to throw our lots, then diving simultaneously into headlong disaster.

  “I’m going to suck your clit until it’s poking up begging me for attention,” I tell her. “Then I’m going to put my tongue in your cunt and my fingers in your arse, and get you so overwrought that you beg me not just to pound you hard, but to do it in the dirtiest, nastiest ways you can imagine.”

  “I hope you’re not all talk, Mr. Darke.”

  “I hope you’re not easily shocked.”

  -11-

  Loveday Trevaskis

  Life rarely produces anything strange enough to shock me, and yet he manages to startle me with the fierceness of his loving. It’s not simply that his hands and mouth are on me, or that his body is a solid, unyielding wall of muscle that’s pressed hard up against mine. It’s the fire I see burning in his eyes when he speaks. There’s an edge to his words that causes my central nervous system to light up like I’ve been connected to the national power grid.

  Actually fucking him is probably the stupidest thing I could do right now, but it’s absolutely the course I’m set upon. It doesn’t matter that if Jessie walks in, I’d be swilling about in so much shit I’d smell like a sun-ripened turd, because I’d be a blissed out, well-fucked turd.

  I want this guy. Normally I pick someone up, have my fun with them and move on. No one is worth taking a huge risk over, because they’re not going to be around long enough to warrant the fall out, but Darke has crawled under my skin in a way that convinces me to stick two fingers up at the consequences of doing him.

  All that matters is that we get naked and bang like maniacs.

  I’m already panting in expectation of it. My heart is drumming in my throat, and each breath seems to get stalled in my chest to then emerge as a gasp. Darke teases me with his words as much as his fingers. It’s as if he’s tuned himself in to my psyche, and has the solution to the combination lock that is my libido.

  I want his mouth on me in the way he promises, hard up against my sex, lapping with his tongue. It’s difficult not to simply grab him by the hair and force his delivery.

  His fingers stroke along the edge of my robe again, this time following the line of fabric down to where the belt is knotted, holding the two front halves together. One quick rip and the knot is no more, likewise any sort of shield I had. The edges of the robe peel apart, exposing me—breasts, stomach, the insides of both thighs, and my best pair of utilitarian black cotton panties.

  He tucks a finger under the top edge of their elastic while an amused smile plays upon his lips. “Practical,” he teases, plunging two fingers downwards through the thatch of my hair to the split of my pussy.

  I clamp a hand down fast over the top of his. “Kiss me,” I demand. I need the connection. I want this to be personal, even though every second I spend in his presence is sheer folly.

  He rolls our foreheads together, so we’re looking one another in the eyes, but our mouths are still inches apart.

  “Please,” I whimper. I want his mouth on me, his tongue dancing with mine.

  Darke’s lips are soft, where everything else about him is hard, especially that broomstick poking me in the thigh. I want him to jab it right into me, split the lips of my sex and bury himself to the hilt. I want all the dirty things he’s said to be the warm-up to the even more perverted things he’s not said.

  Every time he mentions doing something to my arse, I feel a little more unhinged. I imagine his thumb inside of me, making the nerve endings of my arsehole light up like sparklers, then his cock in that dark part of me, pounding away.

  I used to dream about having a lover who only ever screwed me in the arse.

  Former teenage fantasies—I’ve always been terrified of babies, but too horny to adhere to any form of chastity.

  We kiss with our eyes open at first, and I fall deep into the hearts of his pupils. When his fingers push into me, though, I close my eyes and drown in the darkness.

  “Your cunt’s not wet,” he claims in his gravel roughened voice. “It’s sopping.” He continues to stroke me with his clever fingers. He hasn’t even touched my clit yet and I’m already little more than a sack of mush. When he does stroke me there, if he does, I’m probably going to come right away. On tenterhooks, I await that moment, shivers coursing through my body, and my skin alive with tingles.

  “Open your legs for me. Let me give you what you crave.”

  I want to, but my legs are like jelly, the knees ready to buckle.

  “You’re not concerned about Knox, are you?”

  Knox? I’d forgotten he existed.

  Darke turns to his comatose friend, and wrenches the shower curtain across the side of the bath, blocking Knox from sight. Then he turns back to me, face full of merry devilment.

  “Up,” he demands and lifts me so my butt is balanced on the edge of the counter. Then he’s on his knees, his head buried between my thighs, kissing me through the no-frills cotton.

  He hooks my legs over his shoulders, and I push my hands into the dark, glossy strands of his hair. Even through the cotton, the sensation is almost too raw. I’m on the edge of panic. I guess he senses it because he keeps his touch super light. My clit is so hard and needy it’s poked up out of its protective hood so that even the lightest touch is borderline painful.

  “Shh! Easy now,” he says, blowing on me.

  A breath of air has never caused me to tumble before, but it sets me off, and I come against his face, pulse thundering, my world reduced to the thunder and stars inside my own head.

