by Vremont, Ann
Bryce clamped down on him, her pussy snug around the sensitive foreskin and sheath. She contracted at the base and the impish gleam in her eyes told him it was intentional. Walt threw his head back as she did it again.
“Christ, Brycie, what are you doing?” he moaned, tightening his ass cheeks and thrusting deeper into her.
“Kegels.” She giggled as she answered, the word coming out as “kehegels.” She tightened again, the smile on her face fixed and slightly maniacal. She was panting, determined. “I can get myself off just with the contractions,” she confessed before blushing furiously.
“Ah…damn, Brycie, you’re going to bring me off just as quick—if not quicker.”
Her mouth twitched and she gave another concentrated roll and thrust of her hips. “I want you coming inside me,” she said and gave him another squeeze that made his eyes roll back in their sockets.
Walt dropped his head, breathing harder, his legs and ass shaking with the effort not to come. He wanted to, wanted to come inside her unsheathed in an ultimate exchange of intimacy. “I’m not covered,” he managed to grunt out.
“I’m covering you.” Another squeeze of the muscles along her perineum and he dropped his body until it pressed against her.
“You could get pregnant.” It sounded stupid warning her when it was against his self interest. His chest and cock swelled at the thought of her carrying his child.
“Then you’d have to marry me,” she answered, her tone so matter-of-fact it startled him.
Walt pushed up until he could look down at her, his erection still buried inside her. She had her eyes closed, as if she didn’t want him to see the truth of what she was thinking. But was it that she wanted something beyond this weekend as much as he did, or that she planned on giving him a complete brush off come Monday morning?
“Bryce,” he whispered. “You can’t joke about this—not about a baby.”
She stilled beneath him and her eyes fluttered open. There was a flicker of scrutiny as if she wondered at the sudden source of panic in his voice. But then the look was gone, leaving the beautiful, soul-deep hazel eyes in thoughtful study of his face for another moment.
“If you get me pregnant, Walt Diaz, you’ll have to marry me,” she repeated. “Do you understand?”
Walt answered her with a kiss, his body melting as she rolled the muscles at the outer edge of her pussy along the base of his shaft. She was inching up and down him with just those muscles, pulling his sensitive sheath with her as she hugged him tighter with the rest of her cunt. He laid flat against her, nuzzling the side of her face as he let her control both of their bodies. The intimacy of being inside her like this brought him to the very edge of his climax. Despite one questionable claim from a previous partner, he didn’t think he had ever climaxed inside a woman without a condom on. As far as his memory served—his sober memory, that was—he’d never dared to even venture into one of his earlier lovers without an interposing layer of latex.
Here, nothing separated Bryce from him and every last inch of his cock experienced the way her sex hugged him.
Arching his back as she pulled him deeper, her little pants of “yes, now” goading him on, he came.
Calling her name.
Telling her he loved her.
Chapter Eleven
They rested quietly on the floor after their climax, the coffee table pushed far from the couch so that Diaz could lay on his side next to Bryce, one arm cradling her head while the other arm lay gently across her chest as he stroked her shoulder. He wanted to talk, she knew that, but every time he opened his mouth, she tensed on purpose.
It wasn’t his fault he’d said it, and she didn’t have any intention of holding him to it—or any other promise he had made. That wouldn’t be fair, knowing what she knew. And she wouldn’t get pregnant, at least not without divine intervention—the cocktail of birth control pills her doctor prescribed suddenly accomplishing more than just controlling her monthly cycle down to a non-event.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Diaz blurted out at last. “That I want to take what I said back, or brush it off like I didn’t say it.”
Bryce turned to him and placed her palm softly against his chest. “No, that isn’t what I’m thinking,” she answered. “I think you meant to say it—all of it. I think you still mean it.”
“Then why do I get the feeling you were trying to shut me up?”
He rolled, forcing Bryce onto her back again and positioning himself over her. He cupped her cheek, his gaze studying her with an intensity that almost frightened her.
