My Heart's Bliss (Hard Love & Dark Rock #3)

by Ashley Grace

  His hands caught hold of my face, his fingers threading through my hair, as we kissed each other passionately. My fingers went to his fly, working feverishly to undo the button and to pull down the zipper.

  As soon as I had his fly undone, I pressed him down onto his back on the mattress, and then tugged at his jeans with both hands. He lifted his hips up, and I pulled his jeans down, all the way down, stripping them free from his ankles.

  There it was, his beautiful cock. I couldn't help giving it a loving lick, starting near that velvet ball sack and dragging my tongue up the entire length. He let out a groan, and his dick throbbed. I felt my own pussy clenching tight with desire. Any anxiety I'd been struggling with, any fear of infection or disease, evaporated in the roaring blaze of hunger that I felt. Now I had to struggle not to take that dick right back into my mouth, to suck him off again.

  But no, this time I wouldn't be distracted by those peripheral pleasures. This time I wanted the main event.

  I stood up in front of him, my hands going to my own fly, unbuttoning the button. He propped himself up on his elbows, his hungry eyes roaming over my bountiful chest, and I reveled in the lust I saw in his face. I squeezed my breasts together with my arms as my hands struggled with the button of my jeans. And when that button finally popped loose, the force made my heavy boobs jiggle.

  "Anne, you are gorgeous," he said. His dick throbbed again.

  And the way he looked at me, I believed him. In fact, he made me feel bolder than I'd ever felt. His eyes drank me in, and a sudden wild urge caught hold of me. If he loved my curves, I'd flaunt them for him. I'd give him a little show.

  I turned my back to him, tossing my hair as I unzipped the fly of my jeans. And then I looked back at him over my shoulder, biting my lip, hooking my thumb under the waistband at either hip. Slowly, I bent forward and shimmied the tight jeans off of my hips, showing him my ass. I bent all the way down, pushing the jeans to my ankles, feeling my ass cheeks spread a little as my hands reached the floor, feeling the cool air of the room tingling against my soaking pussy.

  I heard him growl, low and deep in his chest like some kind of animal. He scooted forward on the bed—his knees thrusting out on either side of my legs, his ass perching on the edge—and caught hold of me from behind. His powerful arms wrapped across my belly, his strong hands came up to clutch at my breasts.

  I laid my hands on top of his, clutching his hands harder against my boobs, wanting more of that feeling, more of that pressure. He kissed my neck, my back. I could feel his dick, incredibly hard and surprisingly hot, against the flesh of my thigh.

  I spread my legs and reached down between them, catching hold of his throbbing length, feeling the slickness of his pre-cum smearing over my fingertips. His dick was so long that the tip of it peeked out between the front of my thighs.

  He planted a kiss on my lower back, groaning as I stroked his dick. His hands went to the round curves of my ass, grabbing and squeezing me, spreading me open. And then he scooted his hips back and dipped his head forward, painting a long, hot lick up the crack of my ass. It made my eyes pop open in surprise even as the heady pleasure washed up through my pelvis.

  I turned around, pushed him down on his back. He swiveled his body, bringing his legs up on the mattress, his arms reaching up toward me, his eyes burning with lust. I climbed on top of him, pressing my palms against his firm chest, straddling his hips with my legs.

  His dick was laid flat against his belly, and I pressed my dripping pussy against the underside of his length. It was so long that it stretched up across the flat lower section of his abdomen, the head reaching past his belly button. I could feel it, hot and throbbing against my aching pussy. I moved my hips forward, sliding along his length, my thickened folds spread over his dick like a saddle.

  "Oh my god, Anne," he said. "You're pussy is so wet. It feels incredible."

  I closed my eyes, the pleasure so thick and heady in my body that I almost felt dizzy. I slid back down his length and up again, grinding my cunt along his rod. My head hung forward, my boobs dangling between my arms. I gasped in a deep breath, and sighed it back out.

  "I want you inside of me, Trace," I said, my voice thick from desire. "I need it."

  He propped himself up on his elbow, his mouth meeting mine in a passionate kiss.

