by Poppet
Arched like a tense bowstring, he's so rigid, it tugs my navel; a detonation so deep inside me, with his powerful body ripping through mine. Reacting, I sink fingertips into his back, holding on for dear life, afraid to move. It's a sharp fist of pain before my dormant pleasure seeps back up to reclaim my body.
“You're incredible,” whispers in my ear.
I'm afraid when I can't see. I still can't feel my toes.
His smooth chest grazes my nipples, he's still deeper than deep inside me, his hand wrapping into my hair, moving my head to taste my neck with breeze soft kisses.
He pauses, “Say something. Are you okay?”
I try, but my breath is spurred in my throat, so I nod.
“Look at me.”
I can't. I still have celestial fireworks blinding me. It's like staring at the sun, you can't see when you look back at something else.
My breathing is unstable, wild.
“Sarah?”
Swallowing against a dry mouth, I whimper, “I'm fine.”
“Fine?”
He pauses, that was an insult if he ever heard one. Nice going Sarah.
“Look at me.” This time it's a command.
“Better than fine. I can't see. I'll look at you in a minute.”
His body divorces mine, immovable fingers hold my jaw, swiveling my head, his breath washing into me again, tingling its way deep inside, my body sings her response. Whispering more more more. Again. Again.
His long lean body lines mine, and I'm drawn against him, held tight to his, wrapped in comfort. Kissing my forehead, he just holds me. My insides are purring; languid, lazy, weak.
It's like ears popping at altitude, it's a sudden rush when my sight comes back, and it seems too dark, the room too full of snooping shadows.
Looking up, I stare into his eyes.
“Your eyes are like sunlight dancing off water,” he says softly.
Wow, so Mr Tough has a poet's soul. And he's a screamer. No wonder he has his love-nest in the basement.
It makes me smile.
“That's better.” He smiles back, it's gentle. “Tell me you're okay?”
“If I was any better, I'd be floating on moonlight.”
His laugh jiggles me, it's abrasive; his voice is pure sandpaper polishing crystal.
“Ecstasy is addictive, didn't your mama warn you not to take it?”
Pain nooses my heart at those words. It plunges cold hard reality through my euphoria.
“Ecstasy is older than tablets, it's what makes life worth living.” Reading the pain in my eyes, his deepen like twilight. “It's okay, baby. I don't think you're a quick take-out.”
Dipping his head, he traces a possessive tongue over my lips, pressing his mouth onto mine, his tongue flicking mine, then he's holding my head hard to his, his breathing demanding, devouring my mouth.
He's as unpredictable and capable as that car of his. His fingers dig into my waist, pressing me tight into his stubborn strength. He makes me feel tiny. I'm 5 ft 7, but right now I'm a flower fairy.
Axing us apart abruptly, he pushes fingers through his short hair, “I'm – you...”
His smile is rogue, and shy. His expression is so sweet and happy.
“You're different. It makes me a little crazy.”
I can't help but smile at the confession, and his expression.
“If that's crazy, book me into the sanitarium. I could use a little crazy. And if the drug your body offers is ecstasy, I think I'm already your addict. Just open my vein and do that again.”
His smile is rascal, and smug. “I didn't hurt you?” His tone is worried, he needs reassurance.
“Na-uh. I think I never want to leave.”
Passion flickers through his eyes.
He moves away from me, sitting up, caressing a hand down the side of my face, down my neck, moving to rest on my stomach, “You need a drink. Hell, I need a drink.”
And he's gone, one more shadow skimming through the room. It's strangely cold without him. And I'm still horny.
Chapter 6
He returns with a different bottle of alcohol, and the serrano chili we brought home.
“Keep still,” he says, a smile tugging his lips, making them fuller and sensual.
Uncorking Del Maguey tequila, he pours it into my navel. It's cold, coursing shivers through me. Catching my cold nipple in his mouth, the heat relaxes it, before he nips it back to stark relief. Chuckling to himself, he works his way back down to my navel.
This is going to be an all nighter, I can tell.
Sucking the warmed alcohol into his mouth, he looks up, staring deeply into my eyes.
