by Vonna Harper
Beautiful. Primal.
Are you crazy! What the hell is happening to you?
A powerful fever charged through her and killed the silent scream of reason. It centered and settled in her cunt, flames licking out from her sex to ignite muscles and nerves. Her head pounded. Her mind—her poor, splintered mind—screamed out another warning, but though she heard it, she didn’t care.
Sex.
Fucking.
Working together, they pulled the T-shirt over his head. Before her strength could desert her, she clawed at the jeans’ fastening and yanked down on the zipper. Then, exhausted or maybe disbelieving of what she’d done, she dropped her arms to her sides. One shiver-shrug, and her robe puddled on the floor.
Naked. Him still in his jeans but his navel exposed and his cock reaching for her.
She needed him to ask what the hell was happening, to admit he had no more control than she did, but give them a few more minutes and they’d find their way back to civilized. Most of all she needed him to tell her he’d respect her in the morning. But when he didn’t say any of those things, she had no choice but to admit that respect had nothing to do with what was happening.
Animal. Only animal.
The moment his fingers settled around his waistband, her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor on her knees. She found enough strength to grasp denim and tug downward and then stroke his calves. They worked in tandem to bring the jeans as far as his boots would allow.
The wet leather laces challenged her, but thanks to her long nails, she eventually forced them to give up their hold. He balanced himself by resting a hand on the top of her head and lifted first one and then the other leg, wordlessly commanding her to finish the undressing. Exhausted and shaking, she watched him dispense with the briefs that contrasted spectacularly with his dark skin.
Naked. Both of them.
His cock inches from her mouth.
6
Heeding the insistent hum between her legs and nothing else, she flicked her damp tongue over his tip. He tasted male, aroused male. And his sigh forced a like sound from her throat.
Licking him, fingers circling the base of his cock and holding him in place, she felt equal strength, if not more, in his hold on her hair. His grip prevented her from moving her head more than an inch in either direction, but what did she care as long as she had access to his cock?
Licking him! Opening her mouth and closing her lips around him, sucking, experiencing!
The inner fire turning her senseless.
Her hands were on his knees, not only so she could take her measure of them but to keep her from swaying. She was vaguely aware of how damnably wanton she was, but it mattered little because his cock was in her mouth and she was tasting him.
Becoming part of him.
The tension on her scalp lessened only to be replaced by a gripping sensation on her left breast. Not releasing him, she nevertheless acknowledged his claim on her nipple. They held on to each in their own way, a rhythm starting only to end when he pressed on her breast or she all but swallowed him. It didn’t matter that she had little experience sucking cock; she knew what she needed to feel, what she wanted to do.
Throwing caution aside, she sucked him deep. When he filled her, she became part of him, mouth fucking because she hadn’t been able to wait. Just a little more and she’d—another inch and he’d be begging—
In what might have been the same instant, his tip all but slammed into the back of her throat and he pushed her away, tearing her hands off him. Instinct opened her mouth before she could do him harm, and she managed to throw her hands behind her to stop her fall.
Somewhere between anger and surprise, she took note of how she was presented to him, her torso and neck stretched and exposed, vulnerable, nipples hard and breasts flattened against her rib cage. “What was—”
“Not going to happen, Smokey, got it?”
The way he glared down at her put her in mind of a predator taking his measure of the prey he’d brought to the ground. Maybe she should be terrified, but the emotion would have to wait until others had had their turn.
Manhandled. That’s what the shove had been about—a demonstration of his ability to manhandle her.
Did he have any idea how damnably exciting that was? How damnably sexy she felt?
“What isn’t going to happen?” she finally thought to ask.
“You aren’t going to get a story out of me that way.”
No! That’s not what this is about! It—I don’t know what the hell it is. “Fuck you! I’d never resort to that.” Her denial might have carried more weight if she hadn’t felt as if she’d just pinned a giant welcome mat to her body. He could touch her wherever he wanted, straddle her, splay her out on the carpet, and she’d take it. Love it.
“Then what was what you just did about?” He shook his cock at her.
“You didn’t like it? Go on, tell me you didn’t want—”
“I’m a man. Of course I want. But I’m not stupid.”
No, he was hardly that. At the moment, he wasn’t just looming over her, he commanded her space. She should feel foolish and ashamed and scared, shouldn’t she? She’d never done anything remotely like what she’d just done, but she wouldn’t apologize, because given half a chance, she’d swallow him again.
Or even better, suck him into her pussy.
“Neither am I,” she belatedly said. Words—specifically written words—had long been her strength, so why did she feel tongue-tied?
No, not tongue-tied. More like done in by her out-of-control body.
He was still looking at her—more than looking, leering. His gaze going from the top of her head to her kneecaps. She had no doubt he would have continued the journey if her lower legs weren’t tucked under her.
There was something more than a little predatory about the way he lingered over the hollow at the base of her throat, her so-available-to-him breasts, what little there was of her belly with her pelvic bones sheltering it. And when, finally, he came to the dark curly hair standing pitiful guard over her sex, she swore she felt his tongue and teeth on her there.
