by Jan Springer
She pried the material apart and he groaned. It was a hot, silky sound that purred over her nerve endings. His heart pounded against her chest as she pressed her breasts against him, but she drew her lower half away just enough to dip her fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear. She found his cock. His body jerked.
She swallowed.
Sweet mercy! He was so hard. And so big. Long and thick. Anticipation hummed through her as she grabbed his swollen shaft. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the pulsing power. She squeezed lightly, feeling the velvet skin and steel beneath. Just as big as Steve, her mind shouted with joy.
She wanted to see him!
She was about to reach for the light when his hands speared through her hair and he broke the kiss.
“Damn,” he whispered, his strangled voice tore from his throat. It was hoarse and filled with lust.
“I want your lips around my cock, Emily. Wanted it for so long.”
She felt his hands drop to her shoulders, his palms like fire as he gently pushed her to her knees.
“Take me into your mouth, Emily.”
Hot lust pooled between her thighs at his words. In the moonlight she could see his cock erupting from his pants, angling toward his belly. Could see the swollen sac beneath. His fingers came down over hers, holding his staff steady.
“Hold tight here, even when I let go.” His voice sounded harsh now. Desperate. “It’ll prevent me from going too deep. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She gazed up at his face. In the moon glow he looked fierce, almost savage in his need. Fear and excitement mingled within her and excitement won out. She nodded, understanding. Sensed he was fighting to control himself and that he was quickly losing the battle.
Opening her mouth, she leaned forward. His strong, pulsing shaft seared her lips. Branded her, and all her thoughts were spiraling. Gripping his shaft tighter, she took more of him into her mouth. The silky feel of his flesh was unbelievable. He came in until her lips were stretched tightly over his mushroom-shaped cock head and then her hands stopped him from entering more.
Wow! Such power. It exuded from his penis in throbbing waves. Made her pussy clench in appreciation. And in want.
“Emily, I want you—”
She didn’t understand what else he said because she was hollowing her cheeks and pulling her head away, allowing his shaft to withdraw before she angled her head toward him again, bringing his cock into her mouth again.
Boy, she loved the strong feel of his flesh in her mouth. So hard and masculine. So erotic. She really could get into this. She heard him curse and smiled to herself. He sure did swear a lot when he was aroused.
Suddenly his hands roughly sifted through her hair, grabbing her, holding her head steady. Pinpricks of painful sensations screamed through her scalp. She found herself liking the erotic feel.
Tightening her lips around his shaft, she suckled him. He had a hot, salty male taste. Very nice.
She took her time exploring his cock and listened to his grunts and groans. She enjoyed the sensual shape of his cock head. Steve had been shaped like this too, she mused. Big and strong. Regret pulsed through her at never having taken her late husband’s cock into her mouth. She pushed the unwanted emotion aside. He was gone and Chance was here. And she liked that he was here.
He began fucking her mouth in slow, even and tightly constrained strokes. Awareness buzzed between her thighs with his every plunge. She needed him stroking his cock in and out of her pussy. Needed him fucking her there too. Maybe even fucking her ass.
At that last thought, pleasure scrambled through her. Deep and heavy it pooled inside her vagina and pounded with insistence. She moaned around his cock at the sensual feeling.
As if sensing her needs, he withdrew his cock from her mouth, leaving her feeling empty, disappointed and shaking.
“On the bed. On your hands and knees.”
She was breathing so hard she could hardly hear what he’d said. Anticipation screamed through her and she did as he instructed. She could barely stand, her knees felt weak, her body so hot. So feverish.
Sweet heavens! She’d never felt so odd like this before. Head rush, probably, she mused as she climbed onto the bed.
Had he truly said hands and knees? As in doggie style?
Shock mixed with excitement. She’d never had sex like this before. The bed moved as he climbed on behind her. Her breath became suspended in her chest as she felt his long fingers lash on to his waistband of her panties. He slid them over her hips and legs, and she lifted one knee at a time so he could remove the garment.
