Head On (Strength And Love)

by S. R. Jones

  “No, you don’t move. Stay.” His other arm comes around my waist and holds me still.

  I open my eyes and he’s watching my face with such hunger it makes me want to hide from him, but I can’t. There’s nothing I can do but stand here, trapped in his arms as he plays my body like I’m merely a puppet to his puppet master.

  He keeps on pressing his finger against that spot, and then he’s added another, and the stretch is nice, but not as nice as the sensation of those two thick pads pushing against me. I start to pant in his arms, and I can’t look away from him, trapped in the tractor beam of his gaze.

  I’ve never experienced anything close to the intensity of this moment. The sensations inside me are building. I can’t tell if I am going to come or pee myself, and I don’t know what the hell to do. And then I don’t have a choice because it’s washing over me in huge waves. The most all-consuming pleasure wracks my body, and I’m dimly aware that I’m so wet it’s slicking my thighs.

  Holy hell. I shake in his arms as I come down, and I’m suddenly terrified.

  What have I done?

  This isn’t something I can easily walk away from. I want more of this. More of him. And the idea scares me to death.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ethan

  She’s gorgeous. I want to preserve this moment forever. Even as I’m dying to crawl inside her, I never want this to end. She’s fallen apart in my arms. I’m not big headed. I can make women come. It’s what I’m paid to do. But I don’t think I’ve got some magic cock or something. Some women can only come from their clit being touched, others like deeper g-spot stimulation, so I tried it with Isla, and wow, did she come for me. So beautifully and completely that I want to make it happen over and over again.

  I need to fuck her, before I explode. And she’s wet enough and turned on enough that I hope it won’t hurt too badly.

  I pull my t-shirt off, push down my sweatpants, and then lift her onto the bed. I want her on her back. Missionary is a good position for her first time. We can try others later. Wait. Where the fuck did that come from? I need to remember this is a one-time thing. But I already want more.

  She lets me manoeuvre her until she’s laid back, her head propped up on the pillows. I fumble around in the bedside drawer until I find the condoms, and pull out a shiny foil wrapper. Ripping into it, I grab my cock to roll it down and hiss. I’m that fucking sensitive. I’m already leaking at the head, and I swear to God, I could come just looking at her all sprawled out for me.

  Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and her lips red and shiny. Her pussy is already swollen and her thighs are slick with her come. I want to add my own to it. I want to come inside her and watch it drip out of her. But I can’t. I’m clean, but I doubt she’s on the pill, and I doubt she’d want me in her bare, with what I do for a living.

  I never fuck without condoms. Ever. That and no kissing are my two rules. With her though, I want to be in her with nothing between us. Want it so bad it hurts.

  Taking hold of her leg, I push her thighs farther apart. I need to go slow yet all I want to do is ram into her. I hesitate at her entrance and look at her.

  “You sure?”

  She nods and smiles, and hitches her hips, and I take the invite. I push in, gentle and careful. And oh, sweet Lord, she’s wet and tight and it’s like heaven. My dick immediately decides this is his new favourite place and he never wants to leave.

  She hitches her hips again and takes some more of me inside. I keep pushing in a little, withdrawing and then pushing in some more. So far, she doesn’t seem to find it that painful. When I’m almost all the way in, I see a flash of pain cross her features.

  She bites on her lip and I still for a moment, letting her get used to me. When she breathes out, I take that moment to push all the way in. Her eyes widen and her breath comes out in little gasps. I stay still and let her adjust, and then I begin to move.

  At first, she doesn’t react much. I wipe a sticky strand of hair from her forehead. “You okay?”

  She nods and then gives a small moan as I thrust into her a little deeper. I circle my hips and press right against her, knowing it will push on her clit and she moans again.

  I keep fucking her, loving her reactions as she gets all turned on again. She’s super responsive. And I’m responsive to her. It’s as if, physically at least, we were made for each other. As I thrust into her harder, those big tits of hers bounce and I want to fuck them bad. Want to come all over them.

