by Box Set
Alex pushes up on his arms. I get an awesome view of his broad chest and the treasure trail leading to monster cock land. He seems unsure of himself. “Sorry. I’m sorry. We don’t have to have sex. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll feel bad about later.”
When he says those kinds of things, paired with his earlier comment, I want to be his love slave. An image of me in a black corset wearing a collar with a leash attached to it pops into my head. Maybe stupid Lydia was right to cut the smut from the book club for a while.
“I won’t feel bad.” I’m pretty sure I’ll feel good, actually.
“You’re sure?” Alex trails his fingers down my side.
“Positive.” I’m still holding his cock; it’s still massively hard.
“I should take you upstairs.”
I have no desire to stop touching him long enough to make the trip upstairs. “I’m good here. I like your couch.” They seem like good luck charms where Alex is concerned.
“My bed is more comfortable, and there’s more room.” He drops his head into the hollow of my throat, his lips touching my skin.
“I’m sure you’re right, but then we’d have to stop doing what we’re doing.”
“You make a good point.”
Alex reaches behind me, and with a quick flick, he opens the clasp and tosses my bra on the floor. My panties follow.
I slide his pants over his hips. His cock pops out, nearly smacking me in the face. I bob and weave to avoid getting poked in the eye by his swinging dick. My lack of coordination is an unfortunate issue, and I inadvertently whack it.
Alex bows forward, swearing. I grab his dick to avoid additional mishaps and apologize for beating on the monster cock. It’s level with my boobs. I have an idea. He seems to have an extreme fascination with my chest. Keeping my eyes on his, I circle a nipple with the tip.
One second he’s all soft and tender and “is this okay?” and “are you sure?” The next he’s got my hair wrapped around his fist. His body is wound tighter than a coiled snake ready to strike, which is fitting since I’m rubbing his “snake” on my boobs.
“You can’t even . . .”
I run the head of his cock across the valley to the opposite nipple. He angles my head to the side and takes my mouth as I stroke him. Alex deepens the kiss until I’m dizzy, and breathing seems like an unimportant function. Bearing down, he covers my body with his. No longer able to maintain hand-to-cock contact, I use my feet to push his pants down to his calves. There are a few awkward moments where he struggles to kick them off, and I ineffectively attempt to help with my toes.
Impatient, Alex uses his free hand to get them the rest of the way off. We both sigh with relief when he settles between my legs again. He’s right there, hot and thick, eliciting one of my porn moans. That’s before he starts with the controlled glide.
Skimming the length of his arm, I tug gently on his wrist. He’s been fisting my hair like reins.
“Sorry.” He massages my scalp.
“S’okay. I’ve been reading a lot of Dom-sub stuff in my book club lately.”
Hair pulling isn’t even close to the same thing. It’s not like he’s tied me up and makes me call him Sir or Master.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nothing. Never mind. It’s not important.”
I knead his ass to distract him; otherwise I’m liable to start ending sentences with Mr. Waters.
It seems to work. Alex’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth drops open as we rub against each other. I run my hands up his back, appreciating all those tight, hard muscles.
His lips are close to my ear, his voice soft. “You feel so good.”
I remember getting it on with my first ever long-term boyfriend in high school. The progression from dry humping to naked humping happened in stages.
We’d get mostly naked—the pants might come off and the shirts stay on—and line our parts up. Then we’d slide against each other without really having any fucking clue as to how to get each other off. In all the uncoordinated wet humping, the slip-and-bump would happen. Everything would stop. We’d look at each other and ask the question: “Just the tip?” It almost always led to the-whole-damn-thing.
This is what happens. Except Alex’s tip is beer-can wide. Okay, it’s not that thick, but it’s close. The sensation is a teaser, like one of those tiny spoonfuls of ice cream they give out before committing to a whole cone. I’ve already eaten Alex’s cone before, so I know exactly how good it’s going to be.