She arched as his finger found her clit and began massaging, zinging exquisite sensations into her. His finger was wet, he must have moistened it with his saliva, she thought. And she swore she was already on the verge of an explosion but held herself back, wanting to orgasm with him inside her. She could barely think as the arousal whipped through her. He knew exactly how to make her soar. Knew exactly how much pressure and how fast to rub her clit. Within seconds she was gasping and whimpering.
His hands settled on her hips like two brands of fire and he dug in. Held her steady. She cried out as he came into her vagina in one solid thrust. Burying himself right up to his balls. She didn’t even have time to appreciate how long and swollen he felt inside her before he was pulling out and plunging into her again.
Once, twice, three times. Harder and faster. Her mind disintegrated. Her body tightened as the sensations grabbed her. She shattered on a cry, the sexual tension exploding like a bomb.
She came hard and she came fast. Her vagina greedily clenched around his cock as he continued his thrusts. They were powerful plunges that sunk deep inside her pussy, unraveling all the sexual lust she’d been harboring for him.
She was flying. Melting into the pleasure. Mind, body and soul. From somewhere far away she heard him cry out. Felt the hot, pulsing liquid fill her and she numbly realized they’d forgotten to use the condoms. Oddly enough, that didn’t matter right now. Nothing mattered. Just the exquisite pleasure pulsing through her like a wild drug mattered.
Chapter Thirteen
Emily knew he was awake. She could hear it in the quick, unrelaxed way he breathed. Could feel it in the way his body felt tense against her side. Sensed his regret of having sex with her. Felt it coil through her like a sharp blade.
But she didn’t regret what happened. Not one bit. She’d needed the sex. It made her remember how it should be between a man and a woman. Passionate. Fulfilling. Raw with pleasure.
“I should leave,” he said from beside her. But he made no move to get out from beneath the covers they’d crawled under after their respective orgasms.
She wanted to tell him to stay. Wanted to tell him to fuck her again. She didn’t. She needed to think this through. She’d just had sex with a virtual stranger and without a condom.
“I’m safe from STD’s. In case that’s what’s worrying you,” he whispered.
There he went again. Reading her mind.
“I am too. I don’t usually—”
“You don’t have to explain. I know you don’t go hopping into bed with every guy you meet.”
How did he know she didn’t? She wanted to ask him that question but decided against it. He was just being nice.
“If I made you pregnant—”
“I’m on the Pill,” she lied, and then realized he probably was wondering why she’d bought condoms.
“But I still practice safe sex,” she replied quickly in order to reinforce his thoughts she was a nice girl and didn’t sleep around.
“I…have a low sperm count so the chances are remote that you are. But just in case I would stand by you. I’m not the kind of guy who cuts and runs.”
Despite a momentary pang of regret at his admitting he had a low sperm count she smiled into the darkness. Felt her heart warm at his words. She wanted to reach out to him. To tell him she sensed he was a very caring man, but it was too soon in the relationship. That is
if she could call this a relationship.
Her tummy did a weird hollowing feeling at the confusion of what had just happened. What could she call it? A roll in the hay? Release of many years worth of sexual tension? Confusion about her upcoming marriage? Okay, scrap the marriage. There would not be one now. If she’d been harboring even an inkling of doubt that once Chance was out of the picture she would pick up with Skip again, that idea was totally dead.
Skip was out of the picture. She would have to do a trip to New York and tell him personally. She owed him a face-to-face meeting. And poor Helena would be devastated. She’d poured so much money into the planning but Emily would pay her back. It was the least she could do.
Despite all the heartache she would create by backing out of a marriage that should never have been planned in the first place, Emily felt better. As if the weight of the world were off her shoulders.
Beside her Chance moved and she realized he was getting out of bed. Her heart fluttered as she spied his naked silhouette stand in the darkness. The man was built with perfection, she mused as she watched him bend over and grab his clothes, giving her a nice view of his perfectly shaped ass.
