by Karina Halle
Of course I’ll let him. I’ve just never met a guy who wanted to paint my toenails.
“Can you do my nails too?” I ask, wiggling my fingers at him.
He grins, relieved. “Let’s see how the toes turn out. I’ve never done this before.”
Actually, that’s kind of a relief. It wouldn’t be as special if this turned out to be one of Keir’s signature moves.
He sits at the very end of the couch and I move back a bit so my legs can stretch out straight. I slide my Birkenstock off my foot and it drops to the floor with a loud clunk. He carefully lifts my leg, treating me with the utmost care, even though this is my good leg.
“So that’s what you bought at the drugstore,” I tell him, feeling like I should keep talking. “I thought you got condoms.”
His smile turns sly. “Oh, I got condoms too.”
My face grows hot, the image of Keir slipping on a condom dancing in my head. “You were awfully optimistic,” I tell him.
“Nothing wrong with that, little red.”
He runs his hands up the length of my calf, his thumbs gliding over my shins, all the way up to my knee. He glances up at me through heavy lashes, the force of his stare igniting me. I can feel the heat building in my core and supress the urge to clamp my legs together. Luckily when I ran into the house to get my swimsuit (Christina and Lee thankfully were not home), I grabbed a matching bra and underwear set (purple lace) and a new dress to wear, so I’m not caught that unaware.
His hands are strong as they grip me, and I am under his command, powerless in a beautiful way. He slides them back down, squeezing my calf muscles until they settle around my foot, and begins massaging them.
“Oh my god,” I manage to say, my head falling back onto the arm of the couch. I let out a moan that I should be embarrassed by but I’m not. This feels too good. I haven’t had a foot massage, let alone any massage, in forever, and all the strain and pressure that my good leg has had to deal with is finally letting loose.
“Just the words I wanted to hear,” he says. “Tell me if I’m being too rough.”
God, I want nothing more than for him to be rough with me.
I’m not sure how long he massages for, but it feels like forever. My foot and leg feel like marshmallows. His hands must be aching but his grip doesn’t waver for a second.
“All right,” he says, grabbing the nail polish. “Let’s see if I can A, get this on your nail without fucking up and B, not get it on the couch.”
I prop myself up on my elbows and watch him keenly as he inspects my toes.
“You have very pretty toes, you know that?” he says.
“It’s news to me.”
He unscrews the cap and very carefully starts painting my big toe. I almost have to laugh at how much he’s concentrating. His dark brows are furrowed, a hint of pink tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, his eyes sharp and focused. His hands don’t shake in the slightest.
Me, on the other hand, I’m trying my hardest not to shake at all. I get very fidgety when I’m nervous, so I have to take in a lot of deep breaths to keep still. Kat would be impressed, although this is not what she intended her breathing exercises for.
He finishes off the big toe by blowing on it.
Now I flinch, completely ticklish.
He gazes up at me, lips twitching into a wide smile. “Are you this ticklish everywhere?”
“No,” I tell him. Total lie.
“I’ll have to test that.”
I believe his threat. But then he starts on the next toe, and as he works his way down to my baby toe, his actions become more languid, more sensual. He’s massaging my foot as he holds it, blowing on it longer, eyeing me with heat.
“There,” he says, lifting my foot higher so I can see my nails. I flex them. He’s actually done a pretty good job, considering. “What do you think?”
“Very good. Though I don’t see you joining the ranks of the Vietnamese women at the salon down the street.”
He pretends to look crestfallen. “I had so much riding on this.” He puts the bottle on the coffee table and then gestures to the splint. “May I?”
I nod, even though my heart is starting to speed up. I had just changed into the splint after swimming; it’s new, it shouldn’t be dirty or smelly or anything like that but even then there’s something very vulnerable about this position.
He grasps my calf, careful to keep most of his grip on the sides, barely touching the back. “Am I hurting you?”
