Full Circle

by Lynne, Donya

  For several seconds, his body rocked forward and back, milking his release, and then he slowed, breathing heavily, until finally collapsing, completely spent.

  So maybe they hadn’t gotten fully entrenched in the kidnap fantasy they’d played out in Saint Lucia, but that hadn’t mattered. Just pretending to fall back into those personas had done the job.

  “Fuck,” Mark bit out a moment later, still lying on her back, her arms between them, which couldn’t have been comfortable for him.

  She still couldn’t talk, too consumed by the enormity of what had just happened to form coherent sentences.

  He groaned as he pulled out of her then rolled to the side, landing on his back beside her. Then he took a deep breath and sat up to untie her.

  “Come here.” He swept her into his arms and lay back on the bed, head on the pillows, his fingers combing her hair away from her face. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, still breathing hard.

  “I didn’t hurt you?”

  She shook her head, snuggling closer. He cocooned her in his embrace, tucking her cheek against his chest.

  His heart thump-thump-thumped, pounding hard against her ear.

  “I’ve never felt you come like that,” he said. “So hard. How many orgasms did you have?”

  “Three, I think.” The euphoria still snarled her in its grip, making it hard to think.

  “Three times so fast.” He sounded impressed, exhaling a proud breath.

  “I’ve never done that before.” Her arm hung lazily over his waist.

  “I’ve never been able to make a woman do that, either.”

  She pulled back. “You? Mr. Sex God?”

  He grinned, his eyelids heavy. “Surprised?”

  She tucked herself against him once more. “A little.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when we met, you seemed like you knew everything about sex. I just assumed this was status quo for you.”

  He shook his head, his fingers trailing up and down her arm. “No. You’re the first.”

  The first. No woman before her had experienced what he’d just given her. Three back-to-back orgasms. Not Carol. Not Nina. Only her.

  She wrapped her arm more securely around him, pressing closer.

  “I’ve never experienced this kind of chemistry with anyone else, Karma. Not even close. You’re the only one.” He rolled her to her back and sank down on top of her, kissing her long, slow, and hard. When he broke away, he added, “But then, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

  She wanted to ask him, “Not even Carol?” but didn’t. Mark wasn’t one to make such a proclamation if it wasn’t true, so she should take him at face value. If he’d loved Carol as much as he loved her, he would have phrased his statement differently.

  “Nobody,” he said, as if reading her mind.

  He lifted off her and rolled her to her side, pressing up behind her, holding her tight. “You make me feel safe, Karma.” He sounded fully relaxed . . . completely content.

  “You make me feel safe, too.” She sighed and sank into his embrace, closing her eyes as the front of his body melded against the back of hers.

  Home. He was her home.

  She vaguely heard the couple on TV still having sex as she drifted off to the sleep a few minutes later.

  * * *

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, but when she woke, the TV was off and the room was dark. There was nothing to hear but silence and Mark’s quiet breathing.

  He was still behind her, but she didn’t think he was asleep. He breathed more evenly and more deeply when he slept.

  She blinked her eyes open. She was facing the window. Facing the glow of Chicago’s city lights at night. There was something both relaxing and invigorating about the city and the—

  Her thoughts cut off.

  Mark was hard.

  Not completely hard, but enough for her to know he was definitely awake. Awake and turned on.

  But it was where she felt his growing erection that caused her thoughts to seize up.

  It was nestled between the cheeks of her bottom.

  Hello.

  Not that she thought he’d put his penis there on purpose. More like he’d awakened, found his penis had somehow slipped in there while he was sleeping, and then, rather than pull it out, he’d let himself play a little. And when Mark played, an erection wasn’t far behind.

  He shifted his hips ever-so-slightly, which caused his cock to press more snugly against her backside, positioning the head at the threshold of that which was yet to be discovered.

  Oh wow. That was . . . hot. Surprisingly hot.

