by Jordan Marie
Kayla isn't worrying about gentle either as her tongue fights mine for control. Domination. She'll need to learn that when it comes to this, I'm the one in control. I sweep my tongue through her mouth one last time before pulling away for air.
"You're an asshole," Kayla mumbles against my mouth, biting hard into my lips. The faint taste of copper enters my mouth and I know she's drawn blood—again. My dick was already close to exploding and that just made it worse. I gather the shirt she's wearing in my hand, forcing it to let go of her breast. Then I use my other hand at the collar and rip it down the middle. "I liked that shirt," she complains, but she's busy biting down the side of my neck. She's like a kitten with sharp claws, enjoying inflicting pain and leaving her mark. I wonder if she knows how much I fucking love that it's me she's marking?
"Too damn bad," I mutter, letting the shirt drop to the floor. I don't bother with her bra, just pushing it up and letting her breasts fall out of the bottom. I squeeze one hard as my head goes down. I run my tongue over the nipple which is crying for attention. It’s pebbled so hard, the tip looks painful. When I hear Kayla's moan, something fires through my system. A feeling of victory and purpose merges together. I was put on this Earth to bring this woman to her knees and yet make sure she flies high as possible. How did I not fucking see that before? I suck her breast in my mouth, tormenting the nipple mercilessly and making sure that when I'm done, my mark will be there. Fuck, I'm going to brand her. There won't be a part of her body I haven't made mine. When she looks in the mirror, I want her to see nothing but my ownership.
Her fingers tangle into my hair, pulling me to her. She brokenly whispers, "Please, White," and it’s like music to my ears. It seems like I've been chasing her forever. Crazy, but still it feels true. Today, that ends.
"You wear too many fucking clothes, Buttercup."
"I agree," she mutters, pushing my shirt up my stomach. I break away to help her drag it over my head. Once it’s off, I let it fall to the floor. My hands go to her hips, intent on nothing more than pushing her pants to the floor and having her naked. Kayla has other plans, though, as she dives to my chest, her nails digging into my flesh, her teeth holding my nipple prisoner as her tongue flicks it teasingly. She’s wild. She's not a kitten; she's a fucking wild tiger. Up until this moment, I thought she was shy. Now, I'm pretty sure she's just been scared. Get her out of her mind so she’s not worrying if she's doing things right, and she's every man's dream. My dream.
As good as this feels, I can't let it go on. I forcibly pull her hands away and pin them against the wall above her head. Kayla immediately pushes against my hold, twisting her entire body to try and break free.
"Behave," I bark.
"Let me go," she whines.
"Don't move your damn hands until I get you out of these clothes."
"Fine," she huffs. I immediately go to her hips, my fingers grabbing the waistband of her sweats.
"Holy Hell, Buttercup, you could fit three of you in these damn things."
She doesn't respond unless you count the grunt she lets out. She also doesn't mind me, because her hands have found their way to my jeans. The sound of my zipper echoes in my ears as I push her sweats down. They're so loose that they fall to the floor without stopping. I feel like a kid in a candy store when I realize she's not wearing underwear. I definitely hear a mental, "Yes," echoing in my head. That could be because around the same time, her hand wraps around my dick. She squeezes it so hard, my toes fucking curl against the hard leather of my shoes, which reminds me that I need to take them off. I'm not fucking my woman in my socks and shoes like some kid getting his rocks off for the first time. I kick them off quickly and somehow even manage to push my pants down and step out of everything. I stumble a few times and come close to falling, but manage to pull it together. All I need is to end up on the floor, tangled in my own clothes. I'm sure that would just impress Kayla immensely.