“Because I was,” she answered.
Diaz pulled back. Before he sat up and turned his back to her, she saw a stone mask settle over his face. “You mean it’s because you don’t want to hear it?”
“No.” She answered slowly, trying to choose her words very carefully and cursing Erato for putting her in a situation where she couldn’t even acknowledge what she most wanted. “It felt wonderful hearing you say it.”
She rolled onto one elbow and reached up, her fingertips brushing his shoulder blade. The muscle beneath twitched with his anger and she dropped her hand. “I just think the weekend’s novelty will wear off for you, and so it hurts to hear you say it even knowing you mean it right now.”
That was close enough to the truth, she thought, waiting tensely for him to respond. She didn’t have to tell him she knew without a doubt that it would wear off. She could sense he was growing angrier, her answer only making things worse. This time, when she placed her hand against his back, he jerked entirely away from her.
“So you think I’m a shallow fuck, is that it?” he asked. He kept his back to her, his whole body wound tight.
Bryce sat up, placed her back to the couch and pulled her legs in close to her body. Damn, if Erato was going to give her words for the story, why couldn’t she have given her words for this? “I think what I’m saying is that you have a little over a day and a half to change my world view.”
Well, that shocked him, she thought as he turned to look at her, his gaze clouded with confusion.
“Change your world view?”
She nodded and swallowed hard before she answered. “That a man like you could ever love a woman like me.”
She despised the hurt she could hear in her own voice but it seemed to melt his anger. He turned around and scooted until they were both sitting with their backs against the couch.
He put his arm behind her and pressed his lips to her ear. “Brycie, baby, who hurt you like this?”
Who hadn’t?
She shook her head, letting him know that she wouldn’t answer. She had always been larger than other girls as far back as she could remember. What point was there in telling him about her first year in school and all the years that followed up to college, or about her parents’ silent loathing? That was all in the past, or should be, and all subjective. At least that’s what her intellect told her.
“I think you pegged it,” she said, trying to joke. “Brycie, ‘baby’.”
“No.” He held her chin between his thumb and index finger and lightly forced her to look at him. He kissed the edges of her mouth, whisper soft at first and then more insistent. “I only meant my baby, Bryce. Mine.”
A hard kiss emphasized his claim and then he nervously pulled back. He ran a hand over his chest and offered a playful grimace at the feel of the tacky fruit juices. He looked in the direction of the bathroom and the grimace turned to a sheepish grin. “We’re messy,” he said.
“Just like you said we’d be.” She smiled back, ready if he was to pretend for the rest of the weekend that this was more than a charade.
Diaz took her hand and led her into the bathroom where he filled the oversized tub with hot water and garnet-red bath salts scented with pomegranate. When it was a little over a third full, he tested to make sure it wasn’t too hot. He took her left hand, holding her steady while he coaxed her into the bath. She sat down, relaxing her hold on him but
he didn’t let go.
“I’m in,” she said and tried to pull her hand away.
Head tilted, he studied the charm bracelet. He ran it round until the clasp faced him, his grip on her hand tightening when she tugged sharply. “The heat might damage it,” he said and unhooked the clasp. “And you seem so fond of it—I wouldn’t want to see it broken.”
A dark blue enamel box sat in the middle of the double sinks and he placed the bracelet inside it before climbing into the tub behind Bryce. When she wouldn’t relax into him, he leaned against her back, his arms holding her just below the bottom swell of her breasts. He pulled her hair to the side, so that it hung over one shoulder and allowed his lips access to the opposite curve of her throat.
He grabbed a bath sponge, soaked it and squirted body wash onto it. With a thick lather worked up, he opened a small gap between their bodies and massaged the suds onto Bryce’s back. The hot water and relaxing touch of his strong hands guiding the sponge made her sleepy. She sighed, the sound one of pure bliss.
“I thought we’d go by my studio this afternoon,” he suggested. “It’s off Alameda.”
