by K. M. Scott
I pull her hair roughly to force her to face me. “Don’t look away. I want to see your face when you come.”
Those blue eyes soften as her body gives in to mine, and then they close as she comes hard on my cock. I’m so close and the tender squeeze of her inner walls milking me sends me over the edge. I flood her cunt sending jets of cum inside her. The feeling is better than anything else I’ve ever experienced, even my other addictions.
And she is already an addiction. I know that.
“Oh my God,” she moans softly as she collapses against my chest. “I’ve never been able to get off like that.”
There’s nothing a man loves to hear more than a woman tell him his cock was able to give her something no other man’s cock ever could. It’s something primal and animalistic, but it makes him feel like that woman is his.
I know no matter what twists and turns our time together might take, Kristina is mine now. But that has to remain our secret.
Smoothing her damp hair from her forehead, I look deep into her eyes and say, “I need you to promise me whatever we are together is kept private. Will you promise me that, Kristina?”
Her mouth turns down and a pained look crosses her face. “Why?”
I place a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose and shake my head. “Because of who we are. The rest of the world knowing would ruin this. Tabloids, paparazzi, gossip columns in the papers, all that would taint what we are. So I want to keep this like a delicious secret just between the two of us. Will you?”
“Are you ashamed of what we did?”
“No. I just don’t want the rest of the world ruining this.”
She wants to feel what I gave her again, and I want her more than anything else. She’s already my muse, even though I haven’t told her. I would when the time was right, which makes keeping us a secret all the more important.
Nodding her head, she whispers against my lips, “I promise.”
I kiss her and there as we sit with my cock still deep inside her, I think about how I want to taste that beautiful pussy on the tip of my tongue. Addiction is like that. Once is never enough.
The autumn sun streaming in through my bedroom window wakes me, and I stretch my limbs that still ache from the night before. Everything I did with Ian comes flooding back into my mind, and I’m ashamed that I’ve made the same mistake with another man. I always promise myself that I won’t fall so quickly for them, but then I always do.
And then it always ends the same. They leave when I’m already too far gone in love with them and I’m devastated.
I cover my eyes with my arm and wish the regret away as the tears begin to fill my eyes. I can’t handle my heart breaking again, but I already know even after just one night together that I’m lost. If only he hadn’t been able to get me off like he did.
No, that’s not it. I was lost the moment he walked into that bar. So different from any of the usual men I date, he had a look that screamed sensuality as he approached me. Like he enjoyed life more than anyone I’d ever met before. His dark hair that refused to obey his command to stay off his forehead made him look tousled and casual, but his nearly black eyes made him look intense. The combination intrigued me.
Then he spoke and I knew he wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met. Every word that came out of his mouth seemed perfect, like he had a command of language I’ve never been able to call my own. When I speak, words seem to have a mind of their own and run out of my mouth before I can stop them, but his are so measured and carefully chosen, as if every one of them means the world to him.
I know this is infatuation. I realize that. But it doesn’t change that I want to see him again, wishing even as I lie here that he could be next to me right now.
I fall hard and fast for every man, but for the first time, I feel like falling might not be a mistake with Ian. Usually, my boyfriends use me to help their careers by announcing our relationship to the media the day after our first date. Not that I’m not already into them, but it doesn’t take long to find out that while I was falling, they were figuring out how being with me would catapult them to the next level and the next movie deal.
But Ian wants to keep what we are a secret. At first I thought he was ashamed of what we’d done, but I don’t think so now.
I stretch again, this time feeling an ache in my lower abdomen I’ve never experienced before. It’s a mixture of pain and need, like my body misses him. I look on my phone to check the time and see he’s sent me a text. Suddenly I worry he’s reconsidered and doesn’t want to see me again, preferring to tell me this way instead of having to deal with me in person.
Fear fills me, but I click on the text and read the message he’s sent, relief washing over me as I see his perfect words.
I want to be inside you right now, my cock stretching your tight cunt. Until next time, I’ll just have to be happy with my memories. Ian
I read his words again and again as my pussy gets wet. I know I shouldn’t reply, that I should wait and not seem so eager, but I can’t. I type I wish you were here right now. Kristina and click SEND, loving the achy need his message has created inside me.
Closing my eyes, I let my hand wander to between my legs to finger myself. Ian’s message has made me want to feel like he made me feel again, but then I remember his admonition to me. I want—no, need—to get off again so much, though all I can think of is him saying, “Not with me.”
My phone buzzes with a message from him.
Remember, you must not touch yourself, Kristina, even if you want to. Promise?
I stop my finger’s movement over my tender clit and stare at my phone in amazement. How could he know? With my hand still between my legs, I use my other hand to type out a text in return.
I promise but don’t make me wait long.
My phone rings almost immediately. I know it’s him, so I answer it quickly. “You’re torturing me.”
“I want to break you of that habit.”
