ROMANCE: Mr. Mystery: (New Adult Bad Boy Romance) (Contemporary Mystery Short Stories)
Page 141
Christ, what the hell was I going to do? He was just so... So devastating, so perfect to behold, like a damn male supermodel, or some species that was just the least bit sexier than a human was capable of being. And the thing was, I couldn't even lay my finger on just what the hell the specifics were about him, what certain things they were that turned me on so bad about his presence.
I ran into attractive men all the time, but as a rule they didn't get me anywhere near as uncontrollably worked up as this sexy stud of a beast was doing. It was like, his entire being, everything about him, was sculpted, put together, in such a manner that it was calculated to be the most effectively crippling to my psyche, pulling me into him, and never letting me go.
My nostrils flared, and my mind raced as I examined him all over, ripping his clothes off in my mind and savoring every last, pulsing, sweaty bit of the flesh underneath. His jet black hair, his penetrating eyes, and his light, sexy stubble framed a face that verged on severe in its beauty.
A perfect nose, an immaculately formed skull, the features all place in just the right spot, every angle, every flowing line enough to get swept up and lost in for eternity. His lips were of the sort that seemed made to be kissed, delicious and succulent, one could tell, from simply looking at them, and positively irresistible when you were forced to gaze across the room at them for as long as I had.
He was well-dressed, in a manner that made fashion seem effortless, though my concern was genuinely with what lay underneath the fabric, the bulging fierceness struggling at every corner to push its way free and consume me. I could tell, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was one fit, well-toned man, his body a damn wonderland of muscle and strength and severity, the glory of his anatomy unmistakable beneath the frustrating confines of his clothes.
His shoulders were beautifully broad, and his arms were thick, powerful, as they shifted through the air with telling of his story. His chest, meanwhile, was absolutely strapped, threatening to bust through his shirt anytime he strained too roughly in any direction, my eyes pinpointing onto the series of black buttons running down along his shirt, willing them to come popping off and unveil the sweet, sexy treasure that lay underneath.
And then there was his ass... Oh God, what an ass... I'd peeked at it so many times this evening in spite of myself, anytime his back was turned and I had the opportunity to catch a glance of the thing without him noticing. I could imagine those glorious glutes as plain as day, sculpted, toned, succulent, juicy, everything a girl could possibly ever want. And finally, I couldn't help but see, his crotch bulged lie all hell at any given point, the fabric of his pants struggling to contain the immensity of his cargo below the belt.
The sheer splendor of the thing surely beyond what I could even begin to imagine. I wondered, vaguely, whether he was circumcised- my husband was, and though I'd heard mixed things about uncircumcised cocks depending on who you asked, I fantasized that his was just such a penis, with that extra bit of flesh going for it, able to please a woman in the most lurid, the most powerful of ways...
And good God almighty... I gasped, suddenly, caught up in my own fantasy and startling suddenly back to life.
“You alright?” my fantasy lover asked.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, yeah I'm... I'm fine,” I said, and he smiled.
“So, anyway...” he continued, and carried right on with his story.
I sank back into my chair, feeling as though I might get stuck to the damn thing in my ridiculous perspiration, and my head throbbing with an immense come-down after that immense bout of fantasizing.
What the hell was wrong with me? I was a married woman, for Christ's sake, a happily married woman, for that matter. It was absolutely ridiculous of me to be thinking sexual thoughts about any other man, and in particular my husband's best friend, when what the two of us shared was so strong, so vibrant, and so perfect.
Prior to this unbearable stud waltzing into my life, I had never even had the desire to be with another man. Daniel and I were absolutely perfect for one another, and in fact, he had been like a godsend for my life.
I'd been so miserable when the two of us had met, so committed to the idea that my life couldn't possibly get any better than the daily trudge that it had become at the time. I just felt so empty all the time, at my awful job and with my ridiculous student loan debt hanging above my head like a plague. Some days, I would just get home and feel like crying, and it had seemed as though finding anyone to share my life with was as vain and as impossible a task as anything else.
It just didn't seem like the sorts of guys I'd wanted to meet were out there, or else they were already taken, and I was left with a bunch of immature boys, or else with the sorts of mature men who were so dull and unsatisfying that they made me even more depressed.
But then, when I'd met Daniel, sweet, wonderful Daniel, it had been like my entire life suddenly improved, and everything seemed like it was bearable again. It felt, for the first time in forever, like I could really be happy, and I was, and when the two of us got married, it had been like nothing else in the world could come anywhere even remotely close to matching what an amazing feeling it was.
Three years. Three long, wonderful years together, like a lifetime with one another already, but our best days, surely still ahead of the both of us. The spark had not died down in the least bit since the night of our honeymoon, and the two of us were in line with one another on so many levels that he somehow managed to meet my every need, even some needs that I didn't even realize myself at the time were present.