“Your turn,” and he slumps heavily next to me, giving me the bottle.
My legs tremble a little, and I simply sit next to him, too weak to balance myself over him.
Carefully tipping the liquid ice, I watch it curl around muscles to gather in the gully between his six pack, flowing to pool in his navel. I wish we could catalogue moments like this. So we could watch them again and again.
Running the tip of my tongue where it flowed, I retrace its steps, pressing lips around the hollow, sipping in sharp tequila.
His breath sucks in, turning him into rugged edges.
Swallowing, I lift my head to stare down into his face.
Lifting a handful of hair, he watches it fraying into strands, flowing back to settle over my shoulder.
“Your hair is like tortoiseshell. Golden highlights with deeper tones of light and dark brown.”
Sitting up suddenly, he snatches the bottle and takes a gulp, using his free hand to cup my head to his face. Forcing his mouth over mine, hot tequila gushes into my mouth, eye to eye, breath to breath, synchronized swallowing, his tongue traces my lips again.
“Your lips were made for my body.” Running his thumb over my mouth, his breathing is juddery, “Soft, warm, fucking sexy.”
Before I can react, he's off the bed, scooping me and the bedding up. It leaves my heart pounding. He's totally unpredictable. Then he's laying me down in front of the hearth; I'm already feeling the heat of the flames. He strides away, leaving the lyrics to croon sultry tones into this cocoon, soothing my fright.
Returning with pillows, he puts two behind me, then bunches a pile of them under his side, laying next to me with his head propped on his hand.
In this light I can see he hasn't even broken a sweat. Hungry eyes roam over my body before settling on my mouth. Reaching behind me, he picks up the tub of chili, opening it between our stomachs, using a serrano to paint my lips.
“I want to watch you eating something hot.” He licks his lips, transfixed on my mouth and the chili.
It leaves a tingling spicy trail over my lips, and I'm forced to lick them. He uses the moment to press the tip into my mouth.
“Suck,” he orders.
Fighting a giggle, I wrap my lips around it, closing my eyes when he slowly drags it in and out through my lips. It pulls out, replaced with his tongue, tasting the heat stain left behind.
“You're going to break me,” mumbles when he hovers his mouth over mine.
“I think you've got that the wrong way round.”
Sinking his body heavily onto me, giddy apprehension flirts with my sex. Running my palms over bulging triceps, I enjoy the texture of his skin. Roaming, caressing muscles I didn't even know we could develop, I stare at the bulges pumped out on either shoulder, amazed that someone so strong, can be so smooth and silky.
“No ohpitsa, you're like a scorpion sting. You're so tiny, but deadly. The only thing that cures it is another shot of poison.”
He's announcing his next move. Amber light paints half his face into silhouette when he parts my legs with his own.
Closing my eyes, lazy in the heat from the hearth, oddly safe and secure with a man so massive, he invades, licking his sex deep inside me, slipping to his base, body tight against body, skating his hot erection over delicate skin, sweetly plunging my body back into a headrush.
<
br /> “I want to hear you scream.”
It's a low murmur, a subliminal whisper behind crackling flames and music.
Swirling, stirring, tickling, teasing, he grinds his hips until my arms are shaking where they clutch around his neck. It's slow, unhurried, like nappa leather around a handcuff. Hiding the bite, the strength; he takes my body up in slow motion. Tensing, quivering, gasping my orgasm into his ear; he starts syringing again, licking deep.
Savoring my body sucking around him, his body french-kisses mine like a connoisseur. Skidding deep, hold your breath deep, and with aching sensitivity, pulling out again with acute slowness. At times hesitant, like a chameleon in motion, rocking back and forth before choosing a direction. Tensing, I hook him each time he gets too close to complete withdrawal, coaxing him back to languidly sheath his heat, deep; so hard, so hard everywhere, but so gentle; thoughtful. He's not a selfish lover. Hiccuping his rhythm, he delves for the antivenin to cure my sting.
Opening my eyes, he's watching me, it's soul soft, raw, unveiled Dustin. No games. This is a man branding his mark on my spirit. It's such an intense gaze, showing a kaleidoscope of need, desire, fear, lust, and that same possessiveness, it ices my chest.