  My knickers are sopping when my vision is restored. Darke pulls them from me, exposing the bright pink folds of my swollen pussy to his view. He licks me until I’m shiny with his saliva instead of my own juices, then pushes two stiff fingers inside of me and tests my limits. Excitement builds inside my cells again, almost at once, so that my hips jig of their own accord, matching the steady rhythm with which he finger fucks me.

  My pussy is so wet that the action makes sticky sounds.

  “Ready for something a little thicker?”

  “Hnnrr!” I whimper, because apparently I’ve lost the ability to form words.

  “I want to hear you say it. I want you order me to thrust my cock into you. To do it over and over, harder and faster. I want to hear you shouting out how good it is.”

  What I need is to feel him first of all. I drag him upwards off his knees, so that his buff, raw and sexy body is plastered against mine, and he’s smearing my own juices all over my mouth and chin.

  I make short work of his belt, don’t bother with the buttons or zip, just drag down his low-rise jeans so that I can curl my fingers first into his arse, and then wrap a hand around his long, stiff cock.

  He croaks as I handle him. I rub the tip of him against my clit, which about mak
es us both lose our minds.

  “Condoms,” I breathe heavily into his ear. “I need you inside of me.”

  “Inside your cunt?” I’m not sure if it’s a statement or if he’s asking for clarification. I only know that I’m desperate. “Ask me properly. Say, ‘Please shove your cock inside my cunt and fuck me until the earth moves.’”

  The words gather at the back of my throat, but don’t quite make it to my lips.

  “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, turning me on with the hiss of his voice in addition to the driving rage he’s using to fill me with his finger. I’m not sure what his anger is directed at, me, Knox, something else, but I can feel it buzzing away inside of him beneath his skin. “You don’t just want this,” he says of his fingers. “You want my cock in your hungry cunt. Say it.”

  Cunt—every time he says it, I shiver in a hopelessly deplorable way.

  Cunt—it has such a hard, ruthless ring to it. It’s impolite. Every time it rolls off his tongue, a little part of me protests while the rest threatens to overheat. It’s not a word I ever use in conversation, but fact—the way Nathaniel Darke makes it sound turns me on.

  “Say it, Loveday. You want my cock in your pretty, sopping wet cunt, and you want me to fuck you to kingdom come.”

  My cheeks burn, but I do as he asks. I hear myself whisper it. If whispers are things you holler loud enough to wake the dead. I babble, telling him that I want him in my mouth, my cunt, my arse, anywhere he’ll take me, anywhere he’ll have me. Maybe everyplace all at once, but mostly I tell him to fuck me hard, to not hold back and to make me feel it, because that’s what he does. He makes me want him, even though I know it’s every kind of stupid to entangle myself with him and will cause holy hellfire if Jessie and Ivy find out.

  I guess he’s in a similar boat on that score, Paradise Kiss aren’t going to be anymore thrilled to find him balls deep inside of me than my Bitch Slap sisters are.

  Not that those facts stop us. Some things are just meant to be. It doesn’t matter how wrong they are, not when they feel so incredibly right.

  Nathaniel Darke on the verge of screwing me senseless feels incredibly right, like I was born to live this moment.

  “I’m going to bang you so hard everyone in the hotel will here you scream.”

  Like I’m not making that sort of noise already.

  I can’t hold it in, not when he’s teasing my clit from the inside like that, not when my need is so great, it’s driven me up onto tip-toes and my thighs are like jelly from straining to inch my hips that bit closer to his.

  “I don’t want to wait. Fuck me.”

  “Let me get dressed for the occasion.”

  That involves a stumbling journey into the bedroom, during which he sheds his jeans and I finally get to admire him completely naked.

  Fuck! The sight of his body alone is enough to turn me to treacle. He’s built like a runner, hard and lean. There are knots of muscles on his thighs, abs and arms. His back, one side and the whole of one arm is covered with bright tattoos—butterflies and skulls interwoven with snakes. It’s a good thing I’m not freaked by creepy-crawlies. A scarab-like beetle sits on the curve of his left arse-cheek, seemingly about to scurry into the crack.

  There’s one bit of him that fascinates me more than all his body paint though. There’s just something so primal and visceral about a rock hard cock pointing at you like an accusation.

  Watching a man roll a condom over his shaft has never been more erotic and excruciating at the same time. I love the way his long fingers dance, making the sheath sit just right, but simultaneously, I’m too desperate to wait and genuinely appreciate the show.

  “Come here,” he beckons, back to the wall, once he’s finished putting on his raincoat.

  I wish I had time to snap his photograph. A naked man against a magnolia wall shouldn’t make for extraordinary art, but it’s the best landscape I’ve ever seen.

  The moment I’m close enough, he grabs hold of me, rolls us, so that it’s me with my back against the wall. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, holds me right up off the floor as if I’m flying. I expect him to just shove his cock right into me and take what he wants, but he doesn’t. He notches the head like he’s contemplating the fit, then tugs me on like a goddamned glove.

