The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  While Savannah was, in the beginning, a means to an end, Tatum is everything I shouldn't want, but can't live without. I coveted her while I was still married to my ailing wife. I watched her from a far every chance I got. Tatum is the epitome of the woman of my dreams, and even though my attention should have been centered on Savannah, I couldn't get the image of Tatum out of my head.

  The funny thing is, Savannah knew it. My wife knew I was head over heels for Tatum, and she did nothing to dissuade my attraction to her. If anything, she encouraged it.

  One particular conversation I had with Savannah infiltrates my memories as I stare longingly at the woman who owns my soul. I was sitting in an armchair I'd placed beside Savannah's bed reading some bullshit tabloid rag she liked when my wife looked at me and whispered, “She cares about you too, you know.”

  At the time, I had no idea who she was talking about, so I asked, “Who?”

  “Tatum. She thinks I don't notice her watching you, but I do. Every time you walk into the room, her eyes don't leave you for a second.”

  “Babe,” I mutter.

  “No, it's okay, Lucifer. I'm not mad,” Savannah smiles weakly, patting my hand. “You and I were never meant to be together. It was just dumb luck that I owed Satan's Sons money, and you needed leverage against Devil's Spawn. Bad timing threw us together, and while we made the best of it, we weren't and never have been a love match.”

  I can't argue that, but I also don't want Savannah thinking I don't love her because I do. I might not be 'in love' with my wife, but I care about her deeply. How could I not? We've spent twelve years together, eleven and a half of them married; it's impossible not to come to care about someone when you've been together that long.

  “Lucifer,” she prompts.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  Her health is getting worse by the day. Savannah's kidneys are failing her, and there's not a damn thing either of us can do about it. Her previously flawless skin is pale and gray. Her eyes dull and lacking the spark I came to enjoy when we fought. Not to mention, Savannah's body is a husk of what it used to be. Her voluptuous curves are long gone, and in their place is nothing but skin and bones.

  Squeezing my hand with what little strength she has, Savannah tells me, “When I'm gone, I want you to be happy. I want you to forget about who her dad is, the age difference between you, and any of the other reasons you've convinced yourself you wouldn't be good together. Tatum is special. She's not like the other girls who throw themselves at you. I may be wrong, it may not work out, but you owe it to the both of you to try.”

  I forgot about that conversation for months after Savannah died, putting it to the back of my mind while I grieved for a woman that deserved a better life than she got. But when the dust settled, and I had time to breathe, it all came flooding back to me. Every word. Every heartfelt plea. So I did what my wife would have wanted, and sought out the woman I already knew was my destiny.

  Now, breathing in her sweet honeysuckle scent, tracing the curves of her body that were always meant to be mine, my heart stutters to a halt at the realization that Tatum might want out. I can't let that happen. I won't. I've lost so much in my lifetime, all of it survivable, but not her. I can't even bear to think of living without Tatum, let alone her not being my wife.

  “What can I do?” My voice comes out as a ragged plea. “What can I do to prove to you I want what you want?”

  “I don't know, Marcus,” she admits sadly.

  Taking a chance, one that might make things better or worse, I grip her wrist, remove the beer bottle from her hand and tug her into my arms.

  “Then let me give you something to think about,” I say before covering her mouth with mine.

  Chapter Seven

  Tatum

  Lucifer's toe curling kiss does nothing to erase the million and one questions I have about where we go from here, but it's a damn good distraction. As is him picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist as he strides in the direction of his bedroom. I want to tell him to wait, to stop so we can talk this out, but at the same time, I know I won't. We both need this, each other. We need to remember why we're fighting to make something that probably shouldn't work succeed.

  My back hits the mattress, but Lucifer doesn't join me. Instead, he looks down at me with an expression of pure hunger and desperation on his handsome face.

  “If you like what you're wearing, I recommend you strip,” he growls.

  The simple white tank and jeans I threw on when he showed up at my door earlier aren't favorites of mine, but they are comfortable, so I do as he says. Sitting up, I pull my shirt over my head and unsnap my bra, sliding it down my arms. My jeans and panties go next. Shuffling to kick them free, Lucifer's hand clamps down on my ankle helping my jeans the rest of the way off.

