Need Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy Book Three)

by Dunning, Rachel

  On her waist, my name: DECLAN.

  My head reels with delirious desire. I want to kiss her there, on her navel, her breasts, her nose, her mouth. I want to kiss her everywhere at the same time, and be kissed by her.

  Crack! White, hot light drenches the room and then, then...

  Her angelic moan. Low and furious. A slow, female moan that tells me her want is as strong as mine, that she’s ready, that I could take her now and it still wouldn’t be enough.

  I move down to her waist, to my name, and I lick her. “Oh, Declan,” she says. Her hands weave through my hair as my tongue laps the ink on her skin.

  I’ve forgotten about the sweater, gotten distracted by this permanent mark on her body, the declaration of her love for me no matter what.

  “Oh, Declan.” It’s her again, writhing, twisting, lifting her legs and thrusting her clothed center up into my neck. She rubs, up and down, while I lick—up, down and around the tattoo.

  “Oh, Declan!”

  Thunder crack!

  The air in the room sizzles and snaps. My hands slide up her waist while my lips go wild on this name, this name... This name is driving me insane.

  She pushes me down via the shoulders. The hint is clear. The desire is blazingly bright. She pushes, pushes, pushes. And moves her body back. My chin hits the seam of her sweatpants, scrapes the top of her panties. She starts struggling up—

  CRACK!

  “Oh, Declan.”

  I ease her sweatpants down—

  My chin touches the top of her mound, sweatpants at her knees. Her light pubes scrape against me. The smell of her desire is so intoxicating I almost come when the scent hits me.

  My lips water. Still, she pushes me down, down, down.

  My chin scrapes her drenched and toughened nub—

  “Oh, D-e-e-e-c-c-c-l—l-a-a-n-n-n.”

  —and she rises, pushes, moves even further back, her nether lips now so maddeningly close I can almost taste them. My chin feels their warmth as they wrap themselves around me. And I taste her now, that erect, desperate sweetspot—

  “Oh, mmmmmmmm!”

  CRACK! CRACK!

  White light everywhere.

  And then I’m there.

  And I plunge.

  -5-

  She’s lemon and lime, sweet chocolate cake with cream on top. She’s life, she’s water, she’s the richest thing under the holy sun. She’s soft, she’s moist.

  She’s heaven on my lips.

  I can’t get enough of her, can’t get deep enough inside her, can’t taste the flavor of her fast enough. I relish it, every drop, every pulse. My hands clasp her thighs and pull her toward me. She lifts her butt and shivers, then drops it; lifts it, drops it, pushes, pulls, plays with my hair...

  ...and I’m gone, gone into her, loving her, feeling her on my lips, feeling her moisture and drowning in her flavor, her desire. She’s opium, crazy H, Big Daddy Smack, and a fat dollop of Häagen-Dazs all at once...

  But she’s also none of those things. She’s simply...BLAZE!

  I delve deeper into her with my tongue, feel every ridge, every ripple, every slick and inviting surface. I explore her, love her, taste her. But most of all, I’m carried away by her, somewhere else, high, drugged, eyes rolling back because I can’t get enough. She starts to pump, starts to rub harder, starts to lift and drop and lift and drop and push and scream and make sounds that—thunder crack!—almost send me over the edge as my cock unwittingly rubs against the surface of the couch while her soft and graceful legs are held to my ears by my hands—

  Those legs are fighting, pulling and pushing and sweating. And the heat, God, the heat is intense down here, sweat building around my ears as she pushes and thrusts and—

  “Oh, God. Oh God yes. Oh God oh my God oh God Oh—” Rub, thrust, rub, thrust, pull push-pull-rub-rub-rub-faster-faster-FASTER—“OH-GOD-OH-GOD—”

  Pause.

  She yanks my hair, thrusts her wet and slick vag against my muzzle, pauses with her ass mid-air, dangles—

  And then it rains.

  At first it’s a light wash of a drizzle. Just a breathy shimmer of her body, a feather-tremor of her swollen labia against my lips...

  Then it’s a squall, a blessed howl from within her. A low, decibel-roaring moan.

  She’s coming. And she’s holding me to her. And she’s screaming, needfully, desperately.

