"Fuck, Layla," he ground out, "that feels--you feel incredible."
I squeezed his cock as hard as I could. "You like that?"
He thrust up into me, our hips grinding together. "Fuck yes. Do it again."
I lifted up, swirled my hips so the broad head of his dick smeared in circles between my damp labia, and then plunged down on him, squeezing at tight as I could. "Like that?"
His hands coasted up my ribs to knead my boobs, cupping and stroking. "Just like that. Keep doing that. Ride me until we both come."
So I did.
I clamped down as I lifted up once more, relaxing at the apex, circling my hips again to move his shaft around and around, keeping him guessing as to when I would...slam down hard, our bodies meeting with a loud slap of my ass onto his thighs, squeezing with my pussy muscles on the down-thrust.
Seated on him, panting, everything inside me pulsing madly, I knew I had to draw it out. When I came again, it would be hard, and it would break something in me. I was scared of it. It was inevitable, but I still tried to push it away. I had to.
Self-preservation.
There was something real between Harris and me, and it scared the living shit out of me.
So I played with him. Drew it out. Used every trick I knew to string him along.
With his cock impaled inside me, I rolled my hips in broad circles, grinding down on him. And then I lifted up, paused, and sank down, and then ground hard on him again. Repeated this until I was shuddering and on the edge myself.
Harris was sweating, breathing hard, and clearly feeling what I was doing, but he hadn't said a word, hadn't made a sound. He'd kept his grip on my hair, and his other hand was resting on the bend of my hip where it became thigh, cupping, holding. Letting me do what I wanted.
I lifted up, planted my palms on his chest, and feathered slow, shallow thrusts around him, sliding just the top couple of inches in and out of me. Over and over and over, I teased us both with shallow movements, never letting more than half of his cock in me at any one point, sliding up, circling, sliding down his shaft again, pulling back to stretch his dick away from his body and moving in circles again.
And all the while, Harris let me.
Jaw clenched, panting, sweat gleaming on his face and body.
Finally, he growled. "Enough, Layla."
He thrust up, jerked my head down, and captured my mouth with his. I was on top, but he was in control. He kissed me. Ho-ly fuck, did he kiss me. All tongue, lips crushed to lips, demanding that I kiss him back, commanding my mouth. His body moved, his palm on my ass, pulling at me, his hips thrusting up.
I moaned into the kiss and had to glide on him, had to move. The kiss burned me, stole my breath from my lungs and the will from my soul. It was a kiss that dominated, a kiss that possessed. Took.
He fucked.
And I could do nothing but ride him, do nothing but take it. I was helpless on top of him, my face kept crushed against his by the rough and firm grip of his fist in my hair, paralyzed by the kiss.
It wasn't just fucking, though. The movements of his body, the rough and wild and vigorous thrusting--that was fucking. It was raw and primal and unrestrained. Everything that had gone before that, the spanking and the thrusts from behind, everything I'd done to him up until that moment, it was all just...a precursor.
Foreplay.
This was...something else. Not fucking. Nothing so impersonal or casual as that. This was Nick taking possession of my soul. This was Harris taking command of my body. This was...my walls being demolished. My defenses eradicated.
I think I came at some point, but I was so blown apart by the implications of how much I was feeling emotionally that it didn't really register.
I like sex. Duh. I mean, I really like sex. A lot. A whole fucking lot. It's, like, my favorite thing, along with getting naked-wasted on cheap red wine and bingeing on Netflix.
But I'd never had sex like this. It was...new. Strange. Intense. Emotional. Fraught with meaning. It...meant something.
And I didn't know how to deal.
I couldn't deal.
But Nick wasn't letting go, wasn't letting me off the hook. He gave me enough slack in the grip on my hair that we could pause the kiss to take a breath, but that was almost worse. Without the kiss, I had to meet his gaze. And fuck, his eyes...the passion in them. The need. The way he looked so deeply into my eyes, the way his glance flicked down to where our bodies joined. It was all too much.
I kissed him, this time.
Smashed my mouth to his so hard our teeth clacked and my lip split. Harris pulled back, licked my lip where it throbbed and kissed it. And then, slowly, gently, masterfully, he claimed my mouth. Once again taking the initiative and control away from me.