Oh, shit!
Wanting it!
The carpet was old, that’s what she’d think about. Old carpet with dirt undoubtedly embedded where a vacuum and shampooer couldn’t reach. No one would want to have sex here, certainly not her.
As for him—
Something moved toward her. It took several blinks before she realized he was extending his hand. Good. He’d had the same thought about the floor covering. The moment he had her on her feet, she’d dust herself off, reach for her robe wherever it was, and get modest again. Show him the door.
Only, when he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her upward and from there against him, the last thing she wanted was him out in the rain.
Crushed against him, breasts smashed flat, legs wide to keep her balance—and one of his sliding between them, thighs sealing to thighs—her arms dangling uselessly behind her, she kept her head back because kissing was for lovers and therefore out of the question.
He must have known what she was thinking and been determined to demonstrate his greater self-control; what other reason did he have for bending over her and biting at her neck? Chills raced through her, gathering her strength and turning it into nothing. She should be shivering, shouldn’t she? All that cold should have stripped the heat from her.
Instead, flames licked. Everywhere.
“Damn you, damn you.” She wasn’t sure whether she was cursing him or herself, or, rather, she wasn’t sure until it dawned on her that she’d looped her arms around his neck so he couldn’t get away.
There. Let him deal with her nipples gliding over him and her pelvis again tipped toward him. Let him hold her and keep on holding her because surely he was too much of a gentleman to allow her to fall backward onto that filthy carpet.
“Damn you.”
No, that wasn’t her voice. Unable to put one and one togethe
r so she’d understand his anger, she rode out his long, hard breath.
She was still listening to him when he yanked her upright so roughly her head swam. A moment later she felt herself being lifted off her feet. Then he had her over his shoulder, head dangling, feet grazing his belly.
Captured by Tarzan?
The word captured again distracted her, and she paid no attention to where he was taking her until he tossed her onto the double bed in the postage-stamp-sized bedroom. There was no light on in here, nothing except what little made its way from the main room. Staring at the ceiling, her senses told her he was standing by the side of the bed and once more looking down at her, maybe seeing things she couldn’t but then maybe trying to come to grips with what he’d just done.
“Tell me to get the hell out of here,” he ordered.
Go. Leave me alone.
But she didn’t say the words, because they represented the last thing she wanted. “Condom.”
“I have—in my wallet.”
But his wallet had to be in his jeans. “In there.” She pointed at the nightstand. She waited to see if he’d say something about her being ready for sex, but when he only opened the drawer, she sent him a silent thank you and an equally silent message about how a teenage pregnancy scare had taught her an unforgettable lesson.
His weight on the mattress tilted her toward him, causing her to roll onto her side. Before she could brace herself, he grabbed an ankle and lifted her leg. An instant later he knelt between her legs. Although he lowered her limb, he kept a hand on her thigh, anchoring her to the bed. Unable to lift her pelvis, she gripped the thin coverlet. He might have given her the opportunity to tell him to leave, but since then things had changed dramatically. He was on top.
Feeling dwarfed by his size and untapped strength, she latched on to the moment. She wouldn’t look behind or ahead, wouldn’t question her sanity. As for whether she trusted him—
No, don’t ask yourself that!
There was something she should say, something about whether they respected each other and knew what they were doing, but how could she form the words when she didn’t respect or understand herself?
Didn’t matter. How could it with his nails running down the space between her breasts? A delicious warmth rolled over her, settling in her belly before seeping lower, deeper. What was it she’d said about him earlier, that she wouldn’t care if he were headless? Now, thanks to him, she wasn’t sure whether she had a mind. Granted, a tiny voice whispered of danger, but the sound was too faint to break through the sensations tumbling around her.
Her world had become simple, so simple. A man capable of passionate speeches and deeply held convictions loomed over her naked body. His cock was sheathed, his hands both restraining and tantalizing her.
She could, wanted to do this! She might thrash about, might curse his strength, but it was all part of the spinning fantasy. Light-years away from the modern independent woman she believed herself to be, she was about to be taken by a stranger. Taken. Used. Not abused, but not cherished either.
Sex. Hard. Anonymous and stupid.
A bolt of what felt like a lightning strike had her gasping and trying to sit up. As her senses began to untangle, she realized what she’d felt was him raking her thighs with his nails. Instead of fraying her nerves again, he cupped large and cool hands over her breasts. Drawing them upward, he pressed inward until she wondered if they might meet. He had control over that one part of her body, and yet he owned and ruled everything. And she wanted it! Loved it!
Needing him to understand, she scratched his shoulders and thighs. Groaning, he leaned back. “You’re pushing—”
“Don’t talk!” she begged. “Just don’t.”
“What are you afraid of hearing?”
She wasn’t afraid of anything, damn it. Fear didn’t factor in. Determined to force him to concentrate on what he’d brought her in here for, she left a trail of marks on his chest. On a sharp intake of breath, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms over her head. Switching his grip so a single hand held her while the other served to brace him, he leaned so low she was compelled to deeply bend her knees to keep him from smashing her under his weight.