“There’s nothing wrong with masturbation,” I say with a giggle. “Cosmo says it’s a healthy thing every woman should do.”
“Not my woman,” he answers with a smile in his voice.
“So I’m your woman? You move fast.”
“Do you want me to slow down?” he asks, his voice far more serious now.
A spike of fear tears through me at the thought of not seeing him again. That’s what he means by slowing down. I know it.
I say, “No,” hating that I’ve caused the conversation to turn like this.
He’s quiet for a long time and then finally when he speaks again, the smile is back in his tone. “Good. I don’t want to slow down either, Kristina. Meet me at the 79th Street entrance to Riverside Park at six tonight.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere you’ll like.”
“What should I wear?” I love the idea of surprises but figure I should be prepared.
In a voice that sends a pang of need straight to my core, he says, “Something you think I’ll like.”
I silently admit I barely know him, but I already know exactly what I want to wear. Something sexy yet sweet. Something that shows off my assets and hides the faults.
“Okay.”
“I can’t wait to see you again, Kristina.”
“I can’t wait either. I’ll see you then.”
He doesn’t say goodbye. It’s just that he’s suddenly not there anymore and I’m alone again. I’m left wanting more of him, so I scroll back through our messages to read them over, loving how uninhibited he is and how just a few words from him can affect me so much.
The need for release returns with a vengeance, and I can’t stop myself from letting my fingers get me off. I want to wait since I promised him, but it’s too hard and he’s gotten me too excited. There’s no way I’ll be able to wait another eight hours until I see him and then God knows how many hours more before I get the chance to come.
So I slide my middle finger through my slick folds and dip my
fingertip inside me, dragging it up to my clit. Then with tiny circles I focus on that oh so sensitive bundle of nerves while I close my eyes and think of Ian fucking me just hours earlier. Every muscle in my body relaxes as I replay sitting on his lap riding his cock. How full I felt with him inside me. His nearly jet black eyes staring up full of lust. The taste of his tongue lashing against mine in the seconds just before he came, flooding me with his hot cum.
In just minutes, I’m dangling on the edge and know only one more gentle press of my finger will take me crashing over into the most sensual feeling there is. I think about my promise and wish I could stop, but I don’t, instead sliding my fingertip over my clit one last time.
Everything around me ceases to exist. All my attention centers on my pussy and the delicious sensations my finger has created. My legs stiffen and then go weak, and I feel nothing but ecstasy as my orgasm overwhelms me.
I lie in bed unable to move, savoring the tiny aftershocks still pulsing through me. I’ve started every day like this since I was fifteen. At first I felt ashamed by my desires, like I shouldn’t have needs like these, but over time I’ve accepted them. If men can jerk off every day, multiple times a day, and still be considered normal because they have urges, why can’t women?
Ian simply doesn’t know this is who I am. I know if he knew, he’d accept me too.
As I say that to myself, I sense my insecurities begin to file in, one by one until all I can think about is how he won’t like me anymore if he finds out who I really am.
How he will leave like everyone else always has.
It happens the same way every time. They say they love me, that they can’t live without me. And then slowly but surely, they do just that. By the time the press reports that another one of my relationships has ended, it’s been over for a long time.
And every time I ask myself if I’m the problem. I must be, right? If every man leaves me, it must be me that’s the problem. Not that I know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve tried to play hard to get, and I’ve tried giving them whatever they want. I’ve tried being bitchy, and I’ve tried being sweet. Every time it ends the same.
I just for once wish I could find someone who likes me for me. Slightly insecure, unsure of herself sometimes, but would never hurt anyone on purpose me.
Don’t ruin this like always. Just let it happen. Do what that doctor told you to do. Just be yourself and let your emotions flow naturally.
But what if I do that and still another man leaves?
I examine my look in the mirror, nervously tugging and smoothing my black jersey dress over my thighs. If only they weren’t so big. And my hips. Ugh! If only they weren’t so wide. Why did I have to get my mother’s Scandinavian child-bearing hips? Why couldn’t I have gotten my hips from my father’s side of the family?
The fabric clings to every part of me I hate, but with my black knee-high boots, the dress looks terrific, so I’ll stick with it. Running my hands through my hair, I let it fall in soft waves around my face and check my makeup. Thanks to my friend Marie and her makeup designer tricks, all my imperfections on my face are covered, highlighted, or diminished as perfectly as possible. If only everything in life could be this easy.
I look at my phone and see it’s almost six o’clock. Afraid I’m going to be late, I hurry toward the door, grabbing my bag and keys. Riverside Park is only a few blocks away, so I should be on time.
Ian is already there when I arrive. Dressed in dark blue jeans and a deep green sweater, he’s standing next to a tree that’s nearly bare of its leaves. Just a few golden ones remain. I study his body language as I approach him, hoping he isn’t angry I’m late.
When he turns to face me, I see my concern was for nothing. With a smile, he smooths his dark hair off his face and says, “You look beautiful, Kristina.”