God, he fucking owned me. He knew exactly in each moment and in each situation exactly how to snatch control away from me and make me utterly dependent on him.
My choice was to either cede control to him entirely, or get off and walk away.
I thought about it, I really did.
If we came together--and we would, I was positive--something was going to change.
But I couldn't walk way. Couldn't. I tried. Jesus, did I try. But I couldn't make myself do it.
I was too ensnared by the mastery of his kiss, too paralyzed by the throb of upwelling ecstasy, too pierced by the intensity in his eyes and the rising urgency in his thrusts.
And can I just say, holy hell, the man had extreme stamina.
He let me pull my head back, but didn't let go of my hair. His fingers were fisted in my curls at the nape of my neck, and he let me rise up enough to plant my fists in the pillow by his face. Our faces were inches apart, but we weren't kissing, now. He was thrusting slowly, long, deep glides in and out with smooth, perfect strokes. I drew my knees up under me and started pushing back into his thrusts, our eyes fixed on each other and unwavering. Not looking away.
I wanted to.
I hated the intensity, hated the vulnerability I felt in myself. He saw me.
I couldn't look away.
I knew the exact moment he lost the battle for control over his own body; he snarled like a wolf and began fucking in earnest, wild manic upward plunges, and his grip on my hair tightened to the point of pain, but I liked that, because it grounded me. Distracted me a little from the open passion in his eyes, from the raw furious frantic need in his gaze. From the blazing connection streaming between us. I could only push down onto him, could only ride him and take his fucking.
God, it felt perfect.
The most heavenly ecstasy ever, Harris fucking me while his eyes promised so many, many things. Tender things.
"Layla," he murmured.
I couldn't speak. Could only whimper breathlessly.
"Squeeze. Hard."
So I squeezed as hard as I could, went still and focused on squeezing.
"Oh...fuck. Layla. I'm coming." He jerked me down so our mouths touched, but didn't kiss me, his eyes on mine. "Look at me. Don't you dare look away."
"I won't...I'm looking at you," I gasped.
I felt him start to come, and my eyes watered.
He cupped my face, thumb brushing over my lips. "Come now, Layla."
I came. Holy fucking hell, I came. So hard.
"Say my name, Layla. Say my fucking name while you come apart on top of me."
"Nick," I breathed. "Nicholas. I'm coming, Nick."
I felt him unleash. He bit my lip, kept my face pressed to his and kissed me dizzy, and his hand slid down my body and spanked my ass once, hard, and then, finally, he came. Jet after jet of hot seed poured out of him and into me, and I couldn't do anything but feel it and squeeze him and marvel at what I'd never felt in my life before, the hot wet gush of a man coming bare inside me, filling me, surging up into me and stuttering in his thrusts as he came, came, came, his kiss fumbling as he lost all control, his hand on my ass, gripping, kneading, pulling me harder against him.
I ground onto him, clenched him w
ith my inner muscles, and whimpered as I came with him, not coming again, but coming still, a continuation of a long shattering climax.
"Fuck," he breathed, settling back.
"Holy shit." I collapsed onto him.
Instead of rolling me off him, he took my weight on his body and wrapped his arms around me, kept me from escaping.
Almost as if he understood the panic shooting through me.
A single tear escaped my eye, because I knew what had just happened had utterly and completely ruined me.
I'm so fucked.
14
DRAW IT OUT
I woke alone, slowly and disoriented. Sore. Deliciously sore, in all the best ways.
I heard heavy breathing, even and steady from somewhere in the room. Twisting and stretching, I rolled to the edge of the bed toward the sound and saw Harris, stark naked on the floor, doing pushups.
Which might just be the hottest thing I've ever seen. His bare ass was taut and flexed, hard as granite, and the broad plane of his back was a ridged field of pulsing muscles as he lowered himself to the floor with exquisite slowness. His biceps bulged, gleaming with sweat, and he pushed himself up again just as slowly. He breathed out each time he lowered his body, and breathed in when he pushed up. Again and again, never rushing, never wavering. A hundred times, he did this. I know, because I watched each one, counting with him, fascinated and hypnotized by the sight.