  And then he broke this kiss, his lips so close to mine that I could feel the words he whispered.

  "Do you have a condom?"

  My eyes opened wide in surprise. An hour ago I was terrified I'd get a disease from an unprotected blowjob, and now I was so horny I'd forgot all about safe sex. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  And then I remembered the condoms Dr. Jackson had given me. They'd be in the pocket of my sweater, which was crumpled up on the floor.

  "Yes," I said. "I've got one."

  I practically leaped off of him, diving for the sweater. I jammed my hand in the pocket and yanked out a condom so forcefully that two other condoms came flying out as well. And then I turned back to him, ripping the packet open, eager to get him bagged and back to action.

  But once I had his hot, throbbing cock in one hand, and the condom in the other, I froze. I realized I'd never actually put a condom on someone before. I'd never even been one of the volunteers who'd rolled the condom down onto a banana in any of the sex-ed classes I'd had to take.

  Trace must have seen my hesitation. "Here," he said, reaching for the condom. He pinched the tip between finger and thumb, using the other hand to roll the condom down his length in a move that looked well-practiced. It hardly took a second, and then he was reaching for me again.

  I crawled back onto the bad, swinging a leg over his hips. But my heart was beating harder now, nervousness running in my blood. A moment ago I'd wanted nothing more than to have that huge dick inside of me. But now that I was about to do it, finally and for real, I suddenly felt almost afraid.

  I remembered what I'd thought when I'd first seen his dick: how is that thing supposed to fit?

  Well, only one way to find out. Following the school of thought my dorm-mate Becca had often espoused, I decided to take matters in hand.

  I raised myself up a little, reaching back to catch hold of Trace's cock, and positioned the tip at the entrance of my slick, aching tunnel. And then I tried to cram it in, pressing back with my hips, gritting my teeth and squeezing my eyes shut.

  I could feel the bulbous head of his dick jammed tight against the opening of my pussy—could feel the growing, stinging pain it caused, could feel my own desire and frustration boiling over, threatening to tip me into a fit of tears.

  But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to get it in.

  Chapter 8

  Anne

  "Anne," Trace said. "Anne, lovely girl, wait."

  I opened my eyes, looked down at his face. He looked up at me with those deep, dark eyes, brimming with love. He raised his hand, brushing my hair back, tucking a stray lock behind my ear.

  I realized I was holding my breath again. I let it go, blinking the tears away.

  His fingers threaded into my hair, drawing my face down to his. He kissed me, deeply, passionately, and I felt my tension melting away, my muscles turning to jelly.

  Trace pulled me down against his chest, still kissing me, his hand still moving in my hair. He rolled to the side, holding me against him, so that he was on top, his strong body above me, anchoring me. He worked his hips between my knees, and I opened my legs to him, giving myself over to him, inviting him in.

  With his lips moving gently on mine, his tongue dipping in to touch against my teeth, I felt him shifting his hips above me, bringing the head of his cock back toward my tight entrance. He pressed it against me, gentle but firm, sliding his bulbous tip back and forth between my soft, slippery folds, coating the tip of his prick with my juices.

  It felt so good it made me sigh into his open mouth.

  And then—slowly, gently—he began to dip the tip of his cock into my pussy, just
a little at a time, easing his way in, opening me up. His mouth kept moving on mine, his thumb brushing over my cheek, caressing me. I let my head fall back on the pillow—feeling that growing pleasure in my core, washing through me, taking my breath away—and he began to lightly kiss and nip at my chin, at my neck.

  He stiffened his lower back, pushing a little deeper into me. I felt the bulbous head of his cock stretching me, stretching my tight entrance. A hint of pain tingled behind the pleasure, my muscles tensing slightly. Before it grew any stronger, he eased back slightly.

  His hand slipped behind my head, tilting my face forward, bringing my mouth back to his. He kissed me, deeply, passionately.

  "Are you ready?" he asked in a whisper.

  I opened my eyes, looked up into his. I could see the love in his gaze. I could feel it, glowing in my heart.

  I nodded my head yes.

