by CJ Roberts
He didn’t trust himself to touch her quite yet, so strong was the urgency he felt, so he finally took that step back and rest his hands against the door jamb while she pressed forward and kissed him more assuredly and aggressively.
Her mouth tasted of mint, which he figured was toothpaste, and salt from her tears. He didn’t want her to cry. Not right now, not for any reason. He pulled away slowly, “Stop.” She stared up at him with a startled and vulnerable look on her face.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, and the words lanced something deep inside him.
“God, no. You’re perfect. I just…I don’t want to hurt you. And the way I feel right now…” If he ever blushed in his life, he might have blushed right then. “I know I’ll hurt you.”
He nearly groaned when she blushed, smiled, and looked away. “So, what then?”
“So come with me.” He took her hand, careful of which hand it was and led her to the bed. Slowly, he guided her onto it. She was far more timid now than she had been a few moments ago, but she didn’t hesitate. He kissed her lips softly as he lay next to her and coaxed her legs slightly apart. In a maneuver he had practiced with her many times, he kissed his way down her neck, chest, breasts, and stomach.
“Oh!” She whimpered as soon as his lips touched the soft, damp, hair between her thighs. He hadn’t even licked her yet and he could feel her coiled tension. He kissed the top of her pussy in the hopes of soothing some of her fear. This wasn’t going to hurt one. Little. Bit. He was going to make her feel good. He was going to make her feel the way she deserved to feel.
When he felt her thighs slowly open, giving him room to move, he dipped his head and let the tip of his tongue slide from the very bottom of her slit to the hard pebble of her clit in one slow, steady motion that had her mewling and opening for him further. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered against her wet lips, and with no intention of doing any such thing.
“Fuck no. I’d kill you.” She said with such sincerity that Caleb couldn’t help but chuckle against her thigh.
“Where’d you learn to talk like that?” he mocked gently. She responded by rocking her hips up slightly. She winced a little and they both remembered how hurt she was. He didn’t want to make her ask again. He caressed her leg and delved his tongue a little deeper, probing, sucking her deep, pink folds into his mouth.
Unconsciously, she attempted to pull away from him. Not because she wasn’t enjoying it, he knew, but because the sensation of being licked and sucked simultaneously was nearly too much sensation to bear. His mind entertained a fantasy of his cock being sucked into her mouth, the tip licked by her soft tongue and he groaned against her. His hips rocked hard into the bed, but he remained focused on her pleasure. He let up a little, allowing her to adjust and then he pulled her in tight and did it again.
She gasped and moaned and rocked her little pussy on the tip of his eager tongue, and this time there was no thought of pain. There was only pleasure.
His fingers found her and spread her open. Within her wet folds he found the tiny opening to her body. He licked it and she shivered. He slicked the tip his finger against her clit, loving the way she whimpered and writhed. She moaned. “Caleb,” and then her hands were in the way, pressing his fingers to her flesh in a plea for something she didn’t fully understand yet. Her hand clutched at his, “It feels…oh god. I think…” And the rest went unsaid as he moved his hand against her clit and his mouth sucked her fingers.
He felt her pussy pulse beneath his hand and he wished he could see it, those tiny muscles contracting. Her pussy leaking wetness onto the bed. He’d lick that up too. But this wasn’t about him.
For a long time, he rested his cheek against her thigh, panting and breathless, even as she was also panting and breathless. Her hand moved slowly, and he nearly sighed when she ran her fingers through his hair. Despite the fact his dick felt like it had been punched in the eye, he wished this moment could last for a very long time. He couldn’t be certain of her motives for trying to have sex with him, especially after all that had transpired between them and in the hours before he was able to reach her, but he could not deny it had changed something in him, irrevocably. He had underestimated her in some way, and she had found a way to affect him. At the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care, but soon it would matter very much.
“What about you?” The words were sluggish and he suspected she was only being polite and had no real intention of moving, let alone helping him finish.
He smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not prone to acts of selflessness, so let’s just both enjoy this moment.” He looked up in time to see her smile to herself and then she gently nodded off to sleep.
He lifted himself off the bed as stealthily as possible and grabbed the clean sheets he had brought. The comforter was clean, so he didn’t bother moving her. He covered her up and climbed in next to her, clothes and all. He indulged himself for several minutes, simply looking at her, beyond the bruises.
An annoying beep pulled him away from his thoughts. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to remove his clothes and rub his dick across her soft skin. He wanted inside of her.
He shook himself and got up to pick up his phone from the floor. He had received a text:
R: I’M FLYING IN. SEE YOU SOON.
He felt dizzy, then angry, then like yelling and throwing things around the room, and then…a deep, deep loss. He thought about the three and a half weeks with Livvie and the time that was now lost to them. All the debt piled high above his head. He stared at the text, feeling…nothing at all. He watched Livvie sleep and the rage that had always coiled and seethed, floated away.