Yes, Jen had been right. Chance did have nice buns.
As he turned slightly, she caught a glimpse of his long, thick, semi-erect cock and thanked God it was dark enough in here that he couldn’t see the way her face flushed at the erotic sight.
Oh, his cock had felt so right in her mouth. Firm and hard. A swollen velvety heat that screamed of power. She’d felt that awesome power as he’d pistoned in and out of her pussy.
“Did you want me to leave?” he asked as he sat on the bed and slipped into his underwear.
His question zapped into her like an explosion.
“I mean leave the island.” Translation he was leaving her bed but he wanted to know if she wanted to kick him out of her home.
“No, I don’t want you to leave, Chance.” I want you to stay and make love to me all night. She should just say it. But she said nothing as he stood. She didn’t want him to think she was begging him for sex. It would have to come from him the next time around.
“I’ll see you in the morning then.”
“In the morning. Another day of seaweeding.”
She saw him flinch and found herself laughing.
“That is if you’re up to it,” she teased, feeling her confidence suddenly come back again.
“I’ll be up to it. Good night.”
“Good night.”
She watched him leave. Watched the sultry way the moonlight splashed over his well-made upper torso as he strolled to the door. In the darkness, she thought she made out some scars on his back but figured it was just a play of the moonlight. A moment later she heard the soft click of her bedroom door as he closed it behind him.
Confusion welled up inside like an untapped spring as she found herself once again alone in bed. For a little while tonight it had felt so natural to have a man back in her bed. Normal to have a man thrusting his cock deep into her.
She found herself pondering if maybe her taking his cock into her mouth had really happened. Or if she’d somehow dreamed that Chance Donovan had taken her from behind on the bed, allowing her experience one of the best orgasms she’d ever had in her life.
No, he’d been real.
The gentle soreness between her legs was proof it had happened and the way her lips continued to tingle made it real.
She’d just had sex with a man for the first time in over eight years. And for the first time in a long time she felt sexually satisfied.
Very satisfied.
* * * * *
Chance peered out his bedroom window at the white waves crashing against the wharf below and felt the jagged sting of confusion slash through him.
He’d made love to Emily. It had been fast and furious. Full of passion and it was over too quickly. It hadn’t been anything like he’d wanted for her. What he wanted was a romantic candlelight dinner. Some foreplay in the form of feeding her chocolate-dipped strawberries, spraying whipped cream on her pussy and eating her there until she was ready for his cock. He wanted a night of tender lovemaking. An unforgettable night of orgasms for both of them.
Instead it had been a bing, bam, thank you, ma’am, kind of sex. But it had been good. Really good.
Hell. It had been fantastic.
Now he just wanted more of her. More and more and more. He also wished he could tell her the truth. Spill his guts about being alive. Tell her he loved her so much that sometimes he couldn’t even think straight.
Like tonight. Seeing her standing there in her bedroom, he couldn’t think. He could only feel the need pulsing through his every fiber. The need to be with her. To love her.
Oddly enough, he didn’t feel regret at having made love to her. Just regret at how quickly it had happened and then the way he’d left her bed. If he hadn’t, then he would have started fucking her right then and there, condoms or no condoms.
He’d told her the truth about being clean. He’d had many tests to make sure he hadn’t picked up anything in that prison. Although he’d never been raped, he had been sodomized on several occasions with unidentifiable instruments.
It was best to be safe than sorry, so he’d taken the tests to make sure he didn’t have HIV or AIDS or any other type of sexually transmitted disease. He’d tested clean over the years.
But he had lied to her about one thing. He hadn’t come into her bedroom looking for the mace. He’d come looking for the laptop after placing a phone call to his brother Daniel. But no one had been home, so he’d left a message on their answering machine there was trouble and he would call them back.
He’d banked on Emily being a sound sleeper as she’d been in the past. Obviously she wasn’t anymore. Unless he’d been noisier than necessary, subconsciously hoping she’d wake him before he could grab the disc and the laptop and disappear on her.