  Every word lingers, said slowly, and echoes out into the shattering storm outside. “Oh”—a pause before the final rapture—“yeah!”

  She rubs a little more against me, against my nose and lips. I breathe her in like fresh flowers in spring. Her musk is heroin. Morphine.

  But it’s also adrenaline. Megatons of adrenaline.

  I’m on the edge, spiraling down in a Kamikaze dive and I’m gonna crash. I get up, almost bursting from the friction against my jeans. I’m breathing heavily, because I want her. I need her. I must have her.

  Her eyes burn with unfilled want. There’s still terror in those eyes, still a quenchless yearning. An insatiable hunger for...me.

  Sweat gleams from her brow, her cheeks, her hair. She’s breathing more heavily than me. She sits up, chest lifting and falling like angry waves. And then, as if I hadn’t just taken her, hadn’t just pushed her over the Grand Canyon edge, she says, “I need you. I need you.” Her eyes pop open. The torrential rain outside has settled into the steady murmur of a powerful downpour.

  Her words almost make me explode.

  We need to get out of here, out of this apartment, and back to mine. To my penthouse, where we can be alone. For days.

  I hold my hand out to hers. She takes it. She lifts herself onto her knees on the couch and thrusts her tongue into me so wildly, so madly, that I think I’m about to lose my damned mind if I don’t get the rest of Blaze naked, in a room, on a bed, now, and have her wrap her warm and moist self tightly around my manhood.

  And then take me.

  “Not here. My place. My place,” I manage. We kiss while I pull her panties up, her sweatpants, while we make it to the door and then the elevator.

  When we drive home, I drive again like a maniac.

  When we arrive at my place, we’re drenched, soaking, dripping with fallen rain.

  I think our lips haven’t left each other’s since we got out the car, made it to the lobby, winked at Jacques (who smiled back), slid into the elevator, and walked over to my door. Our lips barely leave each other’s now while I peel off her soaking sweater, her sticking t-shirt, and finally her sweatpants. I lift her porcelain body, shivering from cold, take her to my room, drop her on my bed.

  The explosion of ink on her left arm, the rose, the bloody stem, the wolf, the dead tree, the skull, makes my eyes wobbly with unfed hunger. I rip my own shirt off. Blaze lifts herself up, gets on her knees on the bed, tugs and pulls at my belt. My body rocks back and forth—

  ...and, shit, don’t rub on that cock too hard, Blaze, because I’m still reeling from earlier...

  —and she rips the buckle off! She unzips me. My pants slide open. The slightest of grazes from boxers against my cock makes me almost collapse. I’m looking up, then at her, just trying to will myself not to lose control—

  ...but, oh my God, her lips are parted. She’s looking at my manhood, aiming for it!

  The look on her face is one of craving, thirst, need. Absolute and uncontrollable, human DESIRE.

  My boxers are off. I don’t even know when she got them off me. And then—

  “Oh, fuck, Blaze.”

  —it’s just delicate warmth and heat as her mouth enwraps me, and her tongue licks me around once, then back—

  “Oh, fuck, Blaze.”

  —and I’m melting, losing strength in my legs as her lips slide and caress and taste and—

  “Oh. Fuck. Blaze.”

  —her tiny hand wraps itself against the bottom of my shaft and she pulls up while her lips drool and wash me in human fluid and—

  “Oh my mother-fucking—
oh—oh God. Blaze. I love you. I love— Oh, yeah, oh, yeah. Oh...”

  —I clasp her hair, weave my fingers into it and just feel how much I love her while her beautiful mouth licks and tastes and pulls and tugs and yanks and...

  My eyes roll back. I enter that world of bliss, that cloud nine of euphoric heat. The Moment Before. The Moment of Hanging On.

  And then: The Moment of No Return.

  I rock back, forth, back, forth, slowly, gently, into her, relishing the warmth, feeling the slide of wetness against my manhood, the softness, the sounds of her smacking lips around me. Oh, God!

  I force myself to hold back. When it’s too close I say, “Wait. Wait. Wait!” But she doesn’t wait, she continues. I pull back, and her mouth follows. I try get away, but her hands clutch at my ass and—!

  “Oh, my baby. Oh, my baby. Oh. My. Blaze. Baby. Oh— Oh— Oh—”

  It tickles, right at the bottom, teasing, almost shooting. Almost!