Some sound rolled out of him. She tried to lift her head, but whether she intended to kiss him became a moot point as he rocked forward. His penis, solid, hot, and heavy, slipped into her wetness. Shocked by the suddenness of his penetration, she struggled to blink him into clarity. But then her body loosened, muscles and bone oozing into nothing.
Her hands were free.
Confused about her sudden disappointment, she nevertheless lowered her arms. Sliding them between her body and his arms, which now bracketed her and served to support his upper body, she reached. Finding his buttocks, she grabbed hold and encouraged him ever deeper into her.
He plowed, invading her inch by inch. Even with her knees and lower legs caught between their bodies, she still found a home for her feet on the small of his back. She could barely make out his features and only guess at his mood. Surely he was feeling the same thing she was, the slick union, her soft, wet cave around his probing cock.
And when he rose up and became her personal living blanket, she closed her eyes so she could feel. Nothing but feel.
He was so big, long, and thick, hard as hell and yet like satin against her tissues. Whether he held still or pumped into her made little difference; her body loved it all. Needed everything he had to give.
Already! Less than a minute after coming in here, they were having sex. Fucking!
The smallest of voices, nothing more than a wind whisper, warned that she’d entered the predator’s den and might never leave. But even as his cock brushed her cervix, causing a ripple of discomfort, she shut down the caution. She could stare at him and wordlessly tell him to slow down, to pace himself until her vagina had fully prepared itself for him. Yes, that’s what she’d do, open her eyes and explain the facts of a woman’s anatomy.
In the next minute.
Ah, another assault on her cervix. Only this time there was no hint of pain, only her wet heat easing his journey into her. Only her mouth opening to make harsh animal sounds.
Digging at his buttocks, she held him as deep inside her as possible. And she threw back her head and kept her eyes closed so there was nothing except the feel, smells, and sounds of sex. Close! Making a lie of everything she’d believed about her body’s need for elaborate foreplay.
Tonight was her and a dark stranger in a darkened room, bodies straining and sweating, gripping fingers and straining muscles, his cock spearing and spreading her, making her pussy weep.
There! Climax. Nibbling at her nerve endings. Coming closer. Building. Insisting.
“Ah!” Without knowing why, she struggled to twist under him. “Ah!”
What!
Despite her short-circuiting system, she took note of what he’d just done. Without pulling out of her, he’d managed to straighten so his chest was longer married to her. Not only that, he’d grabbed her calves and lifted her legs as high as they could go. One was crossed over the other, the bottom one resting against his shoulder, both held in place by his damn capable hands. In essence he’d turned her into his prisoner because she could no longer move in any direction. She could try to scoot away using her hands against the bed as leverage, but he’d only come after her.
Trapped.
His sex slave.
Nonplussed by the thought, she shifted her own hold so she was gripping the back of his left thigh. Her other hand clung to his right wrist.
Him, shoving into her again. This time she could only lay there and take it. Even her attempts to clamp her sex muscles around the invasion were pitiful.
Had he known he was going to immobilize her from the beginning? If that had been his original intention, she was glad she hadn’t been forewarned, because she might have panicked.
Might.
One thrust followed by another followed by yet more, each scooting
her closer to the top of the bed. He came with her, their bodies fused, her legs high in the air and anchored in place. His grip completed her imprisonment, her incredible, exciting imprisonment.
Reaching the top of the frameless bed and her head sliding back and down into space changed little. She still held on to him as best she could, breasts exposed to the damp night air, pussy filled to overflowing, and butterfly wings brushing her throat, collarbone, and rib cage.
He could, if he wanted, bend her nearly double. He could, if that was his desire, lift her buttocks off the mattress and drive into her until only the wall just beyond the head of the bed prevented her from landing on the floor.
Let him. Let him do whatever he wanted to her because she wanted it all, everything, strength and dominance and her screaming cunt ruling her.
There, a series of explosions closing in on her again, flowing over her. Her body became something fierce and wild.
Something insistent.
Where was he, she wondered even as her inner muscles spasmed. Had he reached his own climax?
Didn’t matter. She’d become selfish. Single-minded. Loud. Fierce and savage.
Long seconds after the explosion calmed, her head still thrashed. Her nails again raked him as she forced sensation on him and pulled him over his own edge.
And when he came, she came again.
Five minutes later, deeply shaken and afraid of both of them, she ordered him to leave.
7
It rained through the night, but morning brought the sun and slowly dissipating clouds. Fog clung to the surf and extended out into the ocean, but long accustomed to a storm’s aftereffects, Mato paid it little attention. Besides, his journey was taking him to a cliff overlooking the ocean and not into the water. Within walking distance of his property and all but undiscovered by outsiders, the cliff was sacred to his people. Even the younger generation with their disinterest in much of what fascinated their parents spoke of Spirit’s Overlook with reverence.