What I do next is highly irresponsible on so many levels. My justification is this: I’ve been on the pill since high school, Alex isn’t the hockey whore I assumed he was, and the gyno results came back clean.
All objections I may have die on my tongue as I dig my fingernails into his rock-solid ass and push down with my heels. He’s halfway in, give or take a couple of inches. His head snaps up and his face registers desire-hazed alarm. “No condom!”
We stare at each other, mutual conflict clear in our lack of action. Should Alex be wearing a condom? For damn sure. However, he’s already partway inside me and it feels incredible. This is an example of a lapse in judgment. It seems to be frequent where Alex is concerned.
I clear my throat. “I’m on the pill, and I’ve always been responsible up until now.” Great. Now I’ve admitted what we’re doing is the exact opposite of responsible.
He doesn’t retract the monster cock or give me any more of it. “I should put a condom on.” It’s supposed to be a statement, but his voice rises at the end, turning it into a question. He glances at his pants on the floor. “Fuck. My wallet’s on the kitchen counter.”
His forehead drops to my shoulder. He takes long, slow breaths. I do something else I shouldn’t as I tighten my thighs against his hips. I flex the beave.
“Violet—” It’s a lament. “I should—”
“We could—”
He lifts his head. “Are you sure?”
“Are you?”
I think it’s safe to say neither of us is sure. We’re committed to making this bad decision in the name of feeling good. His answer comes in the form of his hips sinking into mine. Holy hell, am I ever full. Of unfiltered monster cock. I moan like crazy and bury my face against his neck.
At the same time, Alex strings a bunch of words together which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. It sounds like “flumothohshitregoo.”
“What?” I ask as he circles his hips.
Alex presses his lips to my neck, skimming his teeth over my skin. “This is unreal.”
“Mmm. It’s fantastic.”
His face is flushed as he lifts his head to look at me with intense, glassy eyes. A lazy grin turns up the corner of his mouth. “Fantastic isn’t the word. If heaven is anything like this, I wanna stay forever.”
Being compared to heaven seems like quite a compliment. “Thanks. You feel amazing, too.”
He has to readjust his position before he can start with the thrusting. I see now why the bed would’ve been better. All the friction makes my back sweat, and the leather under me has started to squeak. The hardwood floor isn’t an option, unless I want a bruised tailbone. I push on Alex’s chest.
“Should I stop?” His words are choked with disappointment.
I shake my head and continue to push. “Sit up, please.”
Alex doesn’t ask more questions. Instead, he folds back on his knees, bringing me with him so we don’t lose the connection. We maneuver awkwardly—well, I’m awkward, Alex isn’t. There’s some less-than-graceful fumbling on my part. Eventually, we’re both upright, and I straddle his legs. This gives me a fantastic view of everything. We both look down to watch him slide almost all the way out.
“How good does that look?”
I’m not sure he needs an answer, but I’m inclined to give him one. “So good.” Except for the giant purple hickey-bruise I’m pretending Alex put there with his mouth.
He lowers me slowly, filling me again. “I know, eh?�
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His eyes are hooded, and he wears a blissful, sexy smile. I hold onto his shoulders, debating whether I want to watch his pretty face or what’s happening from the waist down. He rids me of either option when he buries his face between my boobs on the next upward stroke.
“I can’t believe how good this feels,” he says, his voice slightly muffled.
“I’m pretty sure I can.”
“I’ve never had sex without a condom.”
“Never?”
“Not once.”
“Wow. This must feel really good, then.”
“I can’t describe—” He kisses one of my nipples. “Have you?”
“What?” He hits the spot that makes me see stars and constellations.
“Had sex without a condom?”
He changes things up and starts a very stimulating rocking motion. If he stops asking me questions about my past sexual experiences, I’ll come soon.
How the hell do I answer? Yes, I have, with a previous long-term boyfriend. We dated for a year, and he was my last serious relationship prior to the hockey jerk. No one wants to hear that while they’re doing it. Sex talk should consist primarily of phrases such as: more, fuck me, go harder, right there, please, yes, and I’m coming.