I shake my head, eyes glued to him as he gingerly takes my splint off. He does this with reverence, like he’s unwrapping a gift he never expected. He removes the back part of the boot and carefully slips my leg out.
“Still okay?” he asks softly.
I try to say yes but it comes out as a squeak.
He’s holding my leg in his hands, my poor, skinny, pale leg. Even though the view from the front is innocuous, underneath is where all the damage lies, and his fingertips are nearly touching it.
“The scarring,” I say, my breath escaping me. “Please be careful.”
“Feels odd, doesn’t it,” he says. “Hurts in a way that’s impossible to describe.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I’ll be as gentle as I can, little red. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You can trust me on that.”
And I do trust him.
He moves his hands down to my foot and starts to give me the same massage, this time his fingers more delicate, like a surgeon in the midst of an operation.
The feeling is different from the other leg. This is a mix of both pain and pleasure. I want him to stop and I don’t at the same time.
Then he does something that shocks the hell out of me.
He lifts my foot up and and licks the underside of my toe.
I let out a gasp.
“Want me to stop?” His voice is husky and that alone makes this an easy decision.
“No,” I say quietly. All I can think about is how right and wrong this is. Wrong because even though I had a bath yesterday, I showered twice today, and went for a swim, I’m still ashamed of my feet having been hidden away for so long. Right, because it’s Keir and it’s his mouth and I want his mouth absolutely everywhere, feet included.
He blows gently on the toe and then licks it again. The sensation is jarring, shocking, sensual. My brain doesn’t know how to feel about it, and my body is trying to catch up.
He then opens his mouth, pinching my toe between his teeth like he’s trying to take a bite out of it, before slowly sucking it in.
And suck he does. His tongue swirls around, wet and hot, and I let out a deep moan from my chest that rattles me. My eyes close as I relax back into the couch, succumbing to this taboo feeling. This is something I never thought I could enjoy or find pleasurable, and yet here I am, nearly boneless from it all.
He does the next toe, then the next, until my body is rigid with desire, begging for more.
More of something else.
“How about we paint these toes later,” he says thickly.
His breath skirts up the side of my calf, blowing in a steady stream toward my inner thigh.
I open my eyes to watch but get caught up in his fervent stare, his pupils dilating to become inky pools against a sea of dusky green. He doesn’t break eye contact as he moves up my thigh, his hands being careful around my calf.
My legs part involuntarily. I want this, I’m more than ready for this.
“Do you feel beautiful yet?” he asks.
I do. More than that, I feel desired in a way I’ve never experienced.
He gives a short nod, eyes glittering. “I’m far from done with you.”
Then he continues upward and I hike my dress up until it’s at my waist. He lets go of my leg and it settles next to him, hanging off the end of the couch as his hands part my legs further.
His head lowers, his fingers pulling aside my underwear, and I suck in my breath while his tongue licks a warm path up my
inner thigh, the nerves of my tender skin igniting.
A sharp stream of air hits between my legs where I’m swollen and waiting, and another gasp escapes my lips, everything in me tensing again as his face comes closer. I expect his tongue to keep licking, the same way it’s been leaving my skin warm and wet.
He doesn’t do that.
His finger slips gently inside me as his lips stay at my thigh. It sinks in and my mind is reeling. I’m absolutely wild for him, I can feel myself clenching around him, wanting more.
He slowly, deliberately, brings his finger out and puts it in his mouth, sucking it.
He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t tell me how I taste. He doesn’t have to. I raise my head to meet his potent gaze and his eyes give it all away. I’m a tonic to him, the most sensual dessert. He’s licking his finger with that big strong tongue of his like I’m sweet ice cream.
With his eyes still on me, he puts another finger inside. The sensation is nearly too much, but I can tell from his stare that he wants me to keep watching him.
He then takes his fingers out again, slowly licking down the sides of them.
Sweet bejesus.
Is this really happening?