  Butterflies awakened low in her belly and quickly morphed into slowly rolling lava. And when he ever-so-gently applied subtle pressure, heat seeped into her core.

  He wasn’t trying to push inside, but he wasn’t pulling away, either. It was as if he wanted his presence known but didn’t want to scare her. Was he testing the waters?

  The whole situation was so taboo. So naughty. So . . . exciting.

  He remained firmly in place, growing harder as the minutes ticked by. And as he swelled and the head inflated, he naturally stretched her. But the process was so slow she felt nothing but pleasure. Pleasurable pressure invading her as tenderly as a man could invade an anal virgin like her.

  She didn’t say a word. Just closed her teeth around her bottom lip and tried not to make a sound. The restraint of not talking, not moaning, not even breathing too loudly, created an even greater sexual energy around them. It was as if by stripping away the sense of sound, all the other senses were intensified, making her focus on his sweat-slicked stomach pressed against her back, the tension in his arm around her waist, the feel of his cock as it eased a fraction of a half-inch inside her.

  She knew he was awake. And she knew he knew she was awake. But half the fun was in pretending she was still asleep. Or trying to pretend, because she was failing miserably at faking sleep. She was too aroused. Too desperate for more.

  As he eased another quarter of an inch inside, a quiet rumble whispered from his throat then abruptly cut off as if he’d briefly lost his focus then strangled it again.

  He was inside her. Not far. Maybe half an inch. Maybe a little more. The point was, he was inside her. He was making one of his fantasies come true on the heels of giving her one of hers. And he’d taken such tremendous care doing so she felt no pain. As in . . . none. There was tightness, pressure, a feeling of fullness even though only the tip of his head was in there, but not a lick of pain.

  She’d been worried about the pain. It was one of the reasons why she hadn’t brought the subject of anal sex up since they’d talked about it a few weeks ago. She’d been reading about it . . . learning what to expect. And the one thing that had come up repeatedly was that there would be a lot of pain.

  And if he’d just gone at her and impaled her, she could see how pain could be a problem. But they’d been at this for at least ten minutes, and the head of his cock wasn’t even all the way inside her, yet. So, yeah, the guy was a study in care and patience, steadily preparing her rather than mercilessly violating her.

  But the longer he teased her sphincter, the more he roused her desire.

  Which surprised her, because good girls didn’t do this kind of thing. Did they? They didn’t let men stick their penises in their asses. Butt sex was forbidden for good girls. Too eccentric. Verboten. And if good girls did do this sort of thing, they certainly didn’t enjoy it.

  But God, she did enjoy it. She was enjoying it immensely.

  She’d always thought she was moral and virtuous. But maybe she wasn’t. Just as Mark had put on a mask of confidence to hide the emotional insecurity of his past, maybe she’d simply been hiding the bad girl she really was, and the good girl was the façade.

  Mark gently brushed her hair off her neck as if wanted to pretend she was still asleep and didn’t want to wake her. But when he pressed his lips against her nape and licked a fev
ered trail to her shoulder as he ran his hand down her abdomen to between her legs, she gave up all pretenses, dropping the deception.

  Letting out a sigh, she dropped her head back and lifted her leg, draping it over both of his as he shifted behind her, pressing closer.

  His cocked inched a little bit farther inside.

  Okay, so there was a pinch of pain, but not enough to make her want to stop.

  “Is this okay?” he whispered, massaging her clit with his fingertips. His voice sounded patiently strained.

  “Yes,” she whispered back. She let out a breathy moan as he relaxed his hips, drew his cock back, and then nudged forward again, driving in a little farther.

  She’d never felt anything like this. Such naughty pleasure mixed with such intimate trust.

  He continued pumping in those same shallow thrusts, creeping a tiny bit deeper with each advance. Such an incredible feeling.

  His fingers on her clit. His cock in her ass. Only a couple inches, but enough to make her want more. Or at least to try for more.