I’m putting an end to the conversational sex and making it moaning sex instead. I respond with one of the preapproved phrases, “It feels unbelievable. Go harder. Please, Alex.” I’m quite genuine, despite how clichéd it sounds.
It has the desired effect. A low rumble comes from deep within his chest and he lifts me up, until I’m almost empty and slams me down. It’s incredible. Spectacular even.
“How’s this, baby? You want faster, too?”
“Uh-huh.”
This new, hard, intense rhythm sends me straight to the abyss. I grab onto his hair, prompting Alex to increase his speed and vigor. Then he has to go and suck on my nipple like the boob-loving hockey-stud-former-player he is. He releases it on the next downward stroke. It’s all I can take. The world turns into a starburst of black and white as I try to shove my face in his neck and stifle my love sounds.
“Eyes on me, baby. Please.” Alex’s lips press against my temple. “I wanna see your gorgeous face when you come for me.”
Despite the blur of monochromatic fireworks clouding my vision, I can’t deny him when he’s being so polite.
I’m caught in the fire of his gaze. His fingers tighten on my hips as he thrusts hard. There’s no break in the spiral of sensation. It’s a blessing and a curse; once I’ve come, I’m like a leaky faucet—I just keep coming. The waning orgasm reignites, returning to a full force burn.
“Violet, you’re gonna make me—”
I’m so out of it I scream, “I love you,” hastily tacking on, “monster cock,” at the end.
Shitballs. Where the hell’s my filter when I need it the most?
Chapter 13
MY MOUTH IS A PROBLEM
Violet
Orgasm high or not, I sure as shit know I said something I shouldn’t have.
Thankfully, Alex is currently riding his own rocket into orgasm outer space. I hope it’s enough of a distraction that he missed my accidental declaration. His jaw is clenched tight, lips curled in an almost-sneer, eyes cloudy, lids at half-mast. He thrusts one last time and then all the tension evaporates and his body goes lax.
He blinks slowly, his hands resting loosely on my hips. “What’d you say?”
So much for being distracted. “Nothing.” I draw a circle around his nipple with my nail.
“Bullshit.”
I’m not in love with him. This is only our first official date. Aside from almost a month’s worth of emails, texts, and a few interesting phone calls, plus a slew of unexpected gifts, I don’t know him well. I am inclined, however, to erect a shrine to his amazing super cock. I may even take up pottery or glass blowing so I can create perfect replicas and showcase them like he does his trophies.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” I bite his shoulder to avoid eye contact. I’m sure my face is a blotchy shade of bright red.
“Oh no?” He’s still moving me over him. It’s slow and torturous and oh so delicious. Every slow circle of his hips hits my special spot from the inside. A tiny, baby-size orgasm prevents speech. Sagging against him, I shudder with the sensation. How he’s magically hard after coming is beyond me.
“You’re an orgasm machine.”
“That’s why I was thanking the monster cock. It’s all him.”
“You do realize my dick is attached to me, eh?”
“This from a man who addressed a gift certificate to my boobs?”
“Can you blame me?” He cups them gently. “They’re pretty damn fantastic.”
“They appreciate the compliment.”
I can’t believe I’ve managed to talk my way out of my own stupidity.
Alex chuckles but then grows serious. “Will you stay the night?”
I want to. Definitely. My only worry? I have to work in the morning. I look at my dress that lies in a rumpled heap on the floor.
He follows my eyes but misinterprets my lack of response. “You don’t have to. I thought maybe—”
“I’d like to, but I don’t have my car.” I duck my head, feeling all shy. It’s absurd. He’s still inside me, and I’ve been making my come face at him for the last half hour.
“I’ll drive you to work in the morning.”
“I also don’t have a change of clothes.”
“We can wash them, or I’ll take you home first to change.”
