by Ellis, Dee
The torturous anticipation haunted her until this night when they were finally alone. The waiting had been agony and Sandrine suspected he was prolonging it for as long as possible. All that day, she’d been distracted, almost crazed with a lust that wouldn’t abate. She’d tried to take her mind off things but nothing could ease the images swirling through her mind.
In the late afternoon, she had taken a long, indulgent bath but the hot oily water only made her hornier. Her fingers couldn’t resist the softness between her legs, stroking a clit as inflamed as her mind, sliding inside, seeking the exquisite nerve-ends of her G-spot. She needed release but kept herself a maddeningly fraction short.
After a long time browsing her closet, selecting then discarding a number of outfits, she settled on a long-sleeved black dress of fine wool with a scoop neck and a hemline that just brushed her knees. In the mirror, she thought it demure then smiled as she recalled Jack’s earlier comment about dressing like a librarian. Maybe so, she thought, but this librarian means business.
With a dab of Monyette, and the lightest application of lip gloss, a charcoal Zac Posen jacket with a dramatic cut, and a cashmere scarf, she was finished just as the buzzer sounded from downstairs. Jack was waiting just outside the foyer doors.
He kissed her on the cheek, holding her out at arm’s length at examine her.
“You look wonderful,” he said, his voice warm with approval, which warmed her in return. Despite a chill wind blowing down the street, she felt cosy and happy, although the niggling pressure in the pit of her stomach remained a constant.
They dined at an Italian restaurant, sitting close together at a miniscule table for two in a quiet corner away from the frantic bustle going on around them. The alcove afforded them the luxury of being able to talk without raising their voices. He closed his hand over hers as they waited for their meal and they chatted about many things although, later, she found it difficult to recall exact details.
It became a blur. Throughout dinner she noticed Jack casting the occasional lingering glance at her cleavage visible above the scoop neck. It pleased her immensely that she was the sole focus of his attention. He didn’t scan the room as he’d done before. He looked into her eyes when they talked and took in everything she said.
Sandrine dwelled on his eyes as well, loved their intensity and the way they seemed to change from hazel to green depending on the light, but found herself focusing completely on his lips, concentrating so intently that she frequently missed his words. It was his lips she sought, wishing that he’d lean across the sparse few inches separating them and kiss her. Squirming, she was aware of just how wet her panties were becoming.
The meal, veal meatballs with spaghetti in a spicy tomato sauce, sated one hunger but sharpened another. As they finished off the bottle of Chianti Classico, Jack asked whether she’d like dessert.
“Of course,” she replied, the wine making her a little bolder than she would ordinarily be. “But we’ll be more comfortable if we have it at my place.”
Damn! Did I just say that?
Jack’s face lit up with a Cheshire Cat grin.
“Better than the tiramisu here? It’s spectacular.”
“Wait and see,” she insisted.
Jack waved to the waiter. “Check, please.”
Within half an hour, they were back at Sandrine’s apartment. The living room glowed from a single table lamp. She barely had enough time to take off her coat before Jack moved in close behind her, pulled her against him and started kissing her neck. She was glad she’d had the two glasses of wine or she would have been much more nervous than she was.
He was intent, demanding, his breath ragged against her skin. The zipper at her back eased down. The dress fell to the floor. Her bra joined it. His large hands closed over her breasts, enclosing them, the hard nipples trapped between his fingers, squeezing gently. She groaned softly and involuntarily thrust herself back against him, grinding against the growing bulge.
They were facing the windows to the street. Across a wide roadway was an office block, all its lights blazing despite the late hour. It was a 1960s’ vintage building, somewhat of an architectural landmark in the city, and its floor-to-ceiling windows gave an unobstructed view deep into a maze of offices. Most were unoccupied at this time but one or two people were visible, in shirts and ties, moving around desks or conferences tables, walking through open-plan offices burdened with files. One man in dark trousers, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a brightly striped tie was sitting at a desk in a room almost directly opposite Sandrine’s apartment. He appeared to be reading. She wondered if he would be able to see them if he looked up, whether the dim light in her apartment was enough to illuminate them.
Jack didn’t give any indication that he knew he had a potential audience. He continued to kiss her neck, playing with her breasts as he did so. Then one hand dipped lower, trailing down her stomach and sliding inside the waistband of her panties. As he touched her pubic hair, he pressed her back harder against him, grinding her against the solidness of his groin.
As he traced a finger against the puffy wetness of her lips, she pulled away, turned around to face him.
“No, not yet,” she said breathily. “You were so good to me last time, so generous. It’s my turn now.”
She turned him sideways so they were outlined in the window, then she sank to her knees. The smell of him was intense now. He reached down and stroked her hair, softly, lingeringly. Sandrine unbuckled his belt and drew down the zip and, in one fluid movement, jerked his pants and underwear to his ankles.
His cock sprung free, almost hitting her in the face.
Oh, God, it’s magnificent, everything she hoped it would be and so much more. It was long and very hard, circumcised (so beautiful) and seemingly sculpted from marble, the head huge. It hung heavily between his legs and she reached out and stroked it with the very tips of her fingers before reaching under to cup his testicles, which were equally heavy and full. The thatch of pubic hair seemed uncommonly neat and she wondered whether he trimmed it.