  I keen like a frickin banshee.

  Someone, somewhere nearby has just heard the siren call of their death.

  I squeeze him tight with my muscles, pulling him that bit deeper. In turn, he lifts me higher, then peels me away from the wall and turns so that the bed is behind us.

  Hot breath. Hot musk. The scent of me. The scent of us. He’s all sweat and muscle, and raw, angry power. He hates me. I can feel it in the way he drives himself deep, and the way his breath hisses between his teeth. This is all about conquering me and trying to extinguish what’s burning so frickin brightly where our bodies and love of music meet. It won’t work. I know that, because I hate him too for making me want him when it’s stupid to do so. I hate him and I’m drawn to him at the same time. We’re too alike, too ambitious, both too desperate for what Graham Callahan is offering–that boost up to the next level. Whatever it takes…And yet, here we are, our bodies moving in perfect sync, hearts providing the underlying beat, the slap our bodies make when they meet, providing percussion, while our wails and scorched breaths fill out the rest of the melody. And in my head, I have the perfect bass-line. The one that’s going to make me a mint, as soon as I find the chords and accompanying sounds to go with it.

  “Lie back.”

  Lie back? I’m suspended in mid-fucking-air.

  “Come on, Love. Don’t tell me you’re not going to dance the dance with me.”

  I have no clue what he’s talking about, and I’m not wholly convinced the position he’s coaxing me into is going to result in anything other than an injury, but given how much I’m risking already being here, what’s one more leap of faith?

  I hold onto his shoulders and lean back to the full stretch of my arms. It’s not far enough. My grip slides over his biceps, down to the crooks of his arms, and then to his wrists.

  “Lie back,” he says again, as he clasps hold of my hands, and I do. I trust him, which is damned fucking crazy of me. The result sees my head lower than his knees. The bed is nearby, but just out of reach, though I could probably grab hold if I absolutely needed to.

  “Now let go.” He shakes his hands free of mine, and grasps me firmly above the hips, supporting my lower back.

  I’ve never felt so topsy-turvy, but once my hands hit the floor, I’m a little more balanced. I guess it’s a good thing I’m flexible.

  “Best position ever.”

  He may have a point. A few seconds of being inverted and I’m woozy as hell, but the rush when he moves inside of me is intense.

  It’s not what I’d call a deep position, but what it lacks in that department, it makes up for in thrills.

  He sinks to his knees when I’m on the edge of delirium, orgasm is looming large on the horizon and the pressure in my head has become another layer to the music we’re making together.

  I could lie still, let him do the rest of the work, but actually, I want him close. I want to get my hands on him, scratch, bite, dig my nails into the muscles of his thighs and flanks. I want him so close that my breasts are squashed up against the broad expanse of his chest. When he comes—when I come, I don’t want there to be more than a millimetre of space between us.

  “Jeezus woman, you feel so fucking good.” He makes some little crooning noises that totally back up his words. We slow into a steady, smooth, roll together, staring at one another, mouths hanging open. “Shouldn’t feel this good.”

  “When it’s wrong, it’s always right.”

  “Ever done anything this nuts before?”

  I shake my head.

  I can’t take my frickin eyes off him as he pumps into me. Whatever it is that’s connecting us has me well and truly trapped. I’m going to come lookin
g him right in the eyes. I’ve never let go like that before. I’m not sure what the net result will be, it’ll probably transform the troublesome connections between us into high carbon steel bond.

  “Gonna…” He mutters breathlessly, eyes glazing a little.

  I push my fingers into his mouth, feel the tremors run up though his back, and his cock jolt inside of me. He comes hard, body shaking, the strain showing in his face, so that a line of perspiration forms across the top of his lip.

  “Fucking come,” he growls, like I’m deliberately holding out on him, and maybe I am, because something seems to snap in response to his order.

  Oh, God! I fall hard, my climax opening me up to emotions that I’d be wiser not to feel. All my defences are shredded, ripped away, exposing me. I’m sure he can see right down into my core, because I’m seeing into the very heart of him, and I’m petrified by what I find there.

  -12-

  Nathaniel Darke

  The high is earth-shattering. The come down turns me into a cabbage. I don’t know what it is about Loveday Trevaskis, but just the way she looks at me does nonsensical things to my insides. Her touch is incendiary. There’s more than simple lust boiling between us. I don’t know whether to cling on tight, or scarper as fast as possible. If I want a career, the latter’s the only sensible option.

  I haven’t done a single sensible thing all night.

  I’m not counting things like pulling on a condom before I stroked inside of her, because that’s not about sense, it’s about self-preservation.

  Actually, maybe they are one and the same. It’s hard to make sense of the world anymore. Lethargy follows bliss. It seeps through my innards as I float down from the out of body high fucking her just propelled me too. I feel as if I’ve been split into electrons, and parts of me are currently residing in some far-flung galaxy. From what I remember about sub-atomic particles, that might even be true.