  She was panting, her chest heaving, her senses totally overwhelmed. The slow build and heady anticipation were damn near shredding her nerve endings.

  “Fuck,” he quietly bit out.

  He was covered in sweat. It slicked her back, her ass, the backs of her thighs. She peeked over her shoulder and saw perspiration beaded over his brow. His hair was damp. His jaw was tight, as if he were subjecting himself to superhuman restraint.

  His eyes flitted to hers, and an abrupt gasp burst from his throat. He looked almost desperate . . . crazed . . . visually begging her.

  “I’m not gonna last,” he said. The desperation leaked into his voice, tightening his words. “Oh, Jesus . . .” His brow pulled toward the bridge of his nose as his eyes rolled back and closed. “Fuck . . . oh fuck . . .”

  His chest and shoulders quivered, then his hips jerked, briefly driving him deeper. Then he quickly pulled out of her, snatching his hand away from her clit to grip his cock as he heaved against her. Warm fluid spurted over the upper swell of her ass as he rolled her to her stomach, bent over her, one hand pressed against the mattress beside her head.

  The bed twitched with the force of his silent orgasm as he emptied onto her back. Then he grunted as he shuddered again.

  She closed her hand over his and pushed her upper body off the bed, tilting her head back. In yoga, this was called a cobra pose. But in bed with Mark, it was just another way to coax him into kissing her.

  He grinned as she looked at him upside-down. Then he crawled forward, lifted onto his knees, and gripped the side of her head with his free hand as he gave her a backward kiss. As he did, a bead of perspiration dropped from his hair and landed on her neck.

  “Wow,” he said a moment later as he pulled away, releasing her.

  She collapsed back onto the bed with a loud sigh. “I was just going to say that.”

  He eased off her back and let out a breathy, confounded chuckle that made it sound like he hadn’t expected what they’d just done. “Let me get a towel.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom. A couple seconds later, the tap turned on. Then it shut off and he returned, holding a white washcloth in one hand and a hand towel in the other.

  “Are you okay?” He bent beside her and wiped the washcloth over her back then gingerly slid it over her bottom.

  “I’m fine.” She turned her head to watch him as he used the hand towel to dry her. He was grinning ear-to-ear, but in an almost sheepish way. “How about you?”

  He licked his lips then pressed them together as his gaze met hers. “Actually, I’m a little lost for words right now.” His dimple cut into his right cheek as he smiled and stood.

  He went back to the bathroom. There was more running water, and then a couple minutes later he shut off the light, returned to the room, and climbed into bed beside her.

  After pulling the sheet over them but leaving the comforter folded at their feet, he rolled onto his side toward her. She was still on her stomach, but her head rested on her arms, facing him.

  He let out a contented sigh as if he were about to make a confession. “I didn’t plan that.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. Really now? This was new.

  “Are you saying that was”—gasp—“spontaneous?” She sucked in her breath and made an O with her mouth, coyly covering it with her fingertips.

  He rolled to his back with a defeated grumble. Then he looked back at her, the grin still plastered on his face. “Go ahead and tease me, Miss Mason. I can take it.”

  “I’m sure you can, Mr. Strong.” She lifted on her elbows. “But now I think you see the merits of spontaneity, don’t you?”

  “I do.” He shifted back to his side and ran his fingers down her spine. The sensation felt nice. Relaxing. His hand came to rest on her rump. “The question is, did you like it?”

  His expression was hopeful, expectant.

  She relaxed, laying her cheek on the back of her hand as she settled against the mattress again. “I did.”

  “Enough to want to do it again?”

  She nodded. “It was . . . um . . .” How could she put how she felt into words? “Wow, Mark. Just . . . wow. I really, really liked that. So, yes, I want to do it again.”

  He practically beamed as he let out a relieved exhale. “Good.” He nodded, his grin growing wider. “I’m glad.”

  She giggled lazily as she watched his gears begin to turn. “And you’re already planning for next time, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.” He squeezed her rump.