All my worries melt away as his gaze slides over me and I see how much he appreciates my look. He doesn’t see my big hips or thick thighs like I do. “Thank you. I love your sweater. It looks great on you.”
Ian slips his hand around my waist and leans in next to my ear to whisper, “Did you leave the underwear at home like last time?”
His warm breath on my neck thrills me. Leaning back, I lower my head and feel the blush cover my cheeks. In a low voice, I answer, “Yes.”
He runs his tongue over the seam of his full lips and smiles. “Good. Let’s go. I have a surprise waiting for you.”
Taking my hand, he leads me away from the park and up three blocks to his apartment in a large brick building much nicer than mine. We ride up in the elevator and I fill the empty space left by his silence with talk of the weather and other meaningless topics simply because if I don’t, I might burst from nerves.
Finally, I ask, “Is something wrong? You’re not saying much.”
He levels his dark gaze on me and stares into my eyes. “I like listening to you talk.”
“I just worried there might be something wrong.”
Pulling me to him, he kisses me softly and my legs get weak from how tender he is when he whispers against my lips, “How could anything be wrong?”
I taste the scotch on his tongue like the night before and wish I’d had a drink before leaving my place. At least it might have calmed my nerves a little.
His question isn’t meant to be answered, and as the elevator doors open, he takes my hand to lead me down the hall to his apartment. His long fingers press against the back of my hand, and even though the hallway is beautifully decorated, all I focus on is how strong his hand feels holding mine.
“Your building is very nice,” I say when we stop at his door.
He turns to look at me and nods. “I hope you like my home.”
I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t like it since it’s obviously far nicer than mine, but as we step into his apartment, I’m stunned at just how much nicer it is. At least three times the size of my tiny rooms, his seem to go on forever because of the floor to ceiling windows that line the far wall. I feel him let go of my hand, but the view out those windows mesmerizes me, and I walk toward them, eager to see what he sees every day.
“I fell in love with that view the minute I stepped into this place. The realtor couldn’t stop talking about stainless steel appliances and the number of bedrooms, but I was sold the minute I looked out those windows.”
I can understand why. From his living room there on the top floor, he could see practically all of the West Side and with the night sky as a backdrop, it looked like a painting deserving of being hung in a gallery.
“This must be stunning in the morning,” I say as I stand as close as I can to those windows without touching them.
“I usually draw the blinds so the sun doesn’t flood in, but on the rare occasion that I leave some open, it’s gorgeous.”
Ian wraps his arms around me, and a surge of need pushes through me straight to my core. Just his touch sends my body into overdrive so I want him even though I should be content with just standing there making small talk.
“I’m going to fuck you in front of these windows tonight. First, though, I want you to eat some of my world famous risotto.”
His promise of what he plans to do to me makes a tiny whimper escape from my throat, but I try to hide my arousal with some comment about the meal he’s made me. It doesn’t work, though, and he says low in my ear, “I can’t wait to be back inside you either, Kristina.”
How would I make it through dinner when he already has me sopping wet just from a few words?
Ian guides me to a table set with fancy china dishes and crystal stemware. Two long taper candles placed in the middle of the table flicker their light over the cherry wood tabletop, the light for our meal since he dimmed the lights. He pulls my chair out and seats me like a gentleman before sitting down across from me and pouring me a glass of wine and serving me a plate of his famous risotto.
“You’re going to love this,” he says with pride as he hands me my dinner.
“I love that you made
dinner for us. That’s so sweet.”
As he scoops out a spoonful of risotto onto his plate, he explains, “I didn’t know if we’d be mobbed by photographers if we went out to a restaurant, so I thought I’d surprise you with my favorite dish.”
Raising his wine glass, he says with a devilish smile, “To having all my favorites tonight.”
I smile and raise my glass, admiring how handsome he looks in the candlelight. “To favorites.”
The risotto tastes as good as he’d promised, and I eat every last bite of it on my plate. In contrast to his earlier promise of having me against those huge windows that look out over the city, he talks about where he learned to cook and how much he enjoys making his favorite foods when he has the chance. I make a few comments, but I can’t help feel confused. We switched so quickly from talking about fucking so all the world could see to how risotto takes so long to make because of how the stock has to be added slowly that I don’t know how to react.
“Is everything okay?” he asks as he clears the plates from the table.
I want to say that this all seems so domestic compared to our time together the night before. Not that I don’t like a man cooking for me, but I guess I just expected something different. Instead I just smile and shake my head.
“No. Dinner was lovely.”
“You seem quiet since we got here.”
He’s so observant compared to other men I’ve been with that I forget he notices things. Since all I’d done was pretty much chatter on about everything under the sun yesterday and this evening as we were coming up in the elevator, I must seem very different now.
I take a drink of my wine. “Your apartment is very nice.”
Ian smiles and stands up from the table. He walks around behind me and leans over to kiss me on the neck. “You said that before, Kristina. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