Glossing my insides with the salve from his body, it's a gentle orgasm, no roaring, just a thudding of his heart where his chest presses into me. He kept his eyes open, hooking himself deep into my heart, his eyes so achingly vulnerable and 'pure'. A rush of emotion, deeply soul kissed, my eyes sting with the unshed beauty I witnessed.
“You didn't scream.”
It's accusing.
“I rarely do. I'm more of a gasping sigh kinda gal.”
“Give me time, I'll find a way to tear you out of prison.”
What an odd thing to say.
He's resting his hips on me now, gazing with delicate penetration into my eyes, every so often darting to my lips.
Rolling us, facing each other on our sides, he shoves the chili out of the way, working an arm behind me, making me rest my head on his bicep.
His free hand glides to hold my breast, “I see it, you don't. You've been behind bars for too long.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don't surrender to a moment completely. You hold a piece of yourself back. You've forgotten what freedom tastes like. So you no longer miss it. You are in a prison, one you made, but if you give me time, I'll help you run free.”
He is free, he tastes like freedom. An ache rolls in my chest.
Hot lips tenderly brush mine, “I'll never hurt you.”
It's a reassurance. One I've heard a thousand times. Hand over your heart so I can grind it into compost. He believes every word he's saying. I don't.
God alone knows how he did it, but he stands, still deep in me, holding me under my thighs, maneuvering me onto an arm, resting a steadying hand on my spine, he starts walking to the steps.
“Where are we going?”
“Shower.”
Oh lordy, I'm going to be crawling in my front door when I get home.
Walking with my hair wet, I'm trying to push up the sleeves on the sweater he gave me to wear. He's massive, and I feel like a two year old walking in mama's shoes. I'm drowning in soft fleece.
Bunching the material, I cover my face, inhaling deeply. It smells like him, and fresh laundry smell. There is something so special about the first moment your love interest gives you his clothing to wear. You never want to take it off. It's like standing in his arms, warm and comforting, while the wind gales around you, but in here you're safe, cherished, warm and cuddly.
His arm wraps around my shoulders, encouraging me to walk, “Come on, let's get a drink and go back to the fire.”
I'm clean, and cozy-warm, my body feels like it's had a thousand-year massage, it's so relaxed and happy. My cheeks are still glowing. But wrapped in his scent, his fleece, wearing his freshly laundered white socks, I am guided to a big kitchen.
Leaving me at the threshold, he fetches two bottles from the fridge, coming back and lacing his fingers through mine.
His smile down at me is full of promise, secrets, happiness. He lifts my hand and kisses it softly. Led back down marble steps into a drowsy hot room still dancing with flames and shadows; I bet this room has lots of secrets.
“Hold these,” he gives me the beers. Taking them, I watch him cross the room, opening a closet and pulling out a long rolled up futon mattress.
Those things are damn heavy, I had one once, and gave it up because I was just too slight to move it much. But in his hands it may as well be a scarf. Unrolling it in front of the fire, dumping the bedding back on top, he beckons a hand at me.
Stepping forward, he grabs me, tackling me onto it. My surprised laughter joins his. He's smiling widely at me now, his strong arm still around me.
“You're one addictive cutie.” He gives me a soft kiss before taking the bottles out of my hand. The neckline on this is wide, and my shoulder is naked, it draws his eyes. “God you're beautiful.”
“Keep taking your medication, it works wonders.”
“You think I'm sweetening you up?”
“I just think you could have Miss Universe if you wanted to. I'm not in that category.”
“Women are so full of issues. There's more to beauty than a trunk of make-up and a crown.”
Tilting my head, I watch the fire slip golden fingers over his irises.
He takes my silence for argument.
“I'm an earth spirit, Sarah. I like my ladies to be as wet as a mountain lake, and as resourceful as a tornado. Wind cannot be captured or seen, but you feel it just the same. You are wind, sugar. Hot wind. It warms the blood, and blows gentle and hard, unpredictable. That's beauty.”