Rafiq, he thought, Rafiq. Things had just become more complicated than he had ever dreamed. As he looked at the sleeping girl on the bed, only one thought entered his mind. Be strong. Whether he meant the thought for himself or the girl, he had no energy to guess. He only knew he wanted to get back in bed with her and pretend the last few minutes never happened.
More by CJ Roberts
Seduced in the Dark (The Dark Duet 2)
Epilogue: The Dark Duet (The Dark Duet 3)
All Books on Amazon
About CJ Roberts
CJ Roberts is an independent writer. She favors dark and erotic stories with taboo twists. Her work has been called sexy and disturbing in the same sentence.
She also stalks her reviewers… What? Caleb had to come from somewhere!
She was born and raised in Southern California. Following high school, she joined the U.S. Air Force in 1998, served ten years and traveled the world.
She is married to an amazing and talented man who never stops impressing her; they have one beautiful daughter.
Stalk her on:
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www.aboutcjroberts.com
Summer’s Journey
A True Romance / Erotica Series
Summer Daniels
Volume One: Losing Control
Prologue
I slipped the blindfold over my eyes, took a deep breath and knocked twice on the door. I heard it open and Mark’s warm voice filled my ears. “Come in Summer. I am so happy you chose to join me tonight.” He led me into the center of the room and stopped. “Just stand there for a moment if you would while I feast my eyes. You look absolutely stunning. That lovely dress is going to look very stylish on the floor next to the bed.”
I never heard him move, but I could feel him behind me now. As he nuzzled the side of my neck, he pressed himself lightly against me. Whatever reservations I once had at giving up control to this stranger disappeared as my nipples did their best to rip through the lace bra and silk dress. How on earth could he know that my neck was one of my weak spots?
“I must confess that you are wearing much more at the moment than I am” he said. “Allow me to even the playing field.” As he slowly unzipped my dress, he followed the descending zipper with his soft lips and tongue. He reached up and tugged gently
and the dress pooled at my feet.
1
I gave serious thought to unveiling my real name to the world. Throwing all caution to the wind and changing my life for good.
I decided it wasn’t quite fair to my family. While I’m not particularly close to my brother or sister, I am quite partial to my nieces and nephews and I couldn’t picture the looks on their faces if my secrets were revealed and my true identity widely known.
I think sometimes it is still possible that they will stumble across these stories someday and recognize their Aunt in some fashion. Then I think that the odds of their associating the wild and wanton ways of “Sassy Summer” with the Aunt who would never even wear a bikini in front of them would be akin to winning the lottery without buying a ticket. Not going to happen.
Then again, I had no idea just how wild and wanton things were going to get.
I was a simple fortyish average housewife. Not going to win any beauty pageants, but I hadn’t given up on trying to keep a little pride in my appearance, or in my marriage. Right up until the day about eighteen months ago when my husband of almost twenty years told me he was trading me in on a younger, sportier model. Not his exact words of course, but they might as well have been. To say I was shocked would be an understatement of epic proportions.
Things had never been particularly exciting in the bedroom, or in our marriage in general, but they were comfortable. That was the word that described our marriage and our life together the best. We rarely fought, nothing more serious than the usual complaints of a long marriage, such as a toilet seat left up leading to a wet ass in the middle of the night. Or his anal personality shining through in the way he scrubbed all our dishes before they were allowed in the dishwasher. I’m sure he had his complaints as well, who doesn’t after almost twenty years of marriage, but if he had them, he kept them to himself.
Perhaps the ass I mentioned previously had gotten a little wider since we had gotten married, but he never said a word and since I bought most of his clothes over the years, I knew that his waistline had expanded as well.
Looking back I suppose it is just too easy to get complacent, to get “comfortable” in a marriage, to take each other for granted. It is a sad commentary on marriage perhaps, but I would bet more than half of you out there reading this right now are nodding your heads in agreement, recognizing for yourself the truth in my words.
Some of you might take that recognition as a wakeup call for your own marriage. If you do, I am more than happy for you. Some of you will recognize the signs of demise in your marriage, or already have, but just don’t care. That is honestly more common than I think most people care to admit to themselves.
As for myself, I am not sure I really believe in marriage anymore. Or maybe I just can’t see going back to the way things were. Feeling free at the age of – well, at my age, doesn’t just feel good, it feels right.
Maybe the spark had died in our marriage when we went through the series of miscarriages fifteen years ago. The last one was a fallopian tube miscarriage, ending for us the dream of children of our own.
The emotional scars that were left behind were much more damaging than the physical ones.
Sex was never the same for us after that. Where things had once been light and playful, there was now a sense of lingering disappointment and resentment. Maybe it would have been better out in the open where we could deal with it, but neither of us were the type to confront our feelings, choosing instead to hide behind our usual routines and excuses. Sound familiar to any of you?
