by Haley Pierce
I reach over and pry the top button on her pajama shirt loose. “You’re still fucking sexy.”
She blinks. “Really?”
“Undoubtedly,” I say, undoing another button, so now the shirt is open to her mid-chest, and her cleavage is visible.
Her breath hitches. “I also thought we’d . . . I don’t know. Have a nice room service dinner together.” She points at the half-empty plates near the sofa. “Not waffles.”
I shrug. “Waffles are good.”
She offers the plate to me, and when I shake my head, feels a need to explain: “I just had a hankering for breakfast.” She clasps her hands together in front of her. “Also. I don’t know. You said special, so I thought candlelight. Isn’t that what they always do in movies? Maybe dancing.”
“Dancing?”
“Well, my mother made me take ballroom dance lessons for six years, but she never let me go anywhere where I could actually use them,” she explains.
I move over to the fireplace and flip the switch, igniting a small glowing fire. Then I go to the light switch, twisting the dimmer so that the candled sconces are barely a flicker. It’s not real candlelight, but it’s decidedly romantic. “Firelight is better.”
She nods just as on the television screen, Fred Astaire sits at the piano and begins to belt out “The Way You Look Tonight.” I step around the coffee table, where there’s area to move around, and motion her to join me. “Shall we?”
She blinks, surprised, then scuttles over to me. I lift one hand up, entwining fingers with hers. The other, I wrap around her flannel-covered waist, drawing her to me.
And we waltz. It’s as perfect as any movie, Addison showing that every one of her lessons have paid off. I’ve not had as much instruction, but she makes leading her effortless. “You know how to waltz,” she breathes, and even through the thick flannel of her pajamas, I can hear her heart beating.
“I was engaged once,” I tell her. “A long time ago. Layla made us go for ballroom dancing lessons so we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves.”
I see the question in her eyes.
“She called off the engagement,” I explain. I think about going into it, but I don’t want to. I want to concentrate on the now, on Addison, who is dancing so close to me, strawberries and syrup and honestly, the sweetest thing in my life right now. I love that she doesn’t ask me more. I pull her close to me, my hand trailing under her loose top, and up the warm, smooth skin of her back, feeling the angled rise of her shoulder blades. God, she’s gorgeous.
When the song ends, and Fred ends up staring up at Ginger with her hair in soap suds, and Ginger, horrified, runs away, Addison’s staring at me expectantly, as if to say, what now? “You’re a good dancer,” she says, filling in the silence.
“You’re a good liar,” I tell her. Then I kiss her, softly, tenderly, savoring the maple syrup on her tongue. I delve a hand inside her open pajama top, cupping her full, round tit.
She heaves in a breath, and her ribcage presses against my wrist. “Oh,” she murmurs. “I love that.”
I spread the shirt wider, letting it fall over her shoulders, exposing her full tits. They’re pale and sweet, the nipples already pebbling in the cool air. I rub a thumb over the tips, and they respond, growing harder.
She starts to let out a low moan but catches herself. Self-consciously, she brings her hands to either side of her head, wrapping curls of blonde hair around her fingers as the rest of her pajama top falls to the ground. I maneuver her toward the couch and sit, bringing my hands down the small of her back, to her round ass. Pulling her body toward me, I take her tit in my hand and run my tongue along the hardened nipple. “You have gorgeous tits, Addison. Do you want me to suck on them some more?” I breathe into her skin.
“Oh, yes,” she says, inching forward, offering them to me.
Holding them both in either hand, I bring one to my mouth, taking it in, moving my tongue in slow circles around the puckered flesh. Now she lets out a little squeak of exhilaration as I thoroughly explore the skin. It’s sweet like the rest of her, tasting faintly of baby powder, and that familiar scent of strawberries intoxicates me. I move to the other breast, getting my fill of that one, before switching to the next, all the while molding her ass cheeks. Though my cock strains against my pants, I’m in no hurry. I can stay here, with her between my legs, sucking on her tits, caressing her perfect ass, until sun-up. “You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” I groan. “Your tits, your ass, everything.”