I've got that squeeze in my chest again, I'm feeling appreciated and adored. I want to stay here, forever, and ever.
Dipping his head to kiss the shoulder that keeps drawing his gaze, he drops the bottles in a clink next to my ear, running his hand up my thigh, under the sweater, cupping my breast.
“Blow me away. You're a free spirit desperate to run wild.”
Running my hands over his strength, I cup his head, silently asking him to look up, lifting his head, I tense my muscles, lifting my head to meet his, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth.
Pulling away, he picks up the bottles, “You're playing with fire, you need rest before you tease me again.”
“Blame me,” I kid.
It's said with a smile.
But his expression is dangerous, heated. I believe it. One stray spark and this boy is going to turn into a runaway wildfire; burning me up, burning me out.
My open Coors is offered to me.
Pushing onto an elbow, I take it, sipping. I'm thirstier than I realised, taking deep pulls.
His laughter wraps loving warmth around me, “Steady on, girl.”
Putting it down behind the pillows, I watch him flatten his.
Rolling the bottle away, he snatches me to him, turning me, pressing my body to melt against and coat his. Pulling the duvet up to cover my legs, he lays his head on pillows, tucking me closer under his chin.
Staring into the blue flames hugging low in the grate, I'm happy. Really, truly, inside out, deliriously happy. It's a perfect night in an imperfect world. His arm tightens, it's a haven.
Closing my eyes, I'm wrapped in fleece, heat, safe. Hot breathing ruffles my hair, it's deep and sleepy. Resting my arm over his, hugging it to me, I fall asleep nestled against a rock of love.
Chapter 7
With me still wearing his sweater, he kisses me goodbye at my door.
“You sure you don't wanna come in?”
“If I come in, I won't want to leave. I'll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning.”
His smile is like syrup coating hotcakes. Steamy and sweet. Standing on tiptoes, I kiss him again, lingering in his presence. This man is 'dang' hot.
He gives my tush an affectionate tap, “Get inside so I know you're safe. And lock the do
or.”
Laughing, I unlock the door, not wanting him to leave. He waits for me to get inside before shooting me a wink, turning, and leaping off the steps to the bottom.
The throaty roar of the ZR1 skips through the gap when I close the door. Dashing to the window, I wave goodbye. Laughing to myself, I think his car now reminds me of him. Every time it roars, it's proclaiming, 'Oh yeah baby, I'm getting myself some sweet sticky sugar.'
“You forgot, didn't you? Where the hell have you been?”
Diving away from the window, I whip round to stare at Erik.
“Jesus!”
“Not quite, honey. You left your door unlocked.”
My depraved mind immediately skims to how many of my drawers he's snooped through. I'd better wash my underwear before I wear it. Oh god! I want to shove him in the shoulder and tell him to empty his pockets.
“And you just let yourself in?” I accuse.
“I thought maybe you overslept. You didn't answer your phone.”
Shit, I did forget my phone. Pervert! He probably crept in here hoping to catch me in bed.
Shuddering, glaring, no longer giving a hoot about manners.
“Why are you here? In my home?”
“Sarah, it's my mother's memorial today. We were meant to be there an hour ago. I've made them stall, hoping you'd show up, because you're delivering the eulogy. We were supposed to be there at twelve. We're already an hour late.”
Shit! How could I forget?
Rushing past him, I snap, “I'll be ready in sixty seconds.” Calling over my shoulder before the bedroom door slams, “Sorry!”
I wish I could go in Dustin's fleece top, but I can't. I don't want to let him go. I want to linger in the afterglow. I hate Erik for ruining everything, again!
Hauling it off, I tuck it safely under my pillow, putting his scent where I sleep. Tugging my jeans off, I rush to my wardrobe and select a sleeveless black dress. It's easier than a suit when you're in a hurry.
It's a slim fitting, above the knee, classic cut dress. Forgoing stockings, I shove my feet into inch high heels. Snapping a matching jacket off a hanger, I run to the dreaded underwear drawer. Surveying it suspiciously, I choose black lace shorts, yanking them on. Darting to the vanity, I snatch up the pearls and gloss, spritzing Poison.