2
After spending the better part of two weeks crying into my ice cream and wine with my best friend Julie, I finally came to the realization that maybe this was an opportunity instead of a disaster. I had always wondered in the back of my mind what it might be like to be that uninhibited woman capable of having sex just for the sake of pleasure, to be well and truly fucked for once, to be satisfied to the point of exhaustion. Certainly these were things I had never felt in the confines of my marital bed.
Given how much time I suddenly had on my hands coming home to an empty house, I found myself spending too much time with my hands on myself. While I enjoyed masturbation with a renewed sense of purpose since the separation, it left me feeling empty and unfulfilled. I needed to go out on a date. Except I really didn’t want to date, I wanted to get laid. Crude perhaps, but true.
Something Julie said one night after too much wine came to mind. She said that the internet had opened up a whole new world for women in terms of finding someone to take care of their needs. Given that she is happily married with three kids, I found the comment somewhat unsettling and quickly dismissed it as nothing more than the wine talking. Her comment stayed in the back of my mind through the next several days though and made me wonder what might be out there.
I had enough common sense to not just post an ad that said “Looking to get laid” – I would still be sorting through responses and close-up pictures of men’s cocks even now a year later. Those pictures lie by the way, they are never as big in real life as in the photo, something about the angle of the camera.
After looking through hundreds of ads from men that either wanted “to meet tonight” (translation: desperate) or that were just “looking for someone to talk to” (translation: married), I finally decided on posting an ad that simply said “Seeking something casual, I’m a sure thing, but not easy, I’m going to make you work for it”. I figured that would weed out the “let’s meet tonight” guys and allow me to exchange a few emails with an intelligent man or two. I figured wrong. The sheer volume of “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll walk funny for a week” emails quickly overwhelmed me. Or should I say the sheer volume of “u r so sexy – I have a large dick and you will cum over and over” type of emails overwhelmed me. The lack of intelligent response and simple grammar skills was mind-boggling.
Sorting through emails, unsolicited pictures and more than a few threesome invites, I really had no idea what I was looking for. It became something of a process of elimination, because I certainly knew what I wasn’t looking for.
It became apparent quickly that finding the right combination of intelligence, humor, personality and charisma was going to be like the proverbial needle in a haystack. Out of several hundred responses (who knew there were that many horny men out there?), only a few warranted a return email. Perhaps I was being picky, but I really didn’t think being able to spell orgasm without being spotted a vowel was asking too much.
3
After several promising emails back and forth with a man who took the time to spell check and showed some interesting hints of personality, I agreed to meet for a drink at a local hotel bar. According to his emails of the previous days, he was recently divorced himself and slowly wading back into the dating world. Gainfully employed as an engineer and still sporting most of his original hair (if his emailed picture was to be believed), he was quite the catch, although the attention I was looking for honestly was a little farther south than my heart.
First impressions are always important, so when Mark stood up from his bar stool to greet me and hold out my chair, I smiled warmly and relaxed. We had left things fairly vague in our emails, agreeing to nothing more than meeting for a drink and seeing if there existed an attraction. Mark looked better in person than his email picture, standing about six foot even, short dirty blonde hair and a sparkle in his eyes that spoke of intelligence and passion. He was certainly not physically imposing by any means, but there was something commanding about his personality that made him stand out in the crowd.
Any apprehension I had about meeting this stranger for a drink disappeared as we chatted for a few minutes about our respective lives. We talked about our divorces. He instigated his after finding out his wife was cheating on him. “It was such a cliché” he said, “she reconnected with an old high school friend through Facebook. She started spending more time online than she ever had in the past. The warning signs were there, I just thou
ght I meant more to her than that.”
I told him what it felt like when my husband came home one evening and said he wanted a divorce. No argument, no reason he would articulate, he just wanted out. It was only when I threatened to contest the divorce did he admit to “having met someone”.
“For three days I went back and forth between hiring the most aggressive ball-busting lawyer I could find to take every penny he ever even thought of making, and crying myself to sleep. I found myself arguing passionately about saving a marriage that we both had neglected for way too long. Looking back, I think I was simply scared of being alone after all that time together.”
Mark nodded slowly as I talked, empathy etched on his features. I ordered a second glass of white wine while he had another Jack & Coke. As we talked about mundane things such as work and family, I almost forgot for a moment what had drawn us here together. Then again, I was wearing a thong for the first time in at least a decade and spilling out of a low-cut top I rushed out to buy after agreeing to this meeting.
Mark definitely appreciated the view as I could see him sneaking a glance at my cleavage every so often, but he also had a way of maintaining eye contact that I found very engaging and charismatic. When I paused for a moment after finishing another painful divorce anecdote, Mark set his drink down and started to speak.
“Let me ask you something Summer. And let me preface it by saying I respect you too much already to waste your time. What is it that you are looking for?”