“Or I could call a cab in the morning—”
“Nope.” Alex shakes his head. “Not happening. I’ll take you home. Either tonight or tomorrow, whichever you prefer, but it’ll be me driving you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His hopefulness is as endearing as it is sexy.
“You can drive me to work in the morning.”
Alex post-sex is a hungry man. He stands in the kitchen—which is surprisingly clean for a bachelor—wearing only his pants, with the door to the fridge wide open. After pouring me a glass of orange juice, he chugs the rest straight from the jug. Hydration is sexy.
Then he proceeds to empty half the contents of the fridge onto a plate and shove it in the microwave. I’m not hungry, so I sit on his lap while he inhales a plateful of carbs. I’m only wearing his T-shirt. My dress is in the wash with my bra and panties. Alex struggled with the whole delicate cycle thing and admitted he has a housekeeper who does the bulk of his cleaning, including his laundry.
When the plate is empty, he grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and leads me upstairs.
His room is huge and simply furnished. The bed is rustic, crafted out of solid wood. The dark sheets are rumpled, as if he was in a rush this morning, or this evening.
“Your bed is huge.”
“I told you it would’ve been more comfortable. I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities.”
The bathroom is very fêng shui with beige tile, a glassed-in shower, and Jacuzzi tub. It’s not as tidy as the rest of the house. His shaving kit and a few hair products line the counter. The cap is off his toothpaste, and a towel lies in a heap on the floor near the shower. It’s lived in but not a complete sty.
Alex finds me a new toothbrush and leaves me to freshen up. I’m prepared for the possibility he’ll want to make use of the bed before sleep. I don’t usually stay up this late on week nights, and I definitely don’t get this much exercise. After four orgasms I’m not sure my body or my brain is equipped to deal with another round of “fill the beaver hole.”
Once I finish with the oral hygiene, I join him in his king-size bed. It’s much like its own continent; I could sleep here and we’d never touch. Except the moment I slip under the sheets, he pulls me into him.
I lie with my head on his chest, listening to the powerful, steady beat of his heart. He tells me about the lineup of games for the next two weeks, the teams he’s confident they’
ll beat, and the wins they’ll have to work hard for. The second-to-last game is in Toronto, near his home town.
Alex keeps running soothing fingers through my hair. The last thing I remember are his lips on my forehead and his rumbling laugh when I tell him he’s warm and cuddly like a hairless, domesticated bear.
I must pass out hard-core. When I wake up, the sun is peeking through the curtains. I check the clock on the nightstand. It’s not even seven. I have loads of time to get ready. Alex is sleeping peacefully beside me. I turn on my side to study him.
I’ve hogged the sheets, which has left his torso exposed. I run my hand down his chest, marveling at the soft skin covering the solid wall of muscle. Even relaxed, he’s hard all over.
I continue my sensory descent, enjoying the feel of him under my fingers. He’s sound asleep, so I figure why not check things out. I lift the band of his boxers and take a wee gander. His monster cock looks much more innocuous in this state.
It lays on his abdomen, angled slightly to the left. It’s almost cute—kind of like Snuffleupagus. Well, not really. It’s huge, but not hairy, and also not nearly as daunting as when it’s hard. It is magical, though. I stifle a giggle because, goddamn it, I’ve never seen a snuffie up close. The head is tucked up inside the soft skin, an eye peering out from the turtleneck.
Alex is oblivious to my peter peeping, so I carefully shimmy his boxers down. I want to look at it without the risk of the waistband snapping against the head. I need my hands free to touch. It would also be cool to see if it grows like those things you order out of an old school comic book. The ones that go from pill sized to huge in a glass of water. Except I assume this will happen much faster. I haven’t had the privilege of seeing Alex’s dick grow yet. It’s always been hard when I get to it.
I poke at it. Alex expels a heavy breath, and his hand twitches at his side. Being extra careful not to jostle Alex, I rearrange myself slowly so I’m cross-legged beside him. This time I gently run my fingertips along the length. The skin wrinkles as I go. This is the best.
