Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  Her body was numb when he spoke, imbuing her core with a shivering heat wave. “I told myself that just one last kiss and an explanation would be enough. It’s all I thought about for years. I prepared myself for it. I lowered my expectations as low as they could go. Now I’m not even sure if it’s enough, but I know I need to feel...just something resembling the affection we had.”

  “You are different, you know. I don’t think—I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t...” She stopped to choose the right words, sensing his anticipation, “If you didn’t affect me the way you do.”

  “It’s beautiful to see,” he said, adding a sly smile. “You would melt. You still do, like it was yesterday. I used to tell people, my wife is lost, and I’m still trying to find her. That’s how I see things. I just want to be with the woman I was married to.”

  “Who you are married to,” she corrected.

  “And your last name,” he beamed, adding a sly grin.

  “Still Parker—as you’re well aware.”

  “Why didn’t you drop it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you haven’t felt this way since the last time we were together, have you?”

  He let go of her hand, and she felt the loss sorely. She was shivering. “If I... if you broke my heart, Cade, I don’t think I could survive. There’s too much—too much history, too much passion.”

  “Admit it, admit you want this. Admit it to yourself if nothing else. Give this—our marriage, the attention it deserves, and goddammit. You cut me off, no communication. Leaving things like that—I deserve a moment, don’t I?”

  She went quiet, her eyes wandering across the water, but he couldn’t allow that. He needed to rest a finger on her chin, and tilt her head, until she was staring directly at him, examining the lines and dark circles, each one a symbol of the years he faced, heartbroken and cut off.

  She searched his face, trying to find the young man that she knew. He was there, as passionate and determined as ever, and he was searching too, calling up old ghosts as he did. He was looking for his lost wife, who worshipped him and lived to see him come through the door. That woman—she loved Cade in a way that even a mother couldn’t love their child. His pain was her pain. Lori still felt that way. She didn’t want to hurt him.

  He saw her fretting; his eyes were on hers, watching her go through a tumult of contradicting thoughts, a full spectrum of feelings, from terror to explosive excitement; it only took a moment, a few seconds at most, but it felt the longest moment in her life. “I don’t want you to hurt like this,” she said.

  He nodded. “But you...”

  “And... and I need to...I need to be sure.” She lifted herself up onto the balls of her feet, and his head twisted to the side. His lips, plump and comforting, slipping into a familiar rhythm. The tip of his tongue poked through, tangled with her own, and drew back, sliding over her upper lip.

  She was lucky that he wrapped his arm behind her back to support her, because she did feel light, and not just from lack of breath. She was reeling from the pain—his pain, a deep, bitter wellspring, a rigid, furious energy, creasing his brow, creating dry river beds and tributaries, each one a river of a sadness, overflowing with grief. She reached up to run a finger along them, hoping to smooth out each one, take away the years, the broken-hearted desperation.

  She knew that feeling well, but she never felt it as much as that moment, when his face was a few inches away, and he was dipping lower to taste her lips and explore through her. She forgot why she raised her hand, just that she needed support.

  She clutched a thick bicep, and let her mouth open further with every thrust. She was drowning in the heat of their breath melding in the chill, his massive shoulders sheltering her thin frame, the hunger, deep in her gut, fueling her frantic need for more, closer, faster, stronger.

  His shadow, his thick arms and shoulders, the full force of his frame, all seemed to envelop her, reminding her that he was always so much more, stronger, more capable, solid. Without him, she was a fragile branch, ready to snap in two, or a single spark, ready to fall into the ocean.

  But he was fuel. He had more energy and power than ten men, more than enough to share. Just a taste of it, two teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, was enough to have her moving away, walking backwards as he advanced, one hand on her shoulder, his lips, spewing static and fire that ran down her neck and forearms, while his hand on her shoulder fell, spreading that energy, allowing it to move across her chest.

  Her back hit against glass, and he slid the door out from behind her. The open air had her falling backwards, but he was ready, resting his hand on the small of her back, so he could keep walking, keep pushing.