Up close, Jack was so much bigger than she imagined and the first stab of panic rushed through Sandrine. The fear that swept across her had a strange and immediate side-effect, paradoxically heightening her excitement. Can I handle him? God, I hope so. She couldn’t think straight. While the wine had quietened the doubts that would ordinarily have crowded her reasoning, she was too caught up in the moment, in her own needs, to feel anything but the pressing urgency of her passion. Jack filled her senses. Soon, she was determined, very soon, he’d fill her body as well.
As she knelt in front of him, she brought her face close to his body, her nose buried in the dark juncture of his pubic hair. Breathing deeply, the smell was intoxicating, earthy and spicy and sharp with deep, penetratingly masculine notes.
She caressed her breasts, giving a gentle squeeze to her pebble-hard nipples in such a way that sent fireworks exploding behind her closed eyelids.
She leaned back and looked up at him. He was smiling, his eyes dancing with delight. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She’d crossed yet another line and there was no turning back.
“Watch me, Jack.”
With that, she kissed the head of his cock once, twice, then plunged her mouth lingeringly down on him, drawing as much into her as she could. It tasted delicious, salty and a little tangy; it was something she could grow very happy with. She moved her mouth rhythmically, each time trying to get more in but it was just too big, too wide and she wished she was more skilled.
Jack didn’t seem to mind her inexperience, though. He started to groan, grabbing a handful of her hair, adjusting the angle of her mouth and guiding her to a slightly faster rhythm. She allowed herself to be pliable and soon found his cock swelling, the head growing against the back of her mouth.
Then, just as she thought he would start to come, he pulled her face from him, leaving it dangling enticingly close, maddeningly so, rigid and straining, slick f
rom her mouth, bobbing with the pulse of his blood drumming through his veins.
“Not yet. I’m not ready,” he said. Jack guided her to the couch. In the window across the road, the man was standing now, his attention completely focused on them. He was straining to see them in the dim light of the living room.
Jack kissed her deeply, hungrily. She grabbed his erection and moved it towards her but he pulled away, standing up to tower above her. In the pale yellow light, his body was moulded from stone, like a classical statue. His shoulders were wide and muscles rippled along his upper arms. His chest was dark with a scattering of curly hair, his waist was slim and his legs well defined and sturdy. From the pocket of his discarded jacket he pulled a small square foil.
She knew it was important so early in their relationship but she felt a disappointment nonetheless. To sheath such a raging, beautiful thing in rubber seemed a shame. She wanted to feel the heat searing into her, skin on skin, every fold and contour and ridge.
The condom eased onto his aching hardness, he ripped her panties open roughly, positioned himself between her legs and thrust forward with a determination that expelled the breath out of her. In one smooth movement, he was buried deep inside her. She was so aroused there was no hesitation. His erection, as thick and solid as it was, filled her with a heavenly finality.
They had no time for finesse. The long evening had served to tease them both and her mouth had sharpened his desire to the very edge of breaking point. He was beyond any thought but his need to pound her intoxicating tightness until he emptied himself inside her. And that was precisely what she wanted as well. She longed to feel his pleasure, his satisfaction. She needed to know that she was attractive, beautiful, desired. And she wanted to feel his flood.
There was no way this could be called anything but brute fucking. There was no tenderness. They were both crazed, driven by a mindless consummation of their mutual needs, their physical pleasure paramount above all else.
He held off as long as he could. The sensations were just so intense, so all-encompassing, that he didn’t want it to end but the pressure was growing and the more he pounded into her, the faster he moved, the closer his self-control came to evaporating. Finally, with a heaving groan, he came. At that moment, his release obvious, she clung to him, crying out with the savageness of her own climax.
Neither of them could speak for several minutes. They lay tangled together, fighting for breath, their naked bodies damp with sweat.
“So, Jack,” Sandrine finally gasped. “Was dessert to your liking or should we have stayed for the tiramisu?”
“This was so much better,” he eventually replied once his heart slowed enough so it didn’t break free of his chest. “In fact, maybe a little later, I think I’ll be asking for seconds.”
Chapter Fourteen
This time, when she awoke, there was no panic. She was lying on her side, in her own bed, and the previous night’s events drifted slowly back to her on a cosy cloud of contentment. She was tired and her body ached in the most intimate places but it was a feeling that held no menace. Although she’d slept soundly, she hadn’t dreamed or, if she did, she had no memory of it.
It was morning and light leached around the curtains. Jack was nestled into her naked back, one arm wrapped around her. His breathing was slow and deep and stole softly along the back of her neck. She could feel his strength, even in repose, nowhere more obvious than in his thick cock that was pulsing against her thigh.
An idle thought floated through her. We fit so well together, two parts becoming one so easily. She moved slightly, stretching. Although Jack gave every indication of being asleep, he pulled her back into position, tight against him, his hand closing over her breast and her nipple reacting instantly in approval, his cock lengthening lazily, solidly, and slipping into the space between her legs.