  He bowed his head toward mine again, kissing me, and then pressed forward with his hips, slipping his entire length into me in a series of deepening thrusts. The pain was there, but it was layered in amongst so much pleasure that I hardly noticed it. And then he was fully, completely inside of me. Filling me up. Stretching me to my limits. I was brimming with him, so full that I could hardly draw a breath.

  "Oh my god, Anne," he said, his voice husky and ragged. "Oh my god, it feels so good."

  I wanted to tell him that I thought so too, but my brain couldn't seem to manage a simple sentence. I moaned instead, long and low, speaking my pleasure without using words.

  He began to move in me once more, slipping that huge cock out of me, and then filling me with it all over again. His hips rolling, his shoulders bracing against the mattress on either side of me, his dick plunging into my core, deeper with every stroke. I felt the pleasure expanding within me, filling my pelvis and then spreading up through my belly toward my heart, making my whole body sing.

  "Anne," he said. "Oh, Anne."

  I opened my eyes, seeing him watching me, his own eyes clouded with pleasure.

  "Trace," I said. "Trace."

  I was teetering on the brink on ecstasy. And then, as he slipped that delicious length into me again, even deeper, I felt myself toppling over that edge.

  I cried out, my pussy clenching down on him, the orgasm storming through me.

  "Trace! Oh!"

  He kept plunging that thick cock into me, riding me through my climax, making it stretch on and on. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my hips bucking up against him, my chest shaking and quivering.

  "Aaahhh!"

  The pleasure reached its peak, and then passed, leaving me exhausted. All of the tension I’d felt, all of the stiffness in my body, had been purged by that tremendous orgasm, leaving every muscle slack. I felt heat dancing along my bare skin, my whole body full of joy.

  Trace had stilled above me. I opened my eyes, looking up at him in wonder.

  "You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met," he said, his eyes shining. "Especially when you’re coming."

  "More," I said, still a little breathless. "More, Trace. Please."

  He grinned. He kissed me.

  And then he started moving his hips again, bringing me back up to another peak.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist, my heels pressing against his muscular ass, pushing him into me more forcefully, wanting more of him, ravenous for it. He stiffened his back, his knees finding purchase on the mattress, and he began to plunge his dick into me more quickly, more deeply.

  I could feel the power in his tightly coiled body, could feel him holding it in check. But I wanted more of it. I wanted all of it. I wanted him to ravish me, to overwhelm me with the pleasure, until pleasure was the only thing I knew.

  "More, Trace," I gasped. "More!"

  His kissed me again, his lips mashing against mine so hard it nearly bruised. He hooked my legs with his arms, the back of my thighs caught in the crook of his elbows, pushing my knees up toward my chest, folding me over and opening me up.

  A tremendous, aching pressure bloomed deep inside of me with his every thrust. It was so strong that I didn't know if it was pleasure or pain, but I knew I wanted more of it.

  "Fuck me, Trace," I gasped. "Fuck me harder!"

  He raised himself up onto his toes, driving his dick down into me, our bodies clapping together so loudly that the sound rang against the concrete walls of the room. Every jolting force seemed to vibrate my pelvis, threatening to knock another orgasm loose. My clit buzzed with that vibration, sparks of pleasure arcing through me with his every stroke. I heard a whimpering, keening sound beneath that loud clapping and realized, a moment later, that the whimpering was me.

  "Oh fuck, Anne," Trace said. "Oh god. Your pussy feels so fucking good! I'm going to come!"

  His words made my muscles clench down, my pussy gripping his plunging length. I could hardly draw enough air into my lungs to breath, but I gasped at him. "Yes, Trace. Do it! Come inside of me!"

  And then he froze, his dick plunged to the hilt inside of me—it seemed to swell even thicker. I could feel his balls pressed against me, drawing tight. His head stretched back so that I saw the cords in his neck, and every muscle in his body went rigid.

  He cried out "Aahhh!" I felt his dick start to pulse inside of my tight cunt, pumping sperm, and the feel of it pushed me right over the edge.