  His kiss had taken on a solemn rhythm. His breath slowed, and he focused on her lips, giving her just enough tongue, enough heat, to make her want more. She was struck, swimming in the sensation, until the shock of his teeth.

  They came in, two electrified demons, injecting raw into her bottom lip when he bit down. But even that, as jolting as it was, was just a taste. It wasn’t the full dance of titans she knew he was capable of conducting. It was ecstasy, this rhythm, his body, a bow flowing across a violin string.

  That’s what it felt like. She was tense, pulsing and there was a buzz, something growing, rising to a crescendo, only it wasn’t high pitched and steady. It was low and grinding with his lips, singing out with his fingers, already gliding back, pulling at the bow, holding her corset bodice in place.

  The anticipation caught her. It fell in like snow, melting against her chest. She knew that the door was still open, and that a breeze was swirling around their bodies, wild and seaborn. She couldn’t feel it now, but she would. When he pulled down her dress, she would.

  He was loosening it, and he was watching her. He had pulled his head back a ways, so he could take in the look on her face when he pulled away the mess of green frills, black lace, and beading, removing every meaningful barrier between them.

  She tried to focus her attention on the reflection of the fire, flowing across the floor, but he was too close. He took up her vision, and instead she ended up staring at that same firelight dancing on his cheeks, and his eyes, gray boulders rushing down a mountainside, chasing after her.

  There really was no avoiding them. They were like the water, surrounding her on all sides. They scared her, and she was afraid of drowning. Cade came in like a wave, swept her up, capsized her, and suddenly her heart was skipping at a frantic pace.

  She want to gasp, and her caught her lips. Something had pressed against the back of her leg. Now she was falling and he was falling with her. Her head rested against a cushion, and his head pulled away.

  She could breathe again, but she hardly realized it. He slid his hand down her leg as he stood. When he rested a hand on her thigh, he was standing over her, and she could see that he was clutching at his bulge, which looked like it was about to burst through the fly of his slacks.

  He was looking down at it, until he noticed her inspecting it. He unbuttoned his pants, leaving the fly intact, and dove forward. There were no magic fireworks, no lips thrashing. His kisses came like warm rain, one on each cheek and behind the jaw.

  His teeth had her rigid. He nipped at her neck, just below her chin. His aura of heat came crashing down, gripping her like a hand around the throat, or the limp hold she had, ready to slide down his spine.

  She knew these places, where here fingers were travelling. She’d discovered these mountains, laid her claim, and they lay abandoned—the curved cascade of his back muscles, the dwindling ridges that flowed down his side, until they were nothing but a smooth valley, leading to the curve of his solid, square hips, where she grabbed on and pushed herself up into it.

  His cock, pressing against his fly, dragged over her stomach, and a static blanket, tingling and hot, fell down her arms and chest. She took in a burst of air, cut short by a peck on the lips.

  When their heads parted, there was a fleeting second, whe
re she was focused on his shifting cock, moving across her belly, jumping in its confines, like a bull trying to break its way through cattle pen gates.

  He was bucking, grinding flint to steel—each collision, another spark drizzling down, piercing through the space between her legs. She tightened out of reflex, and a rigid tension flowed up her spine.

  She was petrified, caught in the grips of instinct. Once she felt him, there was no stopping herself no caution. All she could do was close her eyes, and let him grab ahold of each side of the bodice.

  The embroidery on the fabric scraped against her nipples beneath her bra, and she sucked in air. She wasn’t ready, but Cade was like the tide—infinite potential, capable of ultimate destruction. He could be calm or he could command the fury of the apocalypse.

  What little hesitation she had was gone when he drove his bulge deep, and it pressed between her lips, sending her writhing, legs retracting. He pulled his hips back and nibbled at the skin behind her neck, injecting a surge a sheer excitement that spread with the chill as he slipped the bodice lower, one hand reaching up her side.