  And I will myself to hold on, just let myself rock back and forth, back and forth, into a steady rhythm while her tongue and lips and moisture do me. Feeling it. Feeling it building up. Oh yes. Feeling the back and forth, baby. Back and forth and your lips are soft heaven on milkshakes.

  My hands locked to her hair, her tongue massaging me, her fingers pressing against my butt—

  And then it’s there. A small chemical reaction, the lit fuse, the countdown...

  And the fuse hits the charge.

  The next few words are all said as guttural groans and growls. “OK, yeah, I’m coming now baby. Oh yeah. I’m—”

  I snatch my body back to remove myself from her but—

  She shakes her head and mumbles, “Uh-uhm!” She clutches my ass and brings me to her!

  And she keeps her delectable lips locked around me all the time.

  I’m in no position to argue. She has me, most literally...by the balls.

  I melt.

  My eyes loll back. I burst into her. Once. “Oh, God, yeah. Ohhhhh!” Twice, the seed thrusting from all the way back inside me. “Oh, f-u-u-u-u-u-c-k.” Thrice. “OH, D-A-M-M-M-N-N!”

  I lose all connection to the room, to the world. There’s nothing more, nothing else, only the woman I love, her loving lips around me, her warmth surrounding me, her tenderness caressing me, her beauty engulfing me.

  And me, at her utter mercy.

  I fire more times, just slowly, a trickle, each time exquisite in its sluggishness to escape me. Blaze licks me, all the way to the bottom, the top, my juice seeping erotically from the corner of her lips.

  I’m speechless, breathless, lost in her.

  With her hand, she pumps me, squeezing every last bit out of me. And then she separates herself from me.

  Her face is perfect.

  I grab my shirt and hold it to her. She cleans herself and I toss the shirt on the ground. I kneel down, get on my knees in front of her, her legs on either side of my torso, and then I bring her lips down to mine, and I kiss her. I put my tongue in her and I kiss her clean, lick her lips and the inside of her cheeks and let her know I love her.

  She wraps her arms around my neck, pulls me to her, and we kiss like that until my knees hurt from kneeling on them on the carpet. And then we kiss more. Each kiss tender, soft, caring, not as desperate or starved as earlier.

  Finally, she pulls back, slowly. Then she says, “Declan, baby. This isn’t over. I want you to make love to me tonight. I want us to make love like there’s no tomorrow. And then, tomorrow, I want us to do the same. I want us to—”

  “That was the plan, Blaze.”

  She nods tightly, so much sadness still in her eyes.

  I want to taste her again, her tang. Her opiatic musk. From where I am now, I smell the sex between us like invigorating poppers. It makes me high, makes me twitch.

  Makes me need.

  I will make love to her. Love.

  I will make love to Blaze all night, all day tomorrow, like there is no tomorrow. “For the rest of our lives,” I say to her.

  She’s momentarily stunned, then says, “Huh?”

  “I want us to make love like there’s no tomorrow for the rest of our lives.”

  She smiles, trembles slightly again at the chin. Her eyes water briefly. “That’s exactly I wanted to say.” She looks at her bare knees.

  I cup the back of her neck, pull her down to me. And just before I kiss her again, I say, “I know.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  POETIC

  -1-

  Blaze Ryleigh

  On this bed, in his room, him kneeling in front of me, his chilling eyes quivering and rocking and wanting me, I widen my legs slowly, ease myself back on the covers and, with my knees pointing at the sky, my center ready and tight and calling for him, I lie back, touch the cold sheets with my spine, look up at the ceiling. And I wait for him to enter me.

  I need you, Declan Cox. I need you more than air.

  He rises to his feet, stands ahead of me on the bed, his body perfectly symmetrical, right arm glowing with magnificent ink. His muscles tighten. He eyes me like a predator. Needing me as well, I realize. He clenches his fist once, twice. His manhood, spent from when I tasted him, faces straight, not hard, not soft, just slowly awakening.

  Thinking of when I had him under my lips, of how he’d throbbed and twitched just before the end, and especially about the salt of his life that fired into me and how my eyes had fluttered back from the virgin intimacy of the moment, makes me clamp up, tighten, and get very moist.