She smiles unsurely. “Do you think we should go to the bed?”
“If that’s where you want it to happen.”
She nods.
I easily scoop her up into my arms, taking her across a vast penthouse suite to the double doors of an enormous king bed. For a deflowering, she could do worse. When I lie her down on the bedspread, she sits up on her elbows and slowly undoes the tie at her waist. I help her to lower the pants down over her hips, then gaze at her entirely naked body.
God, she’s more than gorgeous, she’s a work of art. It’s almost enough to make me forget myself. A second passes, two, with me just staring. I sense her unease and get myself together, letting out the deep breath I’d been holding. “You’re beautiful, Addison.”
She smiles unsurely. “I’m ready for my lesson, Dr. Hill.”
I kneel on the bed, hovering over her. “Cain,” he says. “And this isn’t a lesson.”
She studies my face. “Then what is it?”
I don’t honestly know. It’s not making love, but it’s not lust either. I can’t be sure what I feel right now. All I know is that I run in the other direction from love, but for some reason, I had to run like crazy toward her tonight. “I can’t quite define it,” I admit.
“You, the doctor of English, at a loss for words?”
I kiss her, then, close to but not touching her naked body. She reaches out to undress me, undoing my tie, each button on my dress shirt with slow, deliberate movement and I explore her mouth deeply, nibbling on her lips, letting her tongue slide tentatively in and out of me. I nearly cry out from the pleasure of her hands when they land flat on the skin of my chest. Eagerly, I rip the rest of my shirt off, letting her concentrate now on getting me naked.
She’s faster now, her second go at my pants, so my lessons have paid off. When I pull off my pants, she wastes no time in getting my underwear down, too.
She’s gazing at me from the bed when I’m standing before her, naked. She’s never seen a naked man before. I can tell that much from the way she’s blushing. Before I can ask her if everything’s all right, she says, “You’re so beautiful, too. And . . .” Her eyes focus on my cock and widen. “Big.”
I half-smile. She’s not meaning to compliment me, though it is a compliment. She’s afraid I won’t fit into her virgin pussy. I have little recent experience with virgins, but that doesn’t matter. Wide-eyed and sweet, Addison is someone I instinctively want to protect. As much as I want this, I’d stop before I hurt her.
Addison
“Do you want my tongue on your pussy?” he asks me.
I nod desperately in anticipation. Slowly, too slowly, he lifts my legs and lowers them down on either of his shoulders, his head between my legs, so I can feel his hot breath on my skin. I know I’m wet when I feel the juices trickle out of me. I close my eyes, aching for that feeling, and it’s like he knows it, because he takes his time, timing his assault for when I’m most desperate. There’s no tentative tasting, no nibbling. With no warning, he plants his open mouth, full, on my core.
It’s too much. I cry out.
I bring my hand to my mouth to silence myself, but he reaches up and grabs it, holding it rigid against my belly. “No.” His command is low and growling, startling me. “Don’t be quiet. You don’t have to be quiet here. I want to hear every little sound you want to make, Addison.”
He takes his time, drawing out every little motion. He moves his hands to my thighs, spreading me apart. His hot wet tongue s
lides slowly up the crease of my folds. My head falls back against the headboard, and I whimper with a combination of relief and delight. He licks upward, slowly, fully, from bottom to top, his tongue darting in and out of me. I gasp, and my hands instinctively want to fly to my mouth. It’s everything I can do to obey him and keep them on my belly. Then he digs in with his tongue, pressing against the nerves of my sensitive nub.
I moan. “Oh, god, Cain . . .”
His tongue circles my clit and pushes inside me, wrapping his arms around my thighs and caressing my ass. It’s setting a fire alight inside me, something wild and unstoppable. It’s building, and I’m shaking as he takes me to the brink of ecstasy, only to pull away, leaving me gasping in frustration. It’s like he knows I’m close, and wants me to beg for it.
I open my eyes to look at him, and it’s that same wolfish look . . . he’s playing with me. As frustrating as it is, I want it to continue. Those liquid blue eyes meet mine, his mouth wet with my juices. “Please, Cain. Please . . .”