Just this morning, for instance, he'd surprised me with sex first thing in the morning, and sex that catered to my every last need to an extent even greater than it seemed to be for his own personal enjoyment. I'd been dreaming lightly at the time, very lightly, and basking in the early morning light bleeding across my skin from the bedroom window.
And then I'd felt him, knocking on my back door, if you will, the stiff morning wood of his cock brushing playfully up against my backside through the fabric of my nighty. It seemed like he always wanted me, and I always wanted him, and it seemed preposterous to imagine this ever being any other way.
I gently roused myself awake, stretching out like a feline in the sun, moaning lightly as I arched my spine and worked a few of the kinks of sleep from my back, and then I turned away from him, putting my back to him completely, just to torment him a little bit, but smiling all the way.
“Mm, God, put that thing away,” I muttered playfully, “You're going to poke someone's eye out...”
And at that, he pushed himself just a bit harder up against me, and I could feel my body reacting to his touch, turning on, and heating up first thing in the morning. I felt his fingers beginning to slide onto my body, creeping down my arm, and latching onto my breast, squeezing on me like I was his damn teddy bear, holding onto my body as though he simply needed to know I was there beside him.
He leaned in, then, and began to put his lips on the side of my neck, kissing me with the utmost tenderness, running warm, wet pecks all up and down along my throat, and then really doing me in by leaning in, and nibbling on my earlobe ever so slightly with his teeth. He squeezed harder, harder, and suddenly my want for him verged on unbearable, and I had to concede defeat, letting down the facade of my playful rejection.
I turned around in bed to face him, leering into his eyes with the ferocity of a predator, and then pouncing on him accordingly, pushing my mouth into his own. The two of us made out like we were newlyweds all over again.
Pulling our throbbing bodies together beneath the covers, our tongues piercing one another's gullets, and sweeping, lapping, licking around, tasting one another like there was no damn tomorrow. We both tasted like morning, honestly, but that seemed secondary to the sticky, dripping haze of the moment, and I felt as though I couldn't possibly get enough of that sweet, glorious bastard into my body fast enough.
At last, we'd pulled ourselves apart, gasping at our own ferocity, our n
ostrils flaring as we struggled to regain our breath, and our chests beating heavily against one another. I could feel his erection digging deeper and deeper into me, really bowling me over, as he leaned in, and whispered into my ear: “I thought since you were making dinner this evening for Ryan and I, I could at least serve you breakfast in bed to reciprocate you for it...”
I had a pretty good idea of what he meant by that as he said it and braced myself, and sure enough, suddenly he was dipping his head beneath the covers, disappearing from view, and his fingers beginning to creep sensually around the fabric of my nighty down below.
My thighs began to quake as he pushed the hem of the thing up, and his fingers slipped beneath the tight, lacy band of my panties. I tried to still myself, to sit back and enjoy this for what it was, but it became impossible to contain myself as he dredged the skimpy little things down off of me, and tossing them from beneath the covers onto the floor bedside the bed.
And slowly he lowered his face in between my hot, wet thighs, and I could feel my body tense up with the seeping of his warm breath into my feminine anatomy. He gingerly brought himself inside me, entering into my body like liquid, putting his lips up against those of my pussy, and his tongue pushing along inside me, swiping along the floral folds, and kissing me with such softness, yet such enthusiasm, that I didn't have a clue in hell whether I was coming or going.
And so he consumed me, his head a bobbing lump beneath the sheets, his tongue sweeping and cascading and absorbing my delicate flavor, rolling along with splendid perfection, and getting me so damn worked up that I thought I might burst with pleasure.
My buttocks clenched, and my spine arched, every square inch of my anatomy on fire with sensitized nerves, my nipples hard, my fingers curling into the bedspread, and my legs wrapping around his bobbing, lapping head, tying him into me, and pulling, pulling, pulling him deeper into myself, as though my very life depended on it.
And then, God help me, I felt him hitting the sweetest of my sweet spots, at just the right angle, at just the right time, and my eyes shot wide open. I screamed, and moaned, and it turned into nothing but a feeble whimper as the orgasm pumped through my body, soaking through my flesh to such a degree that I thought I might somehow stain the sheets with my pleasure, and every bit of my body trapped by the sweet, carnal splendor of my husband's perfect cunnilingus.
And good God, what a wake-up call it had been...
How could a girl like me have been so lucky to wind up with a husband like that, a husband who eats you out first thing in the morning without you even having to ask for it, and whose skills are so incredible, so unthinkably explicit and powerful, that you feel like you could go for days on the high of such an act alone?
And now, how could I be lusting so intensely after this man, this stranger in my living room? How could I be allowing myself to give into such temptation, surrendering to my most primitive instincts despite how terribly wrong I knew it was? And how was the sheer fact of it being so wrong making me want it more and more, making me crave it like I'd never craved anything in my life before now.