  As if hypnotized, I moan, low and needful, and my hand slides down my belly to my center, just touching it, touching the sweetspot, caressing it, wanting you, needing you, not being able to wait for you. I engorge, swell and throb with the need for more, endlessly more. Never stopping, not a moment wasted, not a breath.

  When I look up at him, his forceful hand is caressing himself, up and down, readying himself for me, to take me, to join me. His shaft gleams, the tip scintillates as it oozes forth a gentle shine of want and lust.

  I moan again. A breath escapes my chest as if I’ve been winded by a fist. I widen instinctively, feel that cool breeze against my sodden entrance, pulsing, thrumming with aching need. “Oh, baby, I can’t wait any more.” I writhe, my back actually twists left and right and my knees buckle inwards and outwards in murderous yearning. Every pore on my body begs for him, calls for him, screams and shouts like demented souls in a fiery death-hell, needing only him, only his life-breath, to quieten them, to ease them, to cool their minds and maniacal passions to complete and merciful silence—

  He thrusts.

  And he’s inside me.

  And I hadn’t even seen him coming.

  The demented pores and cells of my body...start doing the Hula.

  And now we’re dancing.

  -2-

  Every full drive, every thrust, every sweat-dripped push of his shaft into me expels my breath like a balloon being squeezed empty. Every shove, every nudge, forces my eyes closed and parts my lips.

  My breath escapes me lightly while Declan rides into me, his salty weight just above me, his rock-solid arms on the sides of my head, his elbows by my ears. His breath, oh his breath, hot and fiery, flutters against my cheeks in soft feather-like tickles of flurried snow. His orchestral groans whine and sing like droning cellos building up to that final crash, that blaring boom of exploding strings and horns and crazed, euphoric madness. The maestro, standing up front, flinging his arms left and right and up and down and sweating from the hair and brow, carried away, lifted, flying like a raptor, entranced by the music and the power, and the sheer, human lust of it all.

  Declan’s arms, his biceps, rocks of granite and marble, a vein on one, bulging, pumping. His forehead, red, needing, wailing, yearning for me. And down below...down below...a sizzle, a burn, grazing and rubbing as his massive fullness argues and maneuvers into my awakened and ever-tightened narrowness. Juice seeps from me and down my leg as his pulsing, throbbing, driving cock kisses me, sa
ys hello, touches my furthest insides, presses against my back wall and lifts me up so that there’s a half an inch between my ass and the sheets every time he’s inside me, all the way, pushing, needing, pressing.

  His hands reach my hair, his magical fingers, weaving through it, through its sweatiness, its moistness, its matted cling to my goosebumping head. And ever there, ever warming me even though I can’t see him because my eyes are closed and when they do open it’s only to notice the vague shape of his luscious lips and the golden glow of his perfect hair—ever there, are his breaths, his warm, spearminted breaths, like cotton, like a gentle hand on my cheek and lips. And, ever there, also, constant, irrevocable, unrelenting, inexorable, ever grinding and scraping and tightening me more and more with every thrust and drive and push and spear, rocking me, rolling me, riding me, is his powerful shaft. Tough and thick, hard and solid. Unyielding. Joining me, filling me, pressing and pulling me inwards and out, reminding me...that I’m here, Blaze. I’m here, and I want you, and this is my way of showing you...that I love you.

  My hands, weak and self-willed, float on clouds of dust, up to his hair, through it, around it. They find it, spread their fingers through it, clutch it, pull it, grab it tighter and harder whenever that cock, that manhood, that powerful and sturdy shaft, thrusts ever more into me down below, ever reminding me, never letting me forget...That I am here.

  My voice, whimpers and rough-throated gasps of pleasure, in rhythm to his movements, in rhythm to his bass and baritone growls of thunder, syncopated, in tune, in sync:

  Our mutual music.

  My hands find his sweaty traps, glistening with moisture, wet as if rained upon. Hard, flexed and flexing every time he moves, remorselessly, up, into me.

  My legs widen further, lift, welcome him, let him in. Sounds of moisture press from me and him and these join into the rhythm of our crying howls for each other. Animalistic roars. Eternal lovers, needing, yearning, always wanting, never forgetting.