  “I need to taste you. I want your sweet pussy coming on my tongue,” he grunts, positioning himself between my thighs.

  Lucifer doesn't waste a second before burying his head in the apex of my thighs, his wicked tongue tracing the length of my slit. My back bows off the bed as a low moan escapes my life when he sucks my clit into his mouth. My hand's fist in his hair, forcing his mouth to take more of me. His deep groans and grunts of appreciation spur me on as I lift myself up and offer my pussy to him.

  I grind against his mouth wildly, silently begging him to give me what I need. What only he can provide. Fortunately, within seconds, two of Lucifer's thick fingers enter me, plunging into my slick sex with no resistance. The wet sounds of my sex and the smell of my arousal fill the room, earning a deep growl of pleasure from the highly talented man licking me like it's his job.

  I'm so close to coming, so close to falling over the sharp edge of pleasure, and Lucifer knows it. “Please, baby,” I whimper. “Please give it to me.”

  Lucifer's smile of satisfaction as he lifts his head from my pussy is triumphant. So much so, that if I weren't desperate for what only he can give me, I would probably smack it right off his smug face.

  “You want me to keep working you with my fingers, or do you want my cock?” He asks, thrusting a third finger inside me.

  “Your cock,” I pant.

  With one last swipe of his tongue, Lucifer bites down on my clit hard enough to draw a small gasp of pain from me, but not hard enough to send me over the edge. His heated breath washes over my sensitive skin, his stubble rasping against my clit as he raises his head to look at me again.

  “Beg for it,” he commands, slowly slipping his fingers from my dripping core. “I want you to beg for my cock, Tatum. I want you to tell me how much you need it; how desperate you are for it.”

  Bastard! Dirty, rotten orgasm denying bastard.

  Lucifer is well aware that at this point I'm incapable of not doing what he asks. My body is strung tight needing release, and he's keeping it from me. I am so going to kick his ass for this later.

  “Please, please, please give me your cock. I want it, Marcus. I fucking need it,” I plead as I thrash my head back and forth on the pillow.

  Rotating my hips, I try and push myself closer to his sinful mouth, but Lucifer isn't having any of it. I should have known; the man is stubborn when it comes to getting what he wants. “Stop,” his throaty demand sounds. “You get what I give you, you don't take it.”

  His hands work themselves underneath me to grip both of my ass cheeks as his tongue laps at my wetness. “Where do you want my cock, baby?” He asks, coming to rest on his knees as he strokes the long, thick length of his enormous erection.

  I'll admit, the first time I saw Lucifer's cock, I was slightly terrified. Not only is it huge, almost as thick as my wrist and, at least, eleven inches long, but the piercing made it even more daunting. The Ampallang piercing - I found out it was called later - is a large bar that goes directly through the head, capped on either end with a stainless steel ball. I asked him what possessed him to do it, and Lucifer's response was that he lost a bet. I'm not sure what kind of
bet causes you to be on the receiving end of a twenty-gauge needle through the head of your dick, nor do I want to. That said, after the first time Lucifer made love to me, I wasn’t complaining either.

  Biting the inside of my thigh, Lucifer repeats, “Where, Tatum?”

  Usually, his bossiness is a turn-off, but seeing his face wet with my juices, my core clenching at the sight of his disheveled hair and broad grin, I can't help but shiver at the intensity in it. “My pussy. God, in my pussy, Marcus. Now,” I moan as he licks at the bite mark he gave me.

  That must be all he needs to hear because before the last word is out, I'm dragged to the center of the mattress as he thrust his entire massive length inside me.

  “Oh, God,” I scream the moment he's fully seated.

  I feel stretched to the brink of pain. My oversensitive tissues trying desperately to compensate for his size. But with the sting of pain comes incredible pleasure. Pleasure so great that it brings tears to my eyes. The weight of Lucifer's body covering me, the power of his hips as he pistons inside of me, and the expression of love and awe on his face is too much.

  Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them, which in turn cause Lucifer to release a groan that sounds more like a pained animal than man. “Baby, you're killing me here.” Lucifer gentles his strokes, rocking into me with infinite softness. “Tell me I didn't hurt you. Tell me these aren't because of something I did.”

  And therein lies the problem; I can't tell him the latter. So I say, “You didn't hurt me. I promise.”

  Dropping down to align our bodies, Lucifer's hot flesh hits mine from collarbone to pelvis. My breasts rasp roughly against his coarse chest hair. His muscles flex with every thrust of his hips. I lick a path up his neck, stopping at his ear lobe and sucking it into my mouth. I gasp as he shoves into me hard, but I don't release my hold on his ear.

  “Dig your heels into my ass, baby, and work my back with your nails. You know how much I love it when you mark me,” he grunts. Following his instructions, I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on for dear life. My fingernails rake over the smooth skin of Lucifer's shoulders before running them down the length of his spine.

  Lucifer's eyes darken as he looks down at my breasts glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. His head drops, drawing circles around a nipple before pulling it into his mouth, sucking hard. He nips, flicks, and all around tortures my breasts, alternating between them as if he can't decide which he prefers. “Flick your clit, Tatum. I'm kinda busy here,” he eventually rumbles into the valley of my breasts.

  My thighs clench around his waist and my chest heaves, struggling for breath at his demands. My pussy gushes as he begins powering into me even harder than before. It takes work, and a few much-needed stops to caress the ridges of his abs along the way, but finally my fingers work between us and zero in on their target. I stroke, circle, and flick my distended clit, arching my back as shards of pleasure race down my spine.

  Lucifer releases my poor abused nipple with a wet pop, grinning at me wickedly as he rotates his hips, hitting my G-spot over and over again.

  “Lucifer,” I shriek, as my core spasms around his impressive length.

  I whimper; he groans. My breath stills; his comes out in short pants. My eyes roll back in my head; Lucifer's turn hooded as he stares between us at where we're so intimately connected. Our bodies move in perfect sync as he drives me higher and higher, my legs shaking with exertion as I try desperately to hold on.

  “What do you need to take you there, baby?” He groans withdrawing his cock from my pussy almost entirely.

  “You. Harder,” I mewl, rising up to meet his strokes. Moving onto his knees, Lucifer pulls me up onto his lap without disconnecting us and shuffles us backward until my back is against the headboard. “Jesus,” my voice comes out in a sharp hiss as Lucifer's cock enters me almost brutally.

  From this angle, I can feel all of him. Every ridge, every inch, and the hot steel of his piercing as it drags deliciously over my swollen inner walls. One of Lucifer's hands comes up and smacks heavily onto the wall beside my head. “Fuck, Tate. You feel so fucking good, baby. Nothing better. Never better.”

  He's not wrong. The short list of partners I had in the past is no competition when it comes to the man currently buried inside me. All three of the men I had slept with before Lucifer were wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am kind of guys, only seeking their own pleasure from my body and inevitable release. None of them took the time to learn what makes my quiver, what makes me so desperate with desire I would do anything to achieve the rush of orgasm. But Lucifer did. Painstakingly so.

  “Harder,” I whisper huskily into his throat.

  With one hand on the wall, his other goes to my hip, and he gives me what I want - what I crave. The speed and strength of his thrusts are almost overwhelming. My body clamps down on his, bathing us both with my juices. The veins in Lucifer's neck throb, as he clenches his jaw, fighting the onslaught of his own climax. God, he feels good, I muse, wrapping my arms around his neck and digging my nails into his shoulders.

  Lucifer slams me down onto his cock, not once, not twice, but three times before I can't hold back anymore, and come on a scream. He isn't far behind me, as he releases my hip and tangles his hands in my hair. Tugging roughly, Lucifer's mouth crashes to mine as his orgasm takes over. His rhythm is lost to the blinding pleasure of climax, at the same time, he throws his head back and roars my name.

  “Fuck, Tate. Fuck.”