His words pulled Bryce from her reverie and she wasn’t sure what bothered her more—the idea of going out in public with him or the fact that he was successful enough to have a separate studio. She glanced at Diaz over her shoulder. He was staring at her back, his gaze following his hands as the sponge stroked down her side, along her tailbone and up her other side. Finished with her back, he brought the sponge up to her breasts, moving it in slow circles first around the perimeter of one breast and then the other. He moved in a horizontal eight, the figure drawn tighter and tighter until he was just moving from nipple to nipple.
“A separate studio, a two bedroom apartment without a roommate and Courvoisier,” she said, trying to concentrate on something other than the hypnotic dance of the sponge over her rigid nipples. “You’re not a really famous painter, are you?”
“Not yet,” he answered and let the sponge fall between her relaxed legs.
“Then how do you pay for all this?”
He kept one hand on her chest, teasing a nipple until her entire breast swelled from the delightful torment of his strong and nimble fingertips. Leaning forward, he pressed against her back, forcing her breast into his palm. His other hand reached between her legs where the sponged had disappeared beneath the soapy water.
“If you really want to know,” he told her, his fingertips finding the hard line of her clit and beginning to rub, “I’ll tell you…” Keeping his thumb moving in maddeningly tight circles, he slid his index and middle finger lower, finding her hot core.
Bryce lifted her bottom from the tub, one hip higher than the other to ease the entry of his fingers. “You’ll tell me?” She wanted to know, but right now she really wanted him to fuck her, his fingers a preliminary tease to the thick cock that shifted against her lower back.
She lifted higher and felt the tip of his erection graze the cleavage of her ass. His hand slid beneath her, found the entrance to her cunt and held his cock steady as she slowly settled onto his lap.
When she was halfway down, he gripped both of her hips and controlled her descent. “Yes, I’ll tell you…” he said, leaving her body and mind waiting as his swollen head stretched her wide.
Bryce waited for him—to ram into her, to tell her, to do both hard and fast. She bit down, sensing the sharp thrust before he delivered it.
“I’ll tell you Monday.”
*****
Bryce gave a little whimper of protest but didn’t stop moving against Walt. Her pussy was hot and tighter-than-tight despite the heat and soap. He ground his hips and then pressed his palm between her shoulder blades, forcing her to lean forward and expose more of her body to him. She couldn’t hide within the tub’s confines, though he knew she wanted to. Wrapping the length of her hair around his hand, he forced her further forward until she was on her knees in the tub. Her breasts pressed flat against the white enamel and she gripped the sides for support.
His cock twitched inside her and he withdrew until half his length remained concealed. He unknotted his fist from her hair but kept light pressure against the small of her back with his open palm. With his other hand, he spread her butt cheeks further apart. He had to control her pleasure this time instead of falling mindlessly in after her, lost in her soft moans and yielding flesh.
“Ah, Brycie, you’re so hot.”
And she was hot, the air around them steaming with her lush, sultry perfection. He watched her pussy hug his uncut cock, his shaft pushing deep and slow into her while the sheath of skin moved only a little. Her ass winked at him and he fished around in the soapy water to find the sponge. He squeezed the water from the sponge over her tail bone, watched it run across the tight pink star and down until it cascaded around his cock. He did it again, and Bryce gripped the sides of the tub harder, flinging her head back and grinding against him.
Walt dropped the sponge into the water and ran the pad of his index finger over the sensitive skin of her nether hole. It contracted beneath his touch, quivering with a nervous anticipation that made the skin covering his balls pull tight with his own excitement. He kept his voice soft and caressing as he increased the pressure he was applying.
“Brycie, you said just your mouth was virgin?”
When she only moaned in response, he slowly wiggled the very tip of his finger into the ring of muscles that guarded her ass. She was so incredibly tight there. He couldn’t believe she had dared to fuck herself in the ass. But then he’d never met a girl who had taken her own virginity before. The thought of taking her there with his finger, stroking the warm, soft muscles of her ass while he pounded her pussy, made his balls ache harder.