  She shook her head. “He sees how good spontaneity can be then goes right back to planning,” she teased.

  “Hey, you can take the man out of the planner, baby, but you can’t take the planner out of the man.”

  She laughed. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  He laughed with her then stretched. A moment later, he wrapped her up in his arms.

  “Baby, if I’m not making sense right now, it’s because you’ve blown my mind. Just totally . . . blown. My. Mind. And I love it.”

  And she loved it, too. She loved him.

  And for now, wedding date or not, that was enough.

  Chapter 20

  The hardest part about growing is letting go of what you were used to and moving on with something you’re not.

  -Author Unknown

  After waking up deliciously sore all over, especially between the legs, Karma shared a shower with Mark, and then they spent the day picking out furniture at a store called Smithe Furniture & Design. Talk about high end. Smithe was the best of the best, and the prices reflected it.

  An in-store designer helped them build an entire bedroom suite around a magnificent four-post bed, and then they selected a new dining room set and living room furniture, as well as a desk, chairs, and small conference table for her office and side room. Before they left, they scheduled an appointment for a local designer to visit their home.

  So, this was how the rich shopped for furniture, going to great extent to make everything just right. The most extent Karma had ever gone to for a piece of furniture was to measure the space where she wanted it to go. Boom! Done. Just buy it and have the delivery dudes do the rest.

  Clearly, life with Mark would see a lot of changes to her standard operating procedure, something she’d better get used to.

  Back in Indianapolis, the week wound down faster than she could track, and suddenly it was moving day. The movers arrived, and within an hour, her apartment was empty. Of course, she’d taken special precautions to keep the unopened box of toys Daniel and Zach had bought for her tucked away in secrecy, stowing it in the trunk of her car. The last thing she needed was for Mark or the movers to open that box as they helped unpack at the house.

  The first week of March was spent dividing time between work, studying, and unpacking what they’d had the movers leave for them. She fit in meals when she could. And Mark couldn’t take off from work, because things were just too busy. Wh
ich meant she did a lot of unpacking on her own.

  Funny how he could buy and move into a house during the busy season but not set a wedding date.

  She pushed the thought from her mind. No good came from dwelling on what she couldn’t change, and he’d assured her that after things settled down, they would pick a date. She trusted him.

  The second full week they were in the house, Mark had to fly out of town on business, so she was on her own when the furniture truck and the designer they’d hired pulled up mid-morning on Thursday. She put away her studies, which she was falling behind on, and trailed alongside the designer—who’d introduced herself simply as Andrea with the flash of a business card—as she dictated where the furniture was to be placed and made notes about additional options she and Mark should consider. She pulled out fabric swatches and giant binders of fold-outs, with pictures of various items in a multitude of shades and textures. She led Karma from room-to-room, pointing out where a table could go, or perhaps a decorative clay vase. She made suggestions, hinted at painting certain rooms different colors, and left Karma with a stack of information “ . . . you need to discuss with your husband.”

  She hadn’t corrected her. Andrea didn’t need to know she and Mark weren’t married, yet.

  By the time Andrea cleared out four hours later—a full two hours after the delivery truck left—Karma was thoroughly exhausted and mentally drained. No way was she going to get any more homework done tonight, putting her even more behind. She would have to burn the midnight oil for the next three days if she was going to get her assignments finished.

  But at least the house finally felt like someone lived in it. Like they lived there. As she slowly toured from the living room, through the dining room and kitchen, and back to her office in the front of the house, for the first time since moving in, she felt like she was home. Her things mingled with his in the same space. Her books, his books. Her blender alongside his coffee maker.

  In the parlor, the couch they’d made love on in his Chicago apartment sat next to the end table from her apartment. This was their space now. And as the weeks passed into months, and then into years, the nooks and crannies would become infused with their essence to the point where they wouldn’t be able to remember which piece of furniture belonged to whom.