Jesus.
And then he rolled to his back, touched his fingertips to the back of his head, and did the kind of crunches where he jerked his knee toward his face while lunging his torso forward, touching his right elbow to his left knee and vice versa. I know he saw me, but he didn't pause, just crunched, crunched, crunched. Another hundred.
Hooooo, Lordy.
Then he stood, his feet slightly more than shoulder-width apart, and squatted, extending his arms as he did so, then stood up. Like the pushups and the crunches, he made each motion slow and deliberate and with total control.
I might have had to stifle a chuckle at that. I mean, how could I not? He was buck naked, so his junk was flopping all over the place, and it was kind of funny.
But then he finished his hundredth squat and his eyes cut to mine, he turned and stood in front of me, and I stopped laughing. Post workout, naked, sweaty, muscles swollen...Nick Harris was a fucking beast and I wanted him.
I stared at him, meeting his eyes, and then let my gaze slowly rake down his magnificent body to his cock. It was waking up. Stiffening, hanging down but starting to curl to the side as arousal sent blood coursing through it.
Fuck, I wanted him.
I needed him. I'd never needed anyone before, and it had me quaking with fear. I hated being afraid. It made me angry.
So I did the only thing I could think of: I slid off the bed and sank to my knees in front of him, staring up at him. He stood still, arms at his sides, breathing heavily. Maybe if I sucked his cock, I'd avoid the intensity, the vulnerability, the need.
I began slowly, intending to make a production of this. Make it good. Make it last. Make it the hottest goddamn blowjob he'd ever gotten, or ever will get. I carved my palms up his legs, starting at his calves and grazing them up the backs of his legs to his ass, cupping it, kneading it, digging my fingers into the impressively iron-hard muscle. I turned my eyes down to his cock, which was at half-mast, now. I held onto his butt and nuzzled his belly above his burgeoning erection, feeling it bumping up against my chin. Slid my lips around to kiss beside the root, and then touched my mouth to his tautening sack. He smelled of sweat, but it was clean, fresh sweat, and I didn't mind it. It was a manly smell, masculine, arousing. I took his sack in mouth and felt his dick hardening against my cheek. A glance showed me his hands clenching into fists and releasing, and I flicked my eyes up to his. Snared by the fire in his green eyes, I couldn't look away, wondering what he was thinking. He had his poker face on, only his eyes giving away the fact that he was feeling anything at all. I knew he felt it, though. What, I wasn't sure, but something, and powerfully.
I let the length of his penis slide against my cheek as I drew my face away from his body, and then finally the tip of his nearly-erect shaft was bobbing at my lips, hardening and straightening. I gave it a lick, a quick flick of my tongue against the head, and Harris sucked in his breath sharply.
I kept my gaze on his, opened my mouth, and took him between my lips, gazing up at him all the while, cupping his ass with both hands. He let out a breath, and his brows furrowed. I backed away, let him bob free of my mouth, and ran my tongue up and down his length, licking him over and over again, broad fat swipes of my tongue against his salty, soft flesh.
I wrapped my lips around the head now, and suckled, starting slowly and gently and increasing intensity until I heard him groan and felt his hips flutter, and then I spat him out. He sagged slightly, exhaling a rough breath.
"Jesus, Layla." He reached down and tried to lift me, but I grabbed his hands and shoved them into the tangled mass of my hair.
He buried his fingers in my hair and held on, but didn't make any move to urge me to go down on him again. He seemed content to let me do this my way, for now.
Fine by me.
I was totally avoiding things, because I knew if we fucked again, there would be talking, and shit would get real, and I wasn't ready for that. Sucking his dick nicely circumvented the whole business, pleasantly for him. And as for me? Well, let's just say his cock was not only impressive to look at, but enjoyable for my mouth as well. Maybe I'm in the minority here, but I actually kind of liked giving blowjobs. I liked the power, yes, the feeling of knowing I was able to elicit strong reactions. Control a man via giving pleasure. But I also just liked it, liked feeling cock in my hand, liked to stroke the skin, and the musky taste, the feel of him in my mouth, the way he'd tense and explode. It was also a good test of the man, because the good ones would return the favor, maybe not right then, but at some point. And I also really enjoyed receiving cunnilingus. If he didn't return the favor, there usually wouldn't be seconds for him. Call me a bitch, but it was a pretty handy rule of thumb. Not solely because of the oral itself, though, but more because if he wasn't willing to return the favor, he likely wouldn't be focused on making sure I got mine during sex in general. Which didn't work for me. I expected to get mine. That's the whole point, right?
