by Kim Karr
His eyes burn over me with blazing heat as he unfastens his jeans and yanks those and his boxers down his hips at the same time.
I make a small noise of pleasure when I see his straining cock. It’s big and beautiful. Perfect.
Stepping around the bed, he’s close to the headboard in two small strides. His muscles bunch when he reaches for me, taking hold of my thighs and pulling me to him.
Sucking in a breath, my hands start shaking and I clutch the sheets to steady them. I don’t want to appear as nervous as I am.
Those blue eyes practically simmer when he says, “I can’t wait another second to be inside you, Amelia.”
Meeting his intense gaze, I don’t hold back, and answer him in the only way I can. “I’m more than ready, Brooklyn. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever.”
With that, he reaches for a condom in the bedside table and tears open the foil packet. Once he’s rolled it on, he positions himself between my legs.
Up on my elbows, I throw my head back and feel his cock push into my already swollen pussy before I see it. Instantly, I feel crazy for him. All of him.
Need.
Want.
Desire.
The slow build of something magical starts to take root.
Watching me, he slowly pushes in. Just a little, just his head. Then, just as slowly he withdraws, dragging his cock through the flesh of my soaking wet pussy. And then returning to my entrance, the condom wet with my desire, he surges fully inside me. Deep. Hard. Fast.
My gasps mingle with his.
“Oh, God!” I scream.
“Christ, you’re so tight,” he growls.
The shock of his first full thrust nearly sends me over the edge. “Oh, God!” I scream again.
The sensation of him inside me is so overwhelming, I can’t stop from crying out in pleasure over and over. He’s filling me so utterly and completely. He moves again, and I’m so tight around his cock, I have no idea how he is going to move faster. This time I moan without words.
He stops. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, his voice raspy, sexy as hell.
I shake my head. “No. Not at all. Please. Don’t stop.”
His fingers dig into my hips, and he begins to move again. Harder. Faster. Yet, still in control. “You’re greedy, Amelia,” he says, and the caution in his voice is something I want him to shed. I want him to be wild with me. Wild for me. Crazy.
“Brooklyn, please,” I beg, looking into his eyes. Telling him it’s okay to move faster and let go.
His movements quicken at the same time his hands begin to explore my body, sliding from my belly up to my breasts. He palms them and tugs at my nipples. I watch him, mesmerized by his touch.
His cock so deep inside me moves at a steady pace, and my entire body begins to hum again, so much so, I give up trying to remain on my elbows and allow myself to fall to the mattress and let him consume me.
“Your nipples are cherry red. Beautiful,” he says, staring at them.
Saying nothing in return, my hands find his, wanting to feel his skin like he is feeling mine. I start at his wrists and slide my palms up his arms, reveling in his strength beneath my fingertips.
While moving inside me with a steady pace, he finds my hands and has them over my head before I can blink. My eyes widen in surprise, but I leave them there. My palms are flat on the mattress; he holds them in place. After a moment, I try to pull them back, but he holds them tighter. When I acquiesce, he makes a low noise deep in his throat. The way he commands my body with a power I can’t explain sends a deep thrill through me.
He withdraws and thrusts again, jolting my body with the force of reentry in a way that makes me dizzy with anticipation.
His gaze sears me as he buries his cock deep, deep inside me.
I’m underneath him, pinned beneath his body, and he now moves at a punishing pace. I find myself getting higher and higher. He is a drug. I’m high on him. And I can’t get enough.
In.
Out.
Up.
Down.
Hard and fast he moves.
Deep.
Deeper.
Breathless, he lets go of my wrists to slide his hands under my ass and draw me even closer to him.
He must be close to coming, and I know I am.
Wanting to connect in an even closer way, I find myself wrapping my legs around his waist.
The sexy look he gives me tells me I made the right move, and sends me so close to the edge that I don’t even dare breathe or I know I’ll be going over it.
He pounds into me, and the feeling has my breath exploding in a violent rush. As he withdraws and surges forward again, his hands tighten around my ass and spread me wide open.
It’s unlike anything I have experienced before. I find myself on a cloud. I clamp my lips together to stop from crying out, not ready to come because this feels way too good, but so wanting to.
I look up, lost to him.
Satisfaction beams in his eyes. “Let go,” he demands.
And I do; louder than before, I cry out, my arousal like a fever. My orgasm, hot and wild, explodes so intensely, it’s even harder than before.
He’s deep inside me.
So tight.
So tight and so deep that I swear I can feel the pulsing of his cock against my walls. His skin slaps mine, and as if wanting more from me, he keeps up the punishing pace.
My orgasm doesn’t stop. I call out his name, over and over. He stills, his cock still pulsing inside me.
And only when I close my eyes, limp and sated, does his body go taut against me. He groans and rasps my name. I open my eyes to watch him come. His lips press together and every muscle in his arms and chest coils tight.
He continues to thrust until every ounce of his orgasm is milked. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” he grits out.
And then he goes deep and stays there, slowly lowering himself on top of me until he covers me with every inch of his body.