  She wraps her arms around me and pulls me into her, until we’re pressed together. I take her mouth in mine and kiss her hard as our bodies start to slam together. She’s pressing her cunt right up against me now, and she’s wet. She’s making little moaning cries that I’m swallowing like the greedy fucker I am.

  I’m going to come, but I want her to go over the edge first. She’s already come twice, and I want her to do so again. I said I’d ruin her, and I want to. I want to ruin her for every other man after me.

  We might not be able to be anything more than tonight, or maybe a few nights, because I have to do this again. But I’m selfish enough to want to be the one she’ll always remember. Not only her first, but her best.

  “Come on, beautiful. Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my cock. I want you to come so hard you milk every last drop out of me.”

  She digs her short nails into my back, and they don’t cut me. It’s glorious to feel her so into this, so into me. She’s matching my every thrust now, moaning and gasping, and I pull back to look at her and see the exact moment she tips over the edge. She’s fucking perfection, and I lose it.

  I come hard enough to see stars, and I wish I could pour it all into her instead of the condom.

  When it finally ends, I roll off her and tie up the condom before dropping it into the trash can beside my bed.

  I climb back onto the bed, and as I come down from my high I start to panic. I pull her into my arms and onto my chest, because I cannot look at her right now. She’s changed me. One fuck. One moment. And I’m different.

  She’s torn a huge hole in the wall I’ve been carefully building and it scares me to death. She gave herself to me tonight like no one ever has, and I want more of it, more of her.

  “Wow. What was that? Is it always that way?” She’s shaky, unsure. I think she’s as scared as I am by what’s happened.

  “No. But if two people hit it off it can be.” Bullshit. I’ve hit it off with plenty of women before and never experienced anything like this.

  “Wow. I mean, I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I suppose.” She’s silent for a moment then begins to speak again. “I mean, I have great orgasms with my vibrator, and my g-spot stimulator, but never like that.”

  I turn to her and tilt her chin up. “You use a g-spot stimulator?”

  She does that gorgeous blushing thing she does, and nods. “I use it sometimes, and watch porn.”

  Oh fuck. I’ve got to have her again. I’m already hard at her words. “What porn do you watch?”

  “Stuff on Tumblr. I like the more sensual stuff, nothing too hardcore or nasty toward women. Although, I do like to read about erm…it doesn’t matter.”

  Yes, it does. “What do you like to read about, Isla?” My voice is dark and dangerous because fuck me, I need to know what she likes to read about, and then I’m going to do it to her.

  “I like to read about women being spanked.”

  “Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

  *****

  I wake up and the early morning light is streaming in through the window. Isla lays with her head on my chest and she’s snoring softly, which I find endearing as hell. I feel different. Light, somehow.

  Not wanting to wake her, but needing a piss, I move her off me carefully, and head to the bathroom. Ablutions taken care of, I decide I need food next. My stomach rumbles at the thought.

  I stop by the guest room to see Sadie curled up in the middle of the bed,
the sheets all rucked up under her. “Come on, you.” I click my fingers and she jumps down and follows me out of the room and down the stairs.

  Once in the kitchen, I put some coffee on to brew straight away, and then line up three bowls to feed the dogs. Once their kibble is sorted, and they’re happily munching away, I wash my hands and go stare in the fridge. I have all the ingredients for a full English, and decide to make one.

  As I’m frying the bacon and whisking up some scrambled eggs, I realise I’m singing under my breath. I stop what I’m doing and consider this. I’m not a singing in the morning kind of a guy. Most days I get up and go through the motions. I eat a healthy breakfast of porridge or muesli and then go for a walk or a run with the dogs. Three times a week I come home and work out in the gym. Then I make lunch – normally something healthy like a tuna salad with a jacket potato, and then I do business shit. Answering emails, checking payments, doing my taxes. I have a website and I keep it updated. I don’t fucking sing. Ever.