Thought processes stop when she strokes my cock. The hold is still so fucking tight I want to scream in pleasure. She strokes from the root all the way to the tip, and I stare at her face the entire time. She watches every second of it, alive with need and pleasure. Just that look on her face, with her hand on my cock, would be enough to make me come. I feel my balls harden with pressure and I feel the heat move down my spine. I know as sure as my next breath that this is the one woman who could completely unman me. But that's not the way this is going down. Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER 28
KAYLA
My head is spinning. How I got here, I don't know. I just know that now I don't want it to end. I slide my hand along White's cock. The skin so hot to my touch, I think it's burning me, only the burn is deep inside, marking me in ways you can't see. Slowly, I stroke him, watching each movement. I watch as each swollen vein disappears beneath my hand only to vibrate against it. It's beautiful, really. The male body, I mean. It's completely beautiful and designed flawlessly, but White's body is like nothing I have ever seen before. Anyone else pales in comparison, or at least it does for me. I love him. I always have, but the truth is, I love him more every minute I spend with him.
I'm so involved with stroking him that I lose myself in it, which is my undoing, because all at once I find myself with my hands once again pinned above my head. I cry out in protest, already missing the feel of him and the way he heated my hand. I drag my eyes to him and the blue color in his eyes stop my breath.
"You're a bad girl, Kayla. I told you to keep your hands here."
You're a bad girl, Kayla. Cue the ovaries standing up at attention and starting to hit boiling point. Has anyone ever called me bad? Hell, no. Then again, I've never wanted to be bad for anyone. In honesty, I don't think I've ever truly wanted anyone. It's always been White.
I push against his hold, halfheartedly attempting to get free, wanting to touch him again. I stop quickly though when White pushes his body against mine. Hot, soft, flesh, beautifully naked, and pressing against each other. I've never felt beautiful or particularly erotic. Right now, I feel like a goddess. I thrust my body into him, or at least try. His hold and the way he has me restrained against the wall makes it pretty much impossible.
"I need to touch you," I whisper. It's just a whisper, a breathless whisper, because I'm busy watching as his large hand descends against my body, his fingers stretching out so that they cover the entire valley between my breasts with the tips stroking against the plump curve of them. His hand is darker than my skin, his skin calloused against my smooth flesh. The differences are night and day and yet completely right.
"That can't happen because the minute you touch me, this is going to be over," he groans. The side of his face is brushing against mine, his words deep and resonating, sending electric shocks up my spine. "You don't get to touch me, honey. Not until I show you exactly who is in charge of your body."
I should be annoyed, but instead, I have the strangest urge to beg him to show me. To keep from begging, I bite my lip and watch as the palm of his hand slides further down my stomach. For a second, I want to worry about the excess fat I have—apologize for not being tone and fit. Then, his hand's moving even lower, cupping against my heated center and squeezing, and any thought of not being good enough passes. I'm so wet. I can feel the evidence of my desire leaking against his hand. I squirm, needing more of the pressure he's giving me—just wishing he’d squeeze my pussy in a little different position. He doesn't let me move his hand, though. His hold only tightens, causing a sting of pain to vibrate through me at every angle.
"You'll get what I want to give you," he warns me, and then he twists his hand on my pussy, tightening it so my clit pops out front and center. I can feel cool air from the room tease it. More evidence of his effect on me pools and then slides down my inner thighs. I'm almost embarrassed, especially when I hear his groaning exclamation, "You're so fucking soaked for me, Kayla. I bet you'll take my cock in one long… slow… thrust. All the way in.” His voice is a quiet rumble, his breath hot agai
nst my ear and neck—so hot, I think it burns me.
"White," I whisper. It's one word, but it's full of need. Maybe White hears it because his fingers push, raking against the soaked valley of my pussy, and then he’s inside. I feel him stretching my opening and my head slams back against the wall. Finally. I thought I was going to go insane before he gave me what I wanted. His fingers thrust in, then pull apart deep inside of me. He pushes the pads of his fingers against my walls. My body shudders in reaction as I try to give him what we both want.
"Fuck, honey. I want to take my time," he mumbles, and my eyes are closed. I'm too far gone now, so close to the edge that I can taste it. "But… I can't. Fuck me. I’m sorry, Kayla, I can't go slow," he confesses, and he sounds frustrated with himself. I force my eyes to open when I feel his fingers leave my body. His eyes trap mine as surely as his hand has me trapped against this wall.