  His cock spasms and jerks inside me; his come filling me to capacity as he continues to thrust gently, coaxing the last of my orgasm from my body. We're covered in sweat, sticky, and sated, but tell that to Lucifer's cock as it stirs, lengthening all over again. My head rolls limply on my neck, coming to rest on his shoulder as I fight to catch my breath. I don't know how long we stay like that, me cradled in Lucifer's arms, him stroking my back and murmuring unintelligible things in my ear, but if you ask me, it isn't long enough.

  I love these times with him. The quiet moments we can just be together without the rest of the world and our problems intruding. But before long, Lucifer has to go and ruin it, doesn't he?

  “If that didn't knock you up, then fucking hell, I'm going to have fun trying.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lucifer

  “Motherfucker,” I snarl before crushing my mouth to Tatum's almost savagely. It's been too long since I've had her, so if she expected the first time to be a one-time deal, she's sorely mistaken.

  As our lips move together with urgency and our tongues collide, my hands grasp at the flesh of her thighs, flipping us over so that she's straddling me. This kiss isn't gentle, it's brutal in its intensity. Tatum consumes me with her kiss, telling me everything I need to know. My words before hurt her somehow. The knowledge that I want her pregnant with our baby has caused her pain. Why I don't know. But you can bet your ass I'm going to find out when I'm done working her over again.

  I groan my distaste when she pulls her mouth from mine, straightening her back until she's sitting upright, impaled on my cock. “Tell me something,” Tatum coos in a voice that is so filled with sarcasm it would scare a lesser man. “Why change your mind now?” She asks, swivelling her hips sensually.

  Lifting my hands to her hips, I still movements and look deep into her heavy-lidded eyes. “Because I love you, and because I want a reminder of how much walking around throwing sass just like her mother.”

  The shock of my words registers a second later as Tatum jerks backward, my cock angling deeper into her tight, hot cunt. Her eyes widen a fraction so that I can see the heat in them as she begins to move up and down on my shaft. “Who says it would be a girl? And who says I’m interested in reproducing with you? We just spent more than a week fighting, Marcus; I highly doubt that’s a sign we’ll do a good job parenting a child together.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss as Tatum's fingers begin to scrape over my chest and down my stomach, making me lose my train of t
hought. My abs tighten in anticipation for what's to come, but I’m not ready to give up on this topic yet.

  “What you meant to say is that you spent more than a week ignoring my ass, and then to get you to talk to me, I had to kidnap you,” I groan, loving the way her tits bounce every time she raises up and then slides down my dick. I swear the erotic way she’s stroking my cock has me seeing angels singing.

  “Hmm,” she hums in the back of her throat. “Still, I think you should convince me even considering having a baby with you is a good idea.”

  My. Fucking. Pleasure.

  In answer, I raise my hand to cup one of her spectacular tits. Tatum moans as I twist her nipple sharply between my thumb and forefinger, arching her back with the sliver of pain I deliver with her pleasure.

  “You know you want this with me,” I say with a smirk as her back bows and she cries out my name.

  “And why is that?” She eventually enquires, locking eyes with me again.

  “Because,” I groan, watching as the tight pink tip of her nipple hardens, pointing directly at my mouth. “The thought of you knocked up with my kid, preferably a little girl that looks just like her mom is what you’ve always wanted.”

  Tatum drops her body back to mine and captures my lips, tangling our tongues move together. She tastes like sex and sin, and all things fucking beautiful in this world. Her breathy moans as I move us so that I'm sitting up this time increase as I hit that sweet spot inside her that doesn't fail to make her go wild with need.

  With a wicked twist of her hips, Tatum whimpers, then whispers, “Who says I don’t want a little boy who looks just like his daddy?”

  My immediate response is, “Then I’ll give you a boy. I don’t give a fuck if it’s a boy or girl, sweetheart. As long as it’s healthy, I’m a happy man.”

  Passion doesn't begin to cover the way this feels. The wet glide of her pussy along my cock, the sensuous slide of her body up mine as she struggles to take me inside. My desire for her becomes impossible to deny when her inner muscles clamp down on my cock, demanding my submission. She won't be getting it; I don't submit to anyone but fuck if I don't like her trying.