  "Ohhhh!" I moaned, another orgasm taking hold of me, my pussy clenching down on him, milking his pulsing cock of every drop of his cum. "Ohhhh!" My hips and shoulders quivering, my chest shimmering with pleasure. "Fuck!"

  He collapsed against me, both of us completely spent. Our bodies motionless save for our hearts beating in our chests. I could feel my heart thumping, and I could feel his, pulsing against me.

  And in that moment, something seemed to glow within me, filling me with warmth and light and love.

  Chapter 9

  Trace

  Anne beneath me, dragging me down against her. Anne around me, gripping me with her body. Anne within me, her tongue teasing into my mouth, her eyes piercing into mine.

  I'd only met her the day before, but somehow that seemed impossible. I felt like I'd known her forever.

  Since the moment I'd first seen her, something inside of me had changed. And now that we'd made love to each other, now that we'd given ourselves to each other, had consummated the relationship—and for the first time I thought I understood the meaning of that phrase—I knew that things would never be the same for me again.

  "Anne," I said, looking down into her eyes.

  "Yes, Trace," she said, running her fingers through the hair at my temple.

  "I love you."

  Her eyes shocked wide, ringed in white. Deep and dark and beautiful, but not overjoyed.

  If anything, she looked overwhelmed.

  I felt her legs shifting beneath mine, squirming as if she felt trapped. I moved my body off of hers, lying down on the mattress at her side.

  I'd said the wrong thing. Even if I knew it was true, even if I had no doubt, she wasn't ready to hear it.

  She'd gone quiet, her eyes fixed on the ceiling above her. She was drawing into herself. She was shutting me out.

  "Are you okay, Anne?" I said.

  She nodded her head, but then her eyes started to shine, filling with tears, and she closed them.

  "Trace, you hardly know me."

  "I haven't known you long," I said. "But I know you."

  "How can you say that? How can you think that you know me? We only met last night!"

  "You don't believe in love at first sight?"

  "No!" She looked over at me. "I mean, I'd like to. I'd like to believe in it. But in a rational sense, I just can't."

  "Love isn't a rational thing. It's not from the territory of the mind. It's something you feel in your heart. And I feel it now, because of you."

  She looked back at the ceiling, her eyes blinking.

  "You don't believe me?" I said.

  "I just… I don't know. Nobody has ever said it to m
e before. At least, no man has said it to me, meaning it like you do. I don't know what to say."

  "You don't have to say anything, Anne. I didn't say it because I wanted to you to do something in response. I said it because I felt it. That's what I do—I express the things I feel." I looked up at the Belletrist poster she had on the wall. "It's why I write my music. It's how I live my life."

  She followed my glance, looking up at the poster. She didn't say anything for a while. And then she rolled toward me, her head resting on my shoulder, her fingers tracing over a tattoo on my chest.

  "I still don't know what to say," she murmured.

  "You don't have to say anything, Anne." I kissed her forehead gently, stroking my hand through her hair. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you. I wanted to say it aloud. And not just for you, but for me, too."

  The thought of Lucy came into my mind, the memory of her lifeless body beside me in my bed. For a year, I'd been tortured by that memory, haunted by it. I thought that a part of me had died when I saw her like that.

  And maybe a part of me had died. But now I knew, finally, that the part of me that loved was still alive.

  I pulled in a deep breath, feeling Anne's fingers stroking against my chest. I blew the breath out. And as my chest fell, as my lungs let go of that air, I felt as if some long-harbored hurt was flowing out of me, too.

  I could live, and I could love.

  I was free.

  -

  Anne drifted off, her head on my shoulder, her hand on my chest. I let my eyes roam around the room as she slept, learning about her by reading my surroundings. A bookshelf at the foot of the bed was filled with battered paperbacks—Sylvia Plath, Diane di Prima, Anne Sexton—and a stack of journals with dates written on the spine. Her desk was piled high with school books and papers, a calendar hanging on the wall had notes written in on nearly every day, weekends included. A framed picture of Anne arm-in-arm with a woman who looked much like her—her mother, perhaps—was on her nightstand, as well as a red-numbered digital clock.