"Please," I whisper, needing his fingers back inside of me, needing him anyway I can get him at this point.
"I'll make up for this later," he says, and I haven't been able to pull my eyes away from his, so it takes me completely by surprise when I feel the head of his cock push against me. The tip slides in and my body latches on, trying to bring him inside further, clinging to him as if he was life itself. Right now, I think he might be. "I have to get inside of you, I can’t wait any longer," he growls. That's the only warning I get before his cock rams inside of me, robbing me of air. White pushes in until he's so deeply seated inside me that I feel like my body is going to fly apart. He gives me a second to get adjusted, which is good. If he hadn't, I'm not sure I would survive. As it is, I'm having trouble getting my lungs to work.
His hands move from my arms to my hips, his fingers rough despite being slick with my cream. They bite relentlessly into the fleshy cheeks of my ass. I don't know how he does it, but he seems to push his cock deeper until he bottoms out, hitting my cervix, thrusting into me and hammering so deep that I'm positive he's touching parts I never knew existed.
"Oh, fuck," I breathe with his first long, slow stroke. "Oh, fuck," I say again, a little louder, with his second. "Oh, fuck me!" I cry so loud I could probably wake the dead as he slams into me again, this time pulling my leg up on his hip.
I think I hear him laughing, I can't be sure. There's too much noise in my head and it's all from the blood rushing through my veins. I'm starting to see spots, my body feels like it’s floating. I'm going to come and I'm going to come so hard, it may kill me. "White! I'm coming!" I cry out. I have no idea if it's loud or a whisper. I'm lost. I'm lost in him. Over and over he pounds into me, taking me from one plateau to the next in ways I've never known.
An orgasm rakes through me with the force of a hurricane. My nails scratch down his back as I do my best to hold on and ride it out. Another hits and leaves me nearly limp as I feel White gather my body up and pull me into him. I anchor my legs around his hips as he fucks me. It's a struggle to remain conscious at this point. I experience a moment of complete euphoria, though, as I feel the heat of his climax jet into me. I clench my pussy even tighter against his cock, not wanting one drop of his cum to leave me.
Ever.
CHAPTER 29
KAYLA
White literally has to carry me into the bedroom. It's not late, but I haven't really slept since I was fired, and with what we just did… I don't have any energy. I want to sleep. And sleep for a long time.
We get to the bedroom and he moves me off his body. I whimper a little as he pulls out of me because even though he's only semi-hard now, he's still hard enough that he felt divine inside of me. He places me on the bed against the rumpled sheets. They feel cool to my warm back and I stretch against them, feeling completely sated in ways I never have before. I know when we get up, I'm going to be deliciously sore everywhere. White bends down and kisses my forehead. I want to protest. I don't want him to leave me, but it's a struggle to make my body obey commands and find my voice to object. Instead, I burrow against my pillow. I wish he had at least pulled the cover up around me, but I'm too tired to ask for that, let alone do it myself.
In a few minutes, I hear him come back into the room. I guess he must have changed his mind. I feel his hands around my legs and whimper. Dear Lord in Heaven, he couldn’t be ready to go again already.
"I can't," I whimper and moan, because as good as he is, there's no way I could survive another round. Although, as I feel him kissing the top of my pussy, just a soft brush of his lips, I think dying doesn't sound that bad. It'd be a great way to go.
"Don't worry, Buttercup," he says, pulling away from me. "You dead-frogged me."
Dead-frogged? What the hell is that? More importantly, does it mean I did something wrong? That gives me energy like nothing else could to open my eyes and watch him. He's sitting on the backs of his legs, bent between mine, and he has a cloth in his hand. I gasp when I feel a lukewarm cloth, which definitely feels cool to my well-used female parts, brush against me. He's cleaning me? Do men do this? I mean, no one ever has for me, but I didn't realize this was something any of them ever did. I can't take my eyes off of White, however, as he's bent down slowly sliding the cloth against my pussy and cleaning up the excess from our lovemaking.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, because he seems so serious, and solemn as he washes me.