I didn’t think Keir had this in him, but I should have known. And as he dips his fingers back inside, thick and skillful, I know I shouldn’t even question it. He’s giving me exactly what I need without me even knowing I needed it.
I break eye contact and relax back into the couch, my pussy widening for him in pure greed, not caring if I’m giving him a show. In fact, the idea turns me on even more.
“Do you feel beautiful yet?” he murmurs, his mouth near my clit, dancing above it, blowing again. The hot air is making me squirm, my limbs rigid with tension.
I do. But I don’t want to tell him, mainly because I want more. I want him to prove himself by fusing his body with mine.
So he does.
He lowers his mouth. Hot, wet, soft tongue and lips on my hot, wet, soft parts.
It’s beyond good.
I moan loudly, my fingers digging into the edges of the couch as his tongue licks up the middle then swirls around my swollen clit in lazy strokes. He’s slow, deliberate, taking his time and I should be all the better for it.
Except I’m hungry.
Impatient.
I grab the top of his head, my hands sinking into his soft, thick hair.
I give the strands a tug.
He groans into me, the vibrations nearly undoing all that I’m holding on to.
Just like he sucked my toe then sucked his fingers, he now sucks my clit into his mouth.
I have zero time to comprehend it.
My body tightens, round and round, from the inside, until I’m not breathing, not seeing, not even feeling.
Then I spring loose.
It’s like a fucking tidal wave.
It starts from my core and blasts through me, wiping away every nerve, battering me with pleasure. I yell, gasp, moan, my hands gripping his hair as my body has a mind of its own. It bucks and quakes, like a wild horse, unable to slow down. My cries go up and down with it, echoing throughout the room.
I’ve lost use of my limbs and I don’t care. For once, I don’t care. I could just lie here forever, my body still shuddering, my brain like warm jelly.
But then Keir gets up, stands above me. Wipes his shiny mouth with the back of his hand. Bends over and picks me up.
I don’t protest. I practically go limp. I’m completely spent and have no idea how I could possibly do anything else for the rest of the evening.
But Keir places me on his bed.
Pulls my dress over my head, leaving me in my bra and underwear.
I move to the edge of the bed and lean back on my elbows to watch as he removes my panties, so gentle as he pulls them down over my legs, until they’re hanging off of one foot. It looks erotic against the red toenails.
Then he stands beside me as he undresses.
The socks first.
Then the shirt.
His pants.
His boxer briefs.
His cock springs loose, jutting out in front of him like a pike.
I don’t know if I’ve just had shitty men to compare it to, but it literally takes my breath away.
I gasp.
It’s not just large—it’s thick, it’s perfect. Combined with the giant sailing ship tattoo on his thigh, he looks like he’s built to fuck.
Whatever sated feeling I had is completely gone and now I’m hungry all over again.
No, more than that, I’m insatiable.
It’s hard to focus on anything other than that perfect cock, and I know I should tear my eyes away, but I can’t. I could stare at it all day long and still call it a productive day. I have this crazy need to just take him in my hands, to feel his weight, his heat, to taste the glistening drop of precum at the thick tip.
I sit up, still in just my bra, and reach for him, my fingers digging into the sides of his ass as I try to pull him forward.
Holy fuck.
His ass feels like a springboard, tight and bouncy. Another thing I want to lick.
Who are you? I ask myself, because these wicked thoughts are completely new to me. It’s like some lustful, bold woman has taken over my body.
I am the me that Keir brings out.
Keir takes a step forward, my legs parting wide as they hang off the side of the bed. I’m able to shrug him forward with one hand, my other hand going for his cock.
He feels like velvet. Hard, hot velvet. My hand runs up from the base, so rigid, so thick, right to the tip, squeezing gently as I go.
Keir puts his hands in my hair, pulling in one smooth yank, a guttural moan sliding out of him. The sound of him experiencing pleasure at my hands is addicting already and I dip my head, placing the head of his cock between my lips.