“What do you want?” His voice is a low rumble. “Say it.”
“Make me come.”
He attacks my clit again, his tongue relentless, flicking my clit, bringing me close again. I teeter on the edge, and I feel release so close. I arch against him, meeting his tongue, wanting more and more of his tongue on me. I’m panting and writhing now, and it he stops now, I might kill him. He’s sucking it, pulling on it gently with his teeth, and I grab the edge of the cushions to keep my hands out of my mouth. I’m so close, the fire inside me an inferno, consuming everything in its path.
And then he inserts a finger into me, and I lose it. “Oh, god . . .Cain . . .”
The orgasm rips through me, and I come so hard my breath and all sense of time and place leaves me. It’s just him, and me, and this amazing feeling. He suckles my clit deeply as I scream aloud, throwing myself forward. I come, and come, and come.
“You taste so sweet,” he says, sitting back on his haunches.
I’m not done. I reach for him. I want him naked, on me. I want as much of his skin against mine, right now. “Fuck me,” I say, shameless.
“Hold on,” he says, standing up, contemplating.
“What, you don’t want to?” I ask.
He leans forward, capturing my face in my hands. He kisses me, almost gently. I thrust my tongue desperately into his mouth, wanting him to take control and command me. God, I want him so badly I take in a shuddery breath.
His gaze rakes down my body. “You don’t ever have to ask if I want to fuck you. The answer will always be yes.”
He scoops a hand under my legs, dragging me to him. He runs his hands over my front, cupping my breasts. He kisses my neck, and his fingers delve between my legs again as his eyes find mine. “You’re wet. Are you ready, Addison?”
I nod. “Are you?”
“I’ve wanted this the second I met you.” I hear a packet rip, feel his hand withdraw from my core, and I watch him slide a condom on one-handed. I watch him guide his cock to my entrance. A gentle nudge. I want more so I push back against him and feel him enter me, filling me.
I gasp and hang my head as he pushes into me, inch by inch, stretching me. Oh, god. He’s so huge. I thrust back against him, wanting more, wanting every inch he has.
“Addison, you’re so fucking tight and sweet,” he breathes into my skin. He plants his hands on my hips and pulls me closer to him. He’s flush against me, his hips against my thighs. “I’m not hurting you?”
“No,” I murmur. I’m so the opposite of hurt that I nearly giggle. “This is amazing.”
He slides out, leaving just the tip inside me, and then plunges in, deeper. I let out a cry. He hesitates then. “You sure it’s okay?”
“I like it,” I tell him. “As fast and hard as you can.”
He lets out a surprised groan. I know he likes things rough, and what do you know, I like that, too? He does it again, his tip nestled in my entrance, then thrusts in harder. Soon he’s pounding into me, making me whimper with every thrust, but I love it. It’s so intense, so animal, so wild, so free. I push against him as he slides in deep, getting into a rhythm, feeling my breasts sway and his hands dig into my hips. Whatever he’s hitting inside me, it’s a chord that has never been struck, ever. Another orgasm is building inside me, and somehow I know it’ll be even fiercer than the first one.
The rhythm increases to a frantic pace, and my hovering climax crashes down around us.
He must be able to sense it. “Come, Addison.”
“But I want you to . . .” I protest.
“Don’t worry about me,” he growls, and the second I have his permission, I come, hard, so hard that my scream is loud enough to rock the walls and I’m surprised the bed doesn’t break.
Groaning, he lifts me and tips me so that now he’s hovering above me. Now, I can see his face, have his entire body pressed flush against mine. His cock continues to drill into me, not missing a beat as he kisses my neck. I wrap my legs tight around him, and our eyes lock. His muscles flex and tighten, and crashes into me, growling, rough and hard and so like Cain. His body is jerking and raw, his fingers digging into my skin. It’s amazing, unlike anything I’ve ever known, watching a man like him, lost completely in me.
When he quiets, he draws himself out slowly. I stroke his back, running my fingers down the contours of his body, to his ass. He rolls off me, onto the mattress, breathing hard. “Fuck.”