She reached down and lightly traced the engorged head with her fingers. The smooth skin was slick with pre-cum. God, it’s magnificent, she thought. He’s magnificent. He wants me, even in his sleep. Her heart was beating so fiercely now it threatened to break free of her chest.
While still tightly in his grasp, she started to move her hips against him. His cock slid effortlessly against her swelling lips, teasing the sensitive bud of her clit. It was getting firmer, thicker. One twitch, the very slightest change of angle and it would be spearing into her. Her insides melted at the thought and her muscles clenched involuntarily as if it wanted to eat him.
It took all her self-control to resist the opportunity but she couldn’t work out how to get out of bed to find a condom without disturbing him and breaking the magical mood that had been created. I want it inside me, just as it is, skin on skin, just for a moment, her hunger was saying. Be strong, her common sense was countering, better safe than sorry. Two sides of her being screaming at each other, body and brain, and she was far too confused, too overcome by blinding physical need to take either side.
Just as she was about to truss up her common sense and bury it in a black hole, carelessly angle her hips and thrust herself back against his raging cock, Jack kissed her neck gently.
“Hey,” he said a little groggily, his voice husky. “What are you up to? Not fair trying to take advantage of me when I’m sleeping.”
“There’s one part of you that’s very awake.”
“Hold that thought for a minute.” He released her and moved out of the bed. “I need to brush my teeth. Do you have a spare toothbrush?”
“In the bathroom cupboard.”
He excused himself. She rolled over on her back and watched him as he walked away. Jack had the cutest bum, tight and shapely. His back was nicely muscled, not overly so but just right. It showed that he worked out and took good care of himself.
The bed suddenly seemed very big and far too empty without him. The space he’d left was still warm and held his masculine smell. There was also another smell, less perceptible but infinitely more stirring. It was the smell of sex. Idly, she sniffed her fingers and the sharp, intense aroma of his cock filled her. Oh, delicious. So wonderful. I want him again, she thought. I’m sore but I don’t care.
After a few minutes, he walked back into the bedroom. The sight of his cock, hanging heavily between his legs, riveted her attention. The room was warm and he pulled the covers back to the end of the bed, exposing her. She made no move to cover herself, it would have been redundant to do so and he appeared to be entranced with what he saw. She spread her legs wide in invitation.
He knelt beside her, kissed her breasts, her stomach and her pubis, then lay down next to her, scooped her up in his arms and kissed her mouth hungrily. Sandrine was aware that her breath may be a little unsavoury from sleep but he didn’t seem to mind. The light stubble on his face bruised her chin.
“Maybe I should go to the bathroom as well,” she said, trying to pull away but his arms were locked tight.
“Don’t leave. You’re fine as you are,” he replied, kissing her deeply again. His cock was pulsing against her thigh.
“Then let me look at you.” She moved so her face was directly in line with his rigid hardness. “You’re huge. I don’t know how it fits inside me.”
His laugh was a deep, amused rumble that resonated inside her.
“You’re sweet but I’m not that big.”
“How can you say that?” A playful outrage tinged her voice. Her hand couldn’t quite encompass it, the thickness was such her fingers could barely touch. “You are.”
“I’m certainly not John Holmes. In the scheme of things, I’m about average. Maybe slightly above. But it is thick. It’s just that you’re so small, it’s all in the comparison.”
“I don’t care what you say. It’s wonderful. It gave me so much pleasure last night. I think about your cock constantly – is that a terrible thing to say? And whenever I’m with you, I’m soaking wet.”
“You might notice you have an effect on me as well.”
Sandrine pumped it with her hand, then sank her
mouth down, taking in as much as she could. The salty taste spiked her passion. He groaned. She was uncomfortably aware of her lack of experience in this area. It had never been a priority in her previous relationships but she wanted to please Jack in every possible way. His penis was such a thing of beauty, she wanted to play with it constantly, look at it, fondle it, kiss it, have it inside her. It was a natural progression for her to give it as much attention with her mouth as with any other part of her body.
She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, she wasn’t even sure she was doing it right, but it tasted so good, so sharp yet musky. The only way she could approach the task was to think of it like sucking a lollypop. The thickness and length filled her mouth rather too quickly; luckily, she didn’t feel like gagging. She was having too much fun and it thrilled her that Jack also appeared to be enjoying it. He was moaning louder now and his hips were jerking reflexively upward. His hand stroked her hair and she knew he was fighting the urge to grab her head and thrust it down on his cock.
“Sandrine, please, be careful. It’s so intense. Don’t make me cum.”
She was as close to losing control as he was. Jack’s voice was strangled with tension, from the sheer effort it took to resist the tingling that signalled a rapidly approaching orgasm. It was getting to the stage where he had trouble articulating words and his hips were bucking faster.
This excited her immensely. She didn’t allow her enthusiasm to interrupt her pace, maintaining a steady rhythmic movement, feeling his cock swelling, getting fatter. The head was now stretched wide and the smooth skin nudged against the back of her throat.
Soon, in mere seconds, she understood that his cock would start to spurt and she was determined not to release it until it was fully drained. Jack cried out again, his hands clutching the bed sheets, his head flicking from side to side.