"Taking care of what's mine," he says and then brushes another kiss, this one against the lips of my pussy. It’s a fleeting touch of his tongue against my clit, and my body quakes. My hand goes to sift through his dirty-blonde hair. As tired as I am, my greedy body wants more, and I'm tempted to hold him to me. I resist—barely.
"That does feel good," I whisper, emotion thick in my throat as White manages to make me feel cherished with just this simple act that really could—and probably should—have been embarrassing.
"Mmm," he whispers. "Soon. I have to rest. You dead-frogged me," he says again, reminding me of what I wanted to ask.
"Dead-frogged? What is that? Should I worry?"
White laughs, moving so he's lying beside me on the bed. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him, and I go willingly, letting his body warm mine. I breathe a sigh of appreciation as he pulls the sheet over us.
"You ever see a frog lying on the highway that's been run over?"
"Your sweet after-sex talk is off the charts, White Hall. Be still my heart, even."
"Hey, you asked."
"Okay, so it's gross and I'm sorry I asked, but yes I have."
"They're kind of splat against the pavement, flat as a pancake. That's what you've done to my poor dick."
I snort in laughter because that's grossly amusing. Then I look down at his dick, which is definitely not flat. It's more like waving in the air demanding attention.
"Odd, your dick doesn't look flat."
"He doesn't?” White looks down at his cock like he's really surprised.
"No. He's more like waving in the air saying… Me… me… me!"
"Hmm… Maybe we should test your theory out?"
"I would love to, but I didn't sleep last night and I am most assuredly dead-frogged myself."
"Then get some rest, honey. We'll go for round two when you wake up," he whispers in my ear, kissing the side of my head as I curl into him. I think I moan my approval. I can't be sure. Sleep is close to claiming me and the heat of his body is only helping.
"I really am sorry about the shit you've gone through. I've already called my manager. He'll get this crap under control by morning, you'll see. And then we'll see about getting your job back," he says, and that peaceful, sleepy feeling I had is gone. For a little bit, I had forgotten the ugliness of the past couple of days. Still, after what White and I shared, I wouldn't change much of it—if any.
"Don't worry about it, White. I told you, I already have a job. It's fine," I whisper, kissing his chest. I want to reassure him. Apparently my words do anything but because he pulls away from me.
"No. No you don't, Kayla."
"What? Of c
ourse I do, I already told you—"
"You are not working for Blue."
"What? Are you losing it? I told you I'll be teaching Allen, for Green."
"You are not going on the road with my brother. No."
"Do you know how asinine you're being?"
"You expect me to let you work for my brother? The very one you used to be in love with—?"
"It was a childhood crush!"
"If you say so. Regardless, he was also on your list of potential baby-daddies—"
"White—"
"A list I somehow didn't get put on," he growls.
"You were! You were just marked out and now you're being insane. Just because I put his and Blue's name down on a list, it doesn't mean anything."
"While we're on the subject, you need to stay away from Blue, too. In fact, I think it might be best you just stay away from my brothers in general. They think entirely too much with their dicks and not their brains."
"As opposed to you," I sigh.
"Exactly."
"I'm not staying away from the family indefinitely just because you apparently have issues."
"Not indefinitely. Just until I get time to talk to them, man-to-man."
I sigh. There's no arguing with him and my good mood is gone. So instead I just stay silent. White apparently takes my silence as agreement because in no time he's curled into me.
"Goodnight, White," I whisper after he's been silent for a little while.
"We'll just take a quick rest, honey," White mumbles, kissing my shoulder.
It takes thirty minutes before his breathing evens out. It takes another ten minutes to get myself untangled from him, an additional five minutes to make my legs work because apparently dead-frogged is an actual thing, and twenty more minutes to move slowly through the room and quietly pack my suitcase. Luckily, my closet is in the bathroom, so I have less risk of waking him up. Finally, it takes five more minutes to calm my nerves and walk out into my hall, suitcase tightly gripped in my hand.