But this, with Harris, this was several things at once. It was a delaying tactic, an avoidance tactic. It was also because I just genuinely wanted to go down on him, wanted to exert some kind of control over him, put him under my spell as payback for the way he had utterly dominated me during sex.
So, I went down on him.
I brought my hands around front, sank back on my heels, and curled my fingers around his shaft. He exhaled sharply, and his fingers tightened in my hair. I hadn't even done anything yet, but he was already grinding his jaws and gripping my curls for dear life.
Oh buddy. Just you wait.
I started stroking him; one hand loosely curled around his thickness and pumped up and down, my skin barely making contact with his. My other hand wasn't idle, though; I had his balls in my palm and was massaging them as gently as I could. I stroked him slowly, gentle caresses of his length, up and down, up and down. When my hand reached the top of his shaft, I cupped my palm over his head and gripped it, twisted, then slid my fingers around the plump pink mushroom head and stroked short pumps around the tip, faster and faster until his hips fluttered and his breath left him in a gust.
And then I stopped.
He made a low sound of warning in his chest, a sound of disapproval. Good. That meant he was starting to really feel things, now.
I scooted backward, pushed him a step away, and then gripped his cock in both hands and began a slow two-handed pumping, pulling him away from his body and leaning forward to take him into my mouth. Just the very tip, at first, the way you might put your lips on the very tip of a tall scoop of ice cream. Double-fist strokes, over and over. He was gru
nting, a low, almost inaudible sound, but a good sign. I started bobbing, replacing some of the strokes of my hands with my mouth, going lower and lower, my lips passing the groove of circumcision but no further, bobbing up and down, sucking as the springy flesh entered my mouth. He started thrusting, and his grip on my hair tightened. He really had a thing for my hair, it seemed; he now had both hands gripping the mass of it tightly near the scalp. He wasn't applying any pressure, though, just holding. His hips flexed, pushing his cock farther into my mouth. I took it, accepted more of his thickness between my lips, let my tongue slide against his flesh, stroked with one hand only now, bobbing down into his thrusts, cupping his balls and kneading them gently.
His breath was ragged, rasping grunts, and I knew he was close.
So I slowed down. Stroked his length as slowly as I could, lowered my mouth around him, opening my throat and leaning forward to let him in further, taking him deep. He liked that. I did it again, stretching his cock away from his body until it was nearly horizontal, holding it by the base with both hands. I glanced up at him through my eyelashes and deep-throated him.
"Fuck." The first word he'd uttered so far.
I hummed a questioning sound--mmmhmmm?
His jaw flexed and he pulled at me, very gently, but a slight pressure as I moved toward him, his cock passing between my lips, over my tongue, the tip nudging my throat. Harris was breathing hard again, his abs tensed.
He was holding back.
That wasn't gonna work. He was planning to let me take him to the very edge, I realized, and then he'd retake control and try to finish inside my pussy. Try to make it intimate. Face to face, probably. Some way that he could make sure I was there with him, some way he could reassert my vulnerability.
Hell no.
So I sped up, started bobbing back and forth, taking him deep into my throat each time, until I had a good rhythm going. I felt him shudder, heard him grunt and sigh, muttering curses under his breath as he neared the edge.
Closer, now.
He throbbed in my mouth, and I tasted pre-come on my tongue. Full strokes, from the tip of his erection against my lips to his belly against my nose, long wet strokes of my mouth around his shaft. I moved my hands to his ass and gripped him, pulled against him, encouraging him to move. He let himself thrust, then, and I kept pulling, harder and harder, getting him to thrust, to fuck my mouth.
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