His plan of leaving after he found the laptop was growing harder and harder to stick to with every passing hour. He sensed it wouldn’t be long before he finally caved in and blew her world apart.
In her bedroom, when he’d turned away from the wedding portrait to look at her, he’d been shaken to the core. She’d been looking at him with that familiar warm sparkle of love shining in her eyes. The same way she’d looked at him in the past, when he was Steve.
His heart had leapt with joy and he’d wanted to tell her everything. Then the rush of denial crashed through her eyes as she realized he wasn’t Steve.
Yes, she’d been thinking of Steve. Unfortunately he was dead and Chance was the leftovers.
Despite the danger of being with her, he ached to touch her sleep-tousled hair. Needed to feel her delicate lips brush against his mouth as they’d done during the picnic on the peninsula.
She’d always possessed absolute power over him. From the moment he’d spotted her at the White House press conference years earlier when she was a newly hired cub reporter with The New York Times and she’d asked the president a question. She’d smiled at the president’s satisfactory answer and the breathtaking hint of dimples in her cheeks had totally captured Chance’s attention.
He’d made it a point to get into the same elevator with her. He must have been staring too hard because she’d turned around and smiled at him. At that moment he realized he had already fallen in love with Emily Montgomery and he still was in love her.
* * * * *
The next morning at breakfast they didn’t speak about what happened between them last night. It was embarrassment on her part. She’d never been this bold with Steve as to hop out of bed and practically beg him to fuck her. But Chance just seemed to make her desperate for sex.
He kept quiet this morning too as he eagerly chowed down the bacon, eggs and toast laden with the sweet, homemade blueberry jam her sister-in-law Jo made from the blueberries she’d picked this past summer over in Maine where she lived with Daniel.
Emily figured Chance wasn’t me
ntioning last night’s sexcapade because he probably regretted it happening. Maybe he felt as if things had happened too fast between them? Whatever the reason for his silence, she kept herself busy by packing them a hearty lunch and listening to the news.
The radio revealed the hurricane was still forecast to hit the Nova Scotia coastline tomorrow and expected to be downgraded into a depression once it made landfall. But before then another storm was expected later this afternoon. If they played their cards right, they could get a good catch, dump the contents at the warehouse and get back home by the time the storm hit.
When they ventured outside, they were greeted by dark, gunmetal gray skies with rolling black clouds that threatened rain. Quickly they made their way down the stairs, which hugged the cliffs to the wharf where Sweet Lies was anchored. Out on the ocean a brisk, cold wind slammed into them, making Emily catch her breath at its intensity.
This northwest breeze promised them a cold day. The dark, choppy water made it difficult to spot the seaweed, so she suggested they work the beaches where piles of fresh seaweed had washed ashore from the wind. Manually they scooped the weed into baskets and dragged the heavy baskets to the boat, tossing the weed onto the net in the middle of the deck. Basketing seaweed was a technique used in the pioneer days before the use of horses and modern machinery, and with such abundance of it here, they would have a full haul by lunchtime.
Yes, it was unusual to have so much fresh seaweed on the shores, but over the years it did occasionally happen and Emily looked forward to those half days of work. Unfortunately today wasn’t one of them. Time off would only get her thinking on Chance. But the net eventually did fill to bursting and she could no longer hold off on calling it quits for the day, informing Chance that if he wanted they could have lunch in town today and save today’s lunch for tomorrow.
He readily agreed.
Asking Chance to hoist the anchor, she climbed the bridge ladder into the tugboat’s wheelhouse, noting her muscles ached as if she’d put in a full day’s work instead of half a day. Suddenly all she wanted to do was deliver today’s catch of seaweed to her warehouse, grab a hot meal in town and maybe have a couple of hours of gabbing over at Jake’s with some beers with the local fishermen, catching up on the gossip. Something normal. Something routine. Just as she’d been doing almost daily over the years.