  She knew what he was doing; he was trying to grab onto her panties while he edged closer to her bra strap. He’d distract her with kisses to make sure she didn’t notice, and make her feel safe, thinking that he was still focused on her dress—all the while striking his hips, and when she was finally ready to cum, he’d rear up, and let his cock flop out.

  With the way his lips moved, steady and clinging, she could sense that he was working up to it. His tongue peeked out where his lips landed. Spreading warmth across her skin. Her lips and shoulders tingled from his touch.

  He moved lower, his cock sliding down, resting beneath her panty line. His kisses moved with him, blessing her chest with a pair of steaming lips, now traversing the space above her breasts.

  Her collar, a midnight green, was dark against the glow hovering around the fireplace. He had it resting on the tips of her nipples, and the pressure against her skin brought on a tightening between her legs. It came with a jolt, and her eyes fell closed.

  Her mouth opened, her lip trembling against the subtle storm that was rolling across her chest, causing it to quake. The collar was being slid down slowly, and it was scraping against the sensitive skin.

  It was a reminder. She was doing this, really doing this. Like a junkie staring at her obsession, the thing she needed more than air and water. It was that feeling, like electricity dancing across her skin, barely grazing the surface, so that it tickled and shock, always rippling down, tickling her stomach as it made its way between her legs.

  There it became a heated core, melting and seething, like sweet, hot wax that burned inside her. It sprang to life and sparks erupted, sizzling against her stomach. He was looking at her, his head hovering over her breasts.

  He tugged at his crotch slowly, ushering a murmuring sigh. His eyes were dancing across her face, and his lips curled into a half smile. He wanted to be sure—first that she wanted it.

  He was, long before she entered his cabin. Now he was basking in that thought. He kissed the space between her breasts and tugged the bodice off. He had a finger curled around the seam of her panties and another unclasping her bra.

  When the cold poured in, and her chest was fully exposed, his breath came gliding across her nipple, sending her surging with anticipation. He dove his head low and sucked it up between his lips.

  She was being pulled into a churning, scraping inferno, and she wasn’t sure she could hold up to it. All he did was rest the tip of his tongue on her nipple and nibble at it. But that tiny gesture had set off a course of events.

  She reached down to pull at her skirt, and touch herself, anything to relieve that blast growing inside her. She couldn’t go through it. It was too wonderful, his body too perfect. his craft well honed. He knew her, where to touch her, how to move. It was so enthralling that she didn’t realized that her midsection and now the top of her hips were bare.

  He’d slid the dress down so low that she could see the place where thigh melt burning red lips. They were swollen, throbbing now with the rhythm of his teeth on her nipple—in and out, barely grazing the skin.

  It burned. It screamed. It transformed the melted core between her legs into a flare, fueled by his need to please her. Her fingers curled on her thigh in an effort not to drive his head into her breasts, and let that heat engulf her, but he was building a bigger fire. She was losing her mind. It was too overwhelming, too sweet. All she could do was ride it out.

  She was jolting with each smack of his lips, his teeth on her areola, his tongue swiping the nipple left and right. He was focused solely on her breasts now. His movements, still calculated with force and precision, took on a slower pace.

  When he stopped and pulled away it was abrupt, and she felt the loss of his touch sorely. A thought flashed through her head, just as he was beginning to grab onto each side of her skirt and panties and pushed them down past her knees.

  She shivered when he lifted himself up, pulling at the dress, with eyes sliding down her legs. When he was standing, he was holding it in one hand, gripping his cock with the other, and he was fully clothed.

  She was naked, completely bare, and he was looming, his cock ripping at the seams of his pants. It was thick, up and at an angle, and he was rubbing the shaft. She was terrified of how much she wanted him.

  She was laying back on the couch, bracing her self to sit up, grab at him, rip open his fly and let him take control—steady and gentle, the way he used to be, but firm, guiding her through the dance. Ecstasy would fall like rain, and a pine-infused breeze would dap at her face, fill her and satisfy her until her next opportunity to get a taste of him again.