  I ought to check my emails, and the thought makes my heart sink. I don’t want to do it while Isla is around, but work is work.

  I go and log in, turning the bacon down, and see four messages. Two from clients, one that looks like spam, and one from an address I don’t recognise. I click on it and it’s from a photographer. She says she’s seen my website and would I model for her? I tap my chin. What sort of modelling? I’m not interested in porn or anything like that. I don’t show my face on my website, only a couple of moody black and white shots of my body. Clients get a headshot if they contact me privately. I also don’t use my full name. Simply Ethan.

  Curious, I copy and paste the woman’s details into google and her site comes up. Wow, okay, she’s talented. She takes photographs of men for fitness magazines, book covers, that sort of thing. Nothing shady or underhanded. Some of her work has won awards and she has three books out. I fire off a quick email back asking her what she wants to photograph me for exactly, and then head back to the kitchen.

  As I’m finishing off plating up the eggs, and bacon, and juggling the toast and the baked beans, Isla comes into the room.

  “Something smells delicious.” I turn to look at her and see she’s unsure. Nervous even. I don’t want her feeling that way and try to put her at ease.

  I don’t think ignoring the previous night is the way to go, so I make a joke. “Thought we’d both worked up a healthy appetite last night, don’t you?”

  She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Shit.

  I gesture to the coffee pot and hold a cup, which I start to fill when she nods. I turn all the burners off and take the cup to her. As I put it by her, she places both hands around it in a hug as if she’s warming herself. But it’s a warm day, and the gesture seems more about comfort to me. Time to talk.

  I tilt her chin up with my finger and look into her eyes, trying to read her. “What’s going on? Why the sadness?”

  I hate that she seems down, when I’ve been feeling good after last night.

  “I’m fine.” She smiles at me, but she’d make a lousy poker player.

  “No, you’re not. Talk to me.”

  She blows out a breath and looks out the window. I’m shocked to see tears in her eyes.

  “It’s silly. But last night was amazing. And I want more of it, more of you. But I get it was a one-time deal and why it must be that way. I know we’d be disastrous together, so what’s the point of taking this any farther. It’s sad though, because I enjoyed it…a lot.”

  She’s honest. Most women I know play games, and they do so because most men do as well. Dating these days is like some complicated game of chess. It’s exhausting. It’s one reason I don’t do it, other than my job. Who needs all that bull. People not opening up about how they’re feeling because they’re playing it cool or trying to seem hard to get. Isla doesn’t do that. She puts it out there.

  She meets whatever she’s feeling head on, and the thought brings my words of last night to me. We meet this head on and then we move on. Except I don’t want to move on just yet.

  I don’t want this to stop at last night. To be honest, I’m scaring myself because when she said we’d be disastrous together, I started to come up with arguments why we wouldn’t. I can’t go there. She’s right, we wouldn’t work long term, sadly. For the first time in a long time, I’ve found someone I want to spend time with. Not only in the sack, either.

  Yet, I’m totally wrong for her. I screw for money, and I need the fucking money because I need to help my sister out. We have a nice lifestyle, I doubt getting a nine-to-five job will replace that. And I’m a lot older than Isla. I’ve been around the block, yet she’s fresh faced and starting out on her adventure. I’ll hold her back. Drag her down. I need to let her go, but I want to enjoy her some more first. I’m not that virtuous.

  “It doesn’t have to end with last night.”

  Her eyes widen at my words. “I know what I said, but we’ve got something special going on between us. Not many people have chemistry like we do. Yes, you’re right, we can’t work long term, because we’re too different. I’m not in the place to commit to anyone, and you need to live before you do, but we can have some time together now. If you want?”

  She nods, and beams at me. “I want to do what we did last night all over again.”