We’re both covered in a light sheen of sweat. I feel so happy for the first time that I drift off to the most satisfying of sleeps for maybe an hour, and when I stir from my dreams, without opening my eyes, I know something is different.
I can smell him, that woodsy, citrusy aftershave, permeating my every pore, as if I’d bathed in it. Well, I had, I’d bathed in him last night, as I’m quite sure he’d left no part of my skin unexplored by his tongue and hands. Other than that, I can still feel the pressure of him inside me, stretching and filling the deepest part of me. My chin has been rubbed raw by his stubble, and those fierce, demanding kisses. Ordinarily, it’d be uncomfortable, but as I snooze contentedly, feeling his body beside me, I really can’t think of a more welcome pain.
Then I notice the sound of keyboard keys clicking somewhere behind me, which draws me right out of that lull between awake and asleep.
When I do open my eyes, the room is dark, save for a dim blue light permeating the room.
I roll over and am surprised to see Cain sitting up next to me in bed, his laptop propped on his thighs. He has a pen clamped between his lips and is furiously tapping away on the keys.
“Are you grading papers?” I ask, looking up at him. He’s wearing nothing but his round spectacles, the soft glow of the computer screen reflecting in them. It also illuminates his chiseled chest, with a smattering of cinnamon hair, and the disheveled hair flopping in his face. He’s so damn sexy that it almost takes my breath away.
“Nope,” he murmurs, still typing. He pulls the pen out and scribbles a note on a small pad that’s next to him. Then he looks over at me, as if noticing me for the first time. “Hey.”
I feel a twinge of annoyance. Had he forgotten about me? “What are you writing?”
Is it my imagination, or does he angle the computer screen away from me? It’s almost as if he’s hiding something, but what could he be hiding from me? It’s not like he has any reason to lie to me. He says, “Did I wake you?”
What, is he avoiding the question? I prop myself up on one elbow and lean over to read what has gotten him so captivated. It’s a word document. I only make out a couple words when he snaps the laptop shut. I pull back, surprised. So he is hiding something. “What, I can’t see?”
He shrugs. “Nope.”
I pout. “What are you like, a spy? Is it top secret plans for a nuclear weapon?” When he doesn’t answer, I joke, “Oh, so you’re corresponding with other girls in class, too? I’m not special?”
He shakes his head. “No, I—“
“Other boys, then?”
“Addison,” he says, in a calm, authoritative voice that immediately makes me contrite. “You know what it is. I told you, I sold a book to St. Martin’s Press. And I’m on deadline.”
“Oh.” I’m confused. That doesn’t sound like something so private. “Okay, fine. Then why won’t you let me –“
“Because.” He opens his mouth and twists it like he’s trying to think of how to word his answer. Finally, he says, “I just can’t,” then sets the laptop down on the night table.
He pulls off his glasses and sets them down, too, and when he looks at me, my mind stretches out, and suddenly I shiver with realization. I’m no longer a virgin. I’ve had sex with this man. He’s been closer to me than anyone has.
And yet, he still won’t let me look at his fucking computer. “You were typing like a man possessed. Did I inspire you?”
I blurt the question, and the second I do, I flash back to a picture I have in my bedroom at home. It’s of my mom, sitting with baby me in her lap, smiling in a way I never see now. She’s reading a bound manuscript. My father’s. I think that, long ago, she used to be his muse, and he’d share his stories with her first.
Immediately, I’m embarrassed. I’d meant it as a joke, of course. I’m not anywhere close to being his muse, obviously. But before I can backtrack, he nods seriously.
My heart thrums.
Then he says, “It usually does.”
It. Oh. He meant sex. So, he’s inspired by sex. That’s probably why he sought it out from his agent. Why he seeks it out from me. So he can get his deadline met. Somehow, I feel cheap. “Are you almost done with it?”
He snorts. “Hardly. I’m on Chapter Sixteen,” he says.
“Hmm. You need to have more sex, then.” And here he thought he was a sex machine, with the way he was getting it on with his agent in the parking lot.