Another moan rumbles out of him, this one seeming to shatter whatever resolve I might have had. Though, let’s be serious, my resolve went out the window when he started sucking on my toe.
The saltiness of his excitement hits my tongue as I roll it over the head, a sensation as sharp and bracing as the sea. I teasingly lick up his length, feeling every vein and stretch of thin skin, while my hand holds this living, pulsing heat.
His grip in my hair tightens, bordering on a beautiful pain.
“Jessica,” he grunts, and I look up coyly to see his head is back, the Adam’s apple in his thick neck bobbing as he swallows. “God, I want to fuck your sweet mouth.”
He looks back down, his lids heavy, barely concealing the fire underneath. “You need to stop that or I’m going to come right down your throat.”
I slowly pull my mouth away, his eyes focused on the movement. “Maybe I want that.”
“Maybe later,” he says. “I know what you want now. I know what you need.”
He moves back an inch and his cock bobs free, dark and shiny from my mouth. “Just a moment,” he says and goes into the living room. I take the opportunity to remove my bra and toss it across the room.
The few seconds I’m alone is enough to bring things slightly into perspective. I’m naked at the edge of his bed, I had his cock in my mouth, and he’s about to fuck me. I bite my lip, trying not to smile. Already it’s the most fun I’ve had in years.
He comes back with the packet of condoms in his hand, throwing them on the bedside table and then tearing open a silver packet.
My pulse thunders in my throat. I watch as he slowly rolls the condom over his length.
“Let me know if I hurt you,” he says as he steps forward, cock in hand, circling his base with his thumb and middle finger. His other hand trails up the inside of my leg. I’m so turned on, so desperate, that I’m wet to my thighs. “God,” he groans, his fingers teasing my clit, his eyes never breaking from mine. “At least know I won’t hurt you this way. You’re soaked.”
I give him an anxious smile. “What can I say? I’ve wanted this for a while.”
“That’s
my line,” he says gruffly as he grabs my hips and pulls me closer. I hook my good leg up around his waist, grateful that his bed is high enough. A lot of sex positions will be difficult with my injury, but as long as he’s inside me, I don’t really care.
Speaking of getting inside me, I’m starting to get impatient. My leg tugs him forward.
“Slowly,” he whispers to me, standing his ground like an immovable wall. With tender precision he starts to run the crown of his cock up and down my clit, pausing to dip it briefly inside before bringing it back up. The sound is so wet it’s nearly vulgar.
My eyes close, surrendering myself to this tease. He’s not pushing in, it’s just a hint of what’s to come, but I feel myself opening for him anyway, my body eager for more.
“You like that?” he murmurs, his voice so thick with desire that I can’t even answer him. I nod, my head falling back, my hair spilling down my back and tickling my spine. Every single sensation right now is heightened. “Do you think you can handle all of me?”
I swallow hard, making a noise of agreement. Something close to begging. My heart is starting to sound in my head, my skin is hot and tight, my nipples are hardened pebbles in the cool air.
“We’ll see, little red,” he says, and he grips my hip as he pushes himself inside me.
Slowly.
Inch by inch.
It feels good, then it feels too much, then I don’t even know what I feel because all I feel is him. I stretch around him, full to the point of pain.
I suck in a deep breath, breathing through it, reminding my body to relax.
And then I do relax, even as my hands grip the sheets.
“Want me to stop?’ he asks, nearly growling.
“No,” I say, licking my lips. I look up at him. “Never.”
He nods and watches me intently as he edges in further. His lips part. He sucks in his breath. His forehead creases in shock, like he can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe how good it feels.
There is vivid intimacy between us, this part of the act where we’re both making sure the other is okay, that we fit together.
We do fit together. He’s large, I’m tight, he’s a big brutish man, I’m a small woman. But we can, will, make it work. It takes us a moment, me trying to pull myself out of my head, to make sure my leg is okay, him trying to make sure he’s not hurting me, that he can thrust in without resistance.