God, he feels so good.
Seconds later, he rolls us, and then stands. “I’ll be right back.”
And he is. Without the condom on his cock, he’s back beside me. I rest my head on his chest and stare at his body. In this postcoital moment of bliss, I allow my fingers to roam over his smooth skin.
With a hand flung over his head, he lies still and lets me do whatever I want. Look, touch, pinch, rub, palm, feel, and revel.
Finally, I break the silence. “I knew sex with you was going to be incredible.”
Moving his arm away from his face, he smiles at me then, not the brooding badass look I usually got. “Oh, yeah, how so?”
I circle one of his nipples. “I don’t know. I just did.”
“There has to be a reason.”
“I guess I know you’ve been with a lot of women.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“No, I guess you’re right. To be honest, the way you look at me sends a vibe I can’t explain. I don’t know, have you ever fantasized about something, but never acted on it?”
Brooklyn pulls me right on top of his body and I use my elbows to push up. “Sure, a lot of things.”
“Like?”
“Quitting my lifeguard job. Getting my screenplay produced. Making something of my life.”
His hair is over his eyes and I push it away.
He looks at me. “What in particular do you fantasize about?”
I shrug because it seems so far out of my reach anymore. “Photographing important moments for a living,” I say.
“And?”
“And?”
“Yes, and what else?”
I smile. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, there has to be something else.”
I blurt it out. “Finding the person I want to spend my life with, and great sex.”
Normally, something like that might send a guy running for shelter, but Brooklyn takes a moment to think about it. “As in two separate things?”
I
bite my lip. “Yeah, I guess. When I think about exploring sex, it’s not necessarily with the man I see as my husband.”
“Ahhh . . .” he says, “the sex part is with someone like me. Someone you see as a player who will never settle down.” There’s a sadness in his voice I’m surprised to hear.
Not wanting to say yes, even though that might be true, I offer, “It’s with someone my father or brother would never approve of, and that is why I never have pursued anyone like that.”
“Before,” he adds.
My brows quirks in question.
“Before me.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” I insist, but I know he doesn’t believe me. I wish he did.
Brooklyn pushes it aside, though, and smoothes his hands over my ass, where he rubs slow, lazy circles around my cheeks, and then his lips curve into a sexy grin. “Since I am willing to allow you to objectify my body, tell me some things you’ve never tried that you fantasize about.”
I can feel the pink painting my cheeks. “I’m . . . not sure. Just wild, unabashed sex. The kind people talk about.”
“Come on, you have to specific.”
“I can’t.”
“They’re your fantasies. You must be able to name at least one thing.”
My head begins to explode with a montage of images—sexy lingerie, being tied up, toys, steamy hot sex, and endless fucking.
Curiosity seems to pique Brooklyn’s interest and he rolls me off him to get up on one elbow, and then stares at me. “Are your fantasies as kinky as a threesome?”
Heat suffuses my cheeks. “God, no, I’m way too jealous for something like that.”
“Anal sex?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”
He lifts an eyebrow and amusement glitters in his eyes. “Okay, moving on. How about bondage?”
I hesitate and then sigh. “Nothing hardcore, no whips and chains, but I liked when you held my hands over my head.”
His knee moves between my legs, and he looks at my pussy. “Okay, good to know. Spanking?”
I shake my head. “No way.”
That gets a chuckle out him. “So no kink.”
Feeling a little ridiculous for bringing it up, I blow out a breath. “I’m hopeless,” I tell him. “Never mind. Let’s talk about something else.”
Gently, and very unexpectedly, he caresses my cheek. “Nah, I’m not giving up. You like to masturbate, right?”
Dropping my head to the pillow in embarrassment, I can’t even answer.
“Show me,” he says, his voice thick and hot, not an ounce of humor in it.
I peek up, and my embarrassment fades immediately when I see the hot lust in his eyes. “But I don’t have to—you’re here, and you’re much better than my own hand.”
His finger swipes across my pussy, and then he brings it to my mouth. “I want to watch you. Start by tasting yourself, Amelia. Taste how sweet you are.”
Incredibly turned on right now, I can’t believe it, but I do. I suck on his finger, practically licking it clean.
Brooklyn sits up and eases me onto my back with a gentle nudge. “Now, touch yourself,” he says in a strained voice. “I’ll tell you what to do to make it feel so much better.”
I place my hand on my pussy.
He gets on his knees now, towering over me, giving himself a bird’s-eye view of my body. “No. Start by pinching your tight little nipples and slide your hands down your body, slowly.”
Unsure, I look at him.
He nods. “And then when you reach your pussy, I want you to run your fingers up and down your center, all the way to your sweet ass, over and over, until I tell you to stop.”
For some strange reason, I find myself doing as he has instructed. My eyes flitting from him to me and back, over and over as I begin to play with myself. I gasp when he takes his cock in his hand and gives it a little stroke.
“What do you think?” he asks, the tone in his voice oozing with something almost feral.
I think a lot . . .
I think I really like him even though I shouldn’t.
I think that was the best sex of my life, and by the looks of things to come, it’s about to get even better, hotter.
I think I’m in a whole lot of trouble when it comes to this man.
I think I know better.
And then I look into his intense blue eyes and the way he is stroking his cock, and think . . . I’m so screwed.
ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND
Brooklyn
Perhaps a contract would be appropriate in a situation like this.
A signed piece of paper that dictates the terms of the relationship Amelia and I are embarking on.
It could define the means by which we are allowed to interact, so whatever this is between us doesn’t turn messy. And no one gets hurt.
No one.
Her, or me.
One of the clauses could limit the amount of time we spend looking at each other when we are not in bed. Another could dictate the tone of voice we use with each other when we are not engaging in sexual relations. And most important, there should be a clause that prohibits body language as a way of communicating outside of fucking.
Because this is just about sex.
Sex.
Or it is supposed to be, anyway.
But you know as well as I do that there is a fine line between just sex and more. And that embarking on such an arrangement can lead to unfamiliar territory. Just like you and I both know someone is going to get hurt.
Someone.
Her, or me.
Putting all those issues aside because a contract to define our interaction when we are together is just ridiculous, I know I have to tread lightly and remember this thing between us is short-term. Her plans aren’t set in stone, but she’s talked about going back to New York in just over a week.
And that is when we agreed our story would end.
Therefore, you can see why treading lightly is the best course of action.
Sure, we like being together.
We have fun.
But I know it won’t lead to anything more.
It can’t.
We don’t want the same things—in the long run, that is. She wants to get married and have a family. I don’t see myself doing that. Can’t see myself doing that with the job I have now, anyway.
In the short run, we are on exactly the same page. With the sexual tension alleviated, we get along pretty well. She’s up for anything. Turns out, it’s not kink she’s looking for in a sexual relationship. She just wants hot, wild, unabashed sex. And that, I can give her. She’s never been with anyone who has bothered to get to know what it is she likes or needs in the sack. Hard to believe, but no one has helped her discover more than the basics of missionary-style sex, with some occasional oral thrown in for good measure, I suppose.
That is something I figured out the first night we were together. Every day since, I’ve taken things a little farther, drawing her out of her comfort zone and helping her explore what she has been missing. Like I said, she’s pretty much up for anything.
Monday I took her riding on the back of my bike up to Mulholland Drive in LA. She brought her camera and took pictures while I sat at Dead Man Overlook to rewrite some of the scenes in my manuscript. I saw what Amelia meant about Kate acting way too spineless, and made some tweaks. Afterward, we went to Mulholland Tennis Club, where my mother is a member, and fucked in one of the private bathrooms. I bent her over the wooden bench and took her from behind. It was smoking hot.
Tuesday it rained all day, so we went to the old movie theater in town and watched a flick from the sixties. When the movie ended, we snuck into the old viewing room that is now only used for special occasions, and fucked in there. She rode me on one of the big leather chairs. Her tits moved up and down, and I sucked on them while she came all over my cock. It was fanfuckingtastic.
Wednesday I had to work in the morning, and we spent
the afternoon at The Cliff drinking mojitos and role-playing my screenplay. It was a huge help. And yes, we fucked in the bathroom. I spread her legs wide and with her palms flat against the cool metal, I took her against the stall door.
Today is Thursday, and this morning I took her to LA to tour the Chinese Theatre and see the Hollywood sign. We didn’t fuck anywhere; there was nowhere we could. But she blew me on the drive back, and she is coming over as soon as Cam crashes for the night.
Luckily for us, Makayla, who works from home, has been in San Francisco since Monday afternoon. She runs her own jewelry line and uses a company there to help her produce orders. She won’t be here until late tomorrow. About the same time Keen, Maggie, and Presley will also be arriving.
That’s when the fun and games will end for the two of us, until Monday anyway. The weekend is going to suck. Too many people around and the risk of being caught will be too great.
Getting caught means explaining. And explaining that we both agreed we’d have a sex-only relationship to the people we both care about, who have significant others now, seems ridiculous. Even if it is hot, off-the-charts, mind-blowing, no-holds-barred sex.
Of course, Amelia’s reasons for embarking on this type of relationship are different from mine, or now that I think about it, maybe they are the same.
She’s looking to end up with a man who will be her Prince Charming. She can deny it all she wants, but I was there when she was ten and tried to turn me into him. And I was there on the porch that night she showed up and voiced, in so many words, that what happened to her made her doubt what she’d always dreamed of.
She shouldn’t doubt that.
For her, I’m certain he does exist.
And for that reason, I am also certain I cannot be him. I am not husband material. In fact, I’m far from it. I’ve been with countless women. I don’t have a steady job. I don’t own a home. And I’ve never been good at being responsible.
I glance at my manuscript, and think that doesn’t mean I don’t want those things. I do. It’s just getting there. Succeeding. It scares me.
Will I be like my mother if I do? Motivated. Driven. Successful.
Or more like my father? Always wanting more than I have and willing to risk it all to get to the top.