  She was rediscovering the things she loved—the way he stood, thrusting his hips out, top lip curled in a wicked snarl, while he unbuttoned his shirt. The bulk of his chest pressed up against the fabric. It was the same with his arms. The muscles seemed to double in size as he moved.

  But he didn’t do it on purpose. There was no affectation, no game. He was transparent, straightforward—the same man he had always been, and he didn’t know how to be any other way.

  And he didn’t take the easy road. He was a thorough, hard worker, who couldn’t live with himself if he went against his values. It was contrary to his being. He stuck to his personal moral code. It was everything to him.

  For most people, maintaining that level of integrity would have been an impossible strain, requiring inhuman amounts of self-discipline. To him, it was nothing. He was just good. That, more than anything else, was why she couldn’t deny him when he started to unzip his fly.

  The dark cream color of the shaft had her ready to salivate. She could suck it right in—even though it was thick as pole; she’d twist her head and let him rest in the back of her throat. Or she could lay for hours exploring the foreskin, letting her tongue slide into the infinite folds, while she took her satisfaction from his movements, and the sound of his voice as he groaned and grunted, slowly and then slamming himself through, hammering her.

  Now that it was about to jump out (his pants were almost low enough), she was starting to get excited about the things that she could do, the places she could take him to—where they’d go together.

  He was just as eager. When his cock plopped out, it went straight to a standing position, pointed right at her. She couldn’t believe that she actually fit the thing in her mouth. She wasn’t sure she was capable of opening it that wide, but she would’ve found a way.

  She lunged for it, and he leaned forward, placing a hand on her chest to keep her from sitting up. He pulled his hips back when he did. He let his hand down fall down his stomach and grabbed the base of his dick.

  He rested it just above her opening, and she thrust upwards. He laid a hand on her side and used it to keep her from moving. She opened her mouth to chastise him for it and immediately, she couldn’t breathe.

  He was holding her lip between two canines, and his tongu
e was peeking through. When it broke past and overtook her, the head of his dick grazed her lips. It felt like he was dragging a molten barb, comprised of sheer passion, across her skin. She would’ve cried out had he not been exploring her palette, sweeping over the ridges with a delicate urgency.

  “Hmm,” he laughed, and she tried to tear at him with her free hand. She wanted to grab his hips and push him into it, but he was good. He stopped her and pinned her down with one hand, using the other to keep her from moving her hips.

  She wanted to run, push him off her and slap him in the face, but she wanted him to touch her a lot more. He had that thing hovering, less than an inch away. She could feel the heat coming off it, singeing her lips. Flecks of flaming spearmint and cinnamon, filling her with just enough heat to keep her on the edge of madness.

  That’s what he wanted. That’s why he was watching her face. He wanted her to need him, and he wanted her to remember what he could do. Most of all, though, he wanted to savor the moment when he kissed her, her head bent back, and his cock broke through.

  It was another kind of kiss. He wanted her to feel him, see him, know him. He was consistent in every single way, and his rhythm matched. He was a fire titan melting ice, diving into her, but there was none of chaotic randomness to his movements; there was a deliberate beat.

  Even when he sped up and his tongue pushed through, it was like music, four beats per measure—now five. He kept to that meter, and that’s what made it so intense. Everywhere he went, everywhere he moved, fire flowed with him, and he was dragging it along, using rough, broad thrusts to make sure that those flames cemented themselves inside her.

  It was more than just heat. It was a celestial aura, his eyes staring into her own—a pulsing rush of endorphins, flooding her body, her stomach, her chest, tickling at her eyelashes, while he worshipped her lips.

  With this act, he was giving life to his affections, showing her a taste of what it would mean to feel his love. It was there. He was bombarding her with it, flooding not just her temple, but her core—the place where their spirits met. That was the energy he commanded.