“Bryce,” he asked again, his voice not so soft or caressing. “Only your mouth, right?”
“Mmm…yes,” she moaned, pussy and ass pulling at him, questing for more. “Take what you want, Walt.”
Bryce ended her sentence with a small cry of need and he felt a sense of victory wash over him. Whatever negative ideas she held about her body, she wasn’t thinking them now. She was down to how good it felt, how good he was making her feel. And he would bring her back to this point again and again this weekend, taking her sweet mouth and ass and pussy until she would finally let him take and keep what he really wanted—her heart.
“Slow down, Brycie,” he cautioned, emotion thick in his throat. Cock still, he worked his finger into her ass, watching the tip disappear. Her cunt fluttered around him and she hyperventilated with need. He kept her perched there, tightening his perineum so that his cock moved inside her without him thrusting.
He slid his finger in to the middle joint, gently moving it in a small, dipping circle. She turned her head to the side, her cheek against the cool enamel coating of the tub. Her lips were parted and colored a dark, blood infused cherry. A matching spot of color flushed the apple of her cheek. She was close to coming now, her hips moving to match his pace. He started to stroke both holes, his finger sliding all the way in.
She had every muscle locked around him. Her grinds had turned desperate and short, her body almost in seizure as her second climax overtook her first. His finger worked her ass and she straightened at the waist. She let her weight pull her down so that he pushed deeper into her, great contractions rolling through her as she came again and collapsed forward.
Walt eased from Bryce, settled back in the big tub and pulled her to him. She twisted until she was three-quarters on her stomach, her lower body nestled between his spread legs. She rested against him, their bodies chest-to-chest. He stilled his thoughts, focusing only on the feeling of her lips as they brushed against his collar bone.
He knew she was tired and sated, too content to worry about her body. He also knew it would take a lot more to move her beyond this being a merely transitory state in which she was Bryce the Beautiful—the lush creature that fueled his every fantasy.
But, for the moment, his satisf
action was complete.
Chapter Twelve
Dressed once again in the black georgette, the charm bracelet securely around her wrist, Bryce waited while Diaz came around to her side of his parked Suburban and opened the door for her. She stood next to him while he made sure the vehicle’s doors were locked, and then they started across the lot to the building that housed his studio.
They were just off E. Alameda Avenue and the sound of passing railcars drowned out any chance of conversation as they walked. The area was at the top end of being low-rent for Glendale, but she still couldn’t imagine paying for both an apartment and space in one of the buildings. As she’d learned on the drive over, he was paying for an entire floor.
“I’ve got some paperwork to take care of while I’m here,” Diaz said, inserting his elevator key. “It should only take me about half an hour, so have a look around and I’ll give you the grand tour when I’m finished.”
The elevator stopped at the top floor and he slid the gate back, letting Bryce enter first. She didn’t need to wait until Monday for Diaz to admit to being a trust fund baby or someone who’d managed to get out of the market before the dot.com craze went dot.bust—his studio said it all. The space was huge, the area directly in front of the elevator furnished with a midnight blue sofa and pearl gray love seat in a short napped velvet. The seating surrounded a large square coffee table made of a light colored wood that looked something like a pickled oak. She wasn’t exactly sure what type of wood it was, but knew the table wasn’t a garage sale find. The desk he sat down at to take care of his paperwork matched the coffee table and had a cushioned low back chair. Until she reached the actual work area of the studio, she felt like she had walked into a Casa Armani showroom.
The rest of the loft area was all business. There were canvases in groupings, not as if they were on display, but warehoused as if to suit the building’s original purpose before it had been converted. Some paintings were waiting to be framed and packaged. Others were wrapped in plain brown paper for pickup. These sat next to shipping boxes and crates, as well as the more practical canvas tubes. Bryce discreetly looked at the shipping labels. Most were merely tagged for a courier service without a buyer’s name, but she knew all the trendy and star-filled neighborhoods as well as any other Angelino.
