by Love Belvin
Love’s Inconvenient Truth
by Love Belvin
MKT Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2015 by Love Belvin
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination.
Cover design by Visual Luxe
one
My back slammed against the wall, causing a thud reverberation of the poster-size painting that hung next to the doorway. It was rough and refreshingly harsh, but my inebriated body countered all pain as my heart pounded in my chest from his abrasiveness. He was strong—masculine as he handled me with impatience and desire.
I can still do this.
I still had it in me. I could still indulge in heartless passion.
He reached over my right shoulder, resting his palms against the wall as I straddled him, mounted in the air.
His virile fragrance was arousing and his lascivious scowl, tantalizing. He regarded me intently in the eyes, over the dimly lit sitting room. From my peripheral, I could see we were in a suite.
Ah, one with class, aye?
Because of the especial dimness I couldn’t guess his age, his face, blindingly gorgeous, told tales of youthfulness. I immediately decided to disrobe him to see what story his body told. I could glean from his clothed assessment that he was firm and solid, at least not bulging in the belly. He seemed too young for that. Through my drunken haze, I coarsely pushed his suit jacket from his bulbous shoulders, then arms and quickly unfastened his dress shirt.
Damn. Not quite yet, Elle.
Disappointment upsurged at the sight of his white ribbed tank, though I caught a glimpse of the thick chords in his deltoids and ink—I saw ink, but not enough because the bulk of it was hidden beneath the damn undershirt. I continued by peeling the shirt from his hard shoulders where I felt circular branding marred on his skin, and down to his arms where I saw more ink.
Shiiiiit!
I was getting more aroused by the second. But by the time I attempted to pull it from his wrists, there was resistance; his shirt was caught.
His slender lips quirked up into a mellow smirk, “You’re going to have to apply a little patience to tackle that task,” his deep chords drizzled.
He lifted his right hand to show me that his wrists were clasped in cufflinks. Black lacquer steel cufflinks with Louis Vuitton embossed in the square faces.
Hmmmm…so he can’t be too young.
I knew my way around cufflinks and proved it by deftly removing them in record time. The lift in his eyebrows revealed he was impressed.
Honey, you have no clue of my competence.
Greedily, I went to pull the hem of his undershirt from his slacks and successfully removed it from his granite frame to see the most generously carved chest and abdomen I’d ever thought possible. My eyes trailed the iron contours of his abs that bubbled beneath his chiseled inked pectorals to the sexy “V” that led to his private area. The audible expel of breath that I’d been holding snapped me from my lustful musing.
The massive tattoo of wings extended to his molded shoulders from his sternum where there was an image of a dark angel. My eyes shot up to his perceptive grin. That’s when I noticed something in his eyes, the unsullied spark hidden behind the darkness in his irises that expressed wanton desire. His crestfallen smile suddenly appeared.
“You okay?” His voice was husky, thick with a hint of concern.
I didn’t answer right away, trying to let my brain catch up with my libido. It had been a while. I nodded profusely, to which he deeply exhaled.
“Good. I want you so damn bad,