  It seems I’ve opened Pandora’s Box with her sexuality. And I can’t say I’m sorry.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Isla

  Ethan suggests a walk after breakfast, so we’re hiking over the fields, the dogs trotting by us. I know this is only supposed to be a short-term thing, but I keep getting flashes of how we might make some sort of life together, which is insane. I’m comfortable with him at moments like this, but then other times I feel all at sea and out of my depth. Plus, I don’t know him, not really, and he’s every kind of wrong for me.

  On paper, he’s a terrible prospect for a partner. Or even a boyfriend. He’s a male prostitute. He was in the army, and clearly still has some issues from it if the punch bag routine is anything to go by. He’s already helping raise someone else’s kid, not that kids will ever be on my agenda.

  And there’s my other reason to be cautious.

  Another reason I never let myself think about something long term, with Ethan or anyone else.

  The whole conversation I’d need to have at some point with any boyfriend is too horrible to contemplate. I don’t even like to think about it myself, let alone talk about it. The big C. Cancer.

  Men tend to freak out over things like people getting serious cancer at the age I did, still a teenager. A lot of the women in my online support group have had guys leave them once they open up about it, as if it could be catching or something. I don’t want to be seen as damaged or fragile.

  Those women in my support group might only be online friends for the most part, although three of us have met in person a few times, but I count them as my closest friends and confidants. No one else understands what it’s like to go through cancer at such an early age and have your whole future changed by it.

  I feel Ethan’s eyes on me and glance over at him.

  “You’re lost in thought,” he says.

  I nod, and tell a partial truth. “Thinking how beautiful it is here, and how comfortable I feel with you.”

  “Yeah, we get on well, don’t we…when we’re not at one another’s throats.” He laughs.

  “We get on well when you’re not being a dick,” I parry.

  He laughs louder and then he slings his arm around me and pulls me in close to him, planting a kiss on the top of my head. It’s familiar, such a ‘couple’ thing to do that it throws me completely.

  Luckily the dogs start barking like crazy and Ethan stiffens and moves his arm, stopping me from having to have some sort of minor nervous breakdown over what I’m feeling. Ethan’s moved a few feet forward, scanning the horizon. I can’t see anything, but the dogs have all headed toward a hedgerow. They’re sniffing about, growling a
nd barking. Ethan narrows his eyes, watching the greenery. “Stay here,” he growls, and takes off at a run toward the hedges.

  The leaves rustle some more, and then a guy is running out of the hedges away from the dogs, and Ethan, across the field. “Hey.” Ethan shouts at the man, but he doesn’t stop. Sadie and Lucy soon give up the chase and come back toward me, but Cindy is barrelling down on the stranger, as is Ethan.

  The man trips and goes cartwheeling forwards, his arms spinning out by his side. As he hits the ground Ethan whistles and Cindy stops giving chase immediately, turning back to go and trot by Ethan’s side. He reaches the man on the floor and squats down by him, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

  My phone starts ringing and I pull it out of my pocket, expecting to see Dad’s number, except it’s Dodgy Uncle Dave. I sigh, but I need to take it. I’m a bit worried about Dad. He’s sent me a couple of texts asking if I’m okay, and that’s it. Normally, he rings regularly when he’s abroad on business, but this time he hasn’t, and he knows I’m staying with a friend he’s never met, or heard of before. I expected him to be calling, wanting to talk to see what’s going on.

  I jab the answer button, all the while keeping an eye on what’s happening with Ethan and the man.

  “Hi Dave, how are you?”

  He lets out a long breath. “I’ve been worried about you, Isla. I’ve been trying you at home. Your dad called when he was at the airport, told me you were home alone, so I thought I’d pop ‘round and see if you’re okay.”

  Ugh. I bet he did. I try not to shudder. “I’m fine, Uncle Dave.” I put emphasis on the Uncle, hoping it will remind him how many times I sat on his knee as a little kid, and make him feel bad for being icky around me recently. There’s a long beat of silence.