Making me burn from head to toe with an unquenchable thirst for what this man had to offer me, even if I knew that what that was could only ever end in heartbreak?
And how was it, suddenly, that I was finding myself edging nearer to this man? I hadn't even recalled standing up from the chair in which I'd been seated, but had only suddenly appeared to be drifting in his direction... But now here I was- and there he was, doing the exact same thing.
Why weren't we stopping one another? Why the hell did we just keep going, those lips of his drawing nearer and nearer and nearer to my own, approaching me as though in slow motion, but with no signs whatsoever of slowing down?
But it was too late now. Entirely too late for either of us...
My lips were on his. His lips were on mine. Our faces, shockingly, melted together, dissolving into a brilliant, unified, fleshy alloy, sparks popping in my mind, my head spinning wildly out of control, every nerve in my body reacting with shock and surprise, unable to fathom what the hell I was doing. At first, the last few threads of resistance continued to hold me back, to resist just slightly, only half indulging myself in those oh so glorious of temptations.
Not wholly allowing myself to be consumed in the fashion that I so desperately desired. But then, Christ help me, I gave into the impulse, I collapsed, and I allowed myself to be sucked in entirely, to kiss this man after an evening of being so devilishly tempted by him, and to put out of my mind completely the fact that I had a husband whom I was presently betraying.
And God, how wonderful it felt... His flavor, his essence, were shockingly beautiful, pumping through my body, filling me up with splendor, and making me want so much more of him that I knew it was unhealthy for me to even fantasize about it.
But then he pulled my body into his own, and I could feel his erection suddenly pushing into me, and our tongues twisted and screwed and enveloped one another, and I knew that I might as well give up resisting, and allow myself to be ravished to the thorough, all-consuming extent that I knew damn well was in store for me.
And at last, after so long of this, my nostrils flaring and my breasts heaving like mad, I pulled away from him, disbelieving, and my eyes wide as sin, as I contemplated just how far I was willing to take this perverse plunge into adultery.
And that was when my heart yet again skipped a beat, though for an entirely different reason this time around, at the sight of my husband, standing in the doorway, leering over at the two of us with a very unclear expression painted across his face.
I quickly pulled away from Ryan, distancing myself to the furthest extent possible, and scrambled, trying to think of some way, anyway, to clean up this horrendous mess I'd gotten myself mixed up in, but coming in far short of the mark, no matter how hard I tried.
“Jesus... Daniel, I... I... You're late,” I stammered, projecting the blame onto him until I could think of some explanation, but I knew full well this was pointless. I tried, though, I really tried, clawing at the walls of my mind, trying to think of something, something, that would justify this.
“Look... I can explain... I... I...” But I knew, even as I'd said it, that there was no possible way of explaining myself out of this, no justification for what I'd done, and that coming up with anything was as good as pointless given how obvious and clear the situation was. I mean hell, what was I supposed to say? That Ryan had been the one to initiate it? That he was responsible for all of this, and that I was just the innocent victim?
I couldn't do that, I knew... All I could do was wait for things to collapse around me, to take the punishment I was due, whatever that may have been, and hope that Daniel and I's marriage didn't implode outright from the implications of what he'd walked in and seen the two of us doing.
But then I noticed, from across the room, a smile was beginning to spread out across my husband's lips. I squinted my eyes at this, thinking, for certain, I must be seeing this wrong- this wasn't the sort of reaction a husband should be giving to finding out his wife has just kissed another man, and especially not his best friend of all people...
But then I looked over at Ryan as well, and he had the same sort of grin on his face, devilish almost, seductive, and knowing. Although I should have felt some degree of relief, perhaps, I couldn't help but find myself downright annoyed at this, the fact that the two of them appeared to be in on some joke that was entirely on me.
Yet I was as oblivious as could be as to what the hell it was that was going on. I began to whip my head around back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between the two of them, trying my damnedest to get a read on just what was happening, but their expressions, though readable, giving nothing away in the least as to how I should be reacting to all of this.
Then, at last, it was my husband who spoke, making everything clear to me, and sending the situation plummeting into even steamier, more forbidden territory than it had been at before.
I swallowed hard, getting extremely nervous as the tense moments rolled along, and my husband began to walk across the room toward the two of us with measured, heavy footsteps.
“When you and I fell in love, I thought my days of fooling around- Ryan and I, sharing girls back in our dorm room, I mean- were over... Those were always fun times, and God, were they exciting, and the women we serviced always ended up leaving with a smile across their faces- often coming back for more.
I never really thought of you as that type of girl, though, and I didn't want to offend you with the suggestion... But, well... Ever since Ryan and I got back in touch lately, we began to sort of long for our glory days, and I was curious to see how you might react around my friend here when it was just the two of you in a room together. He always was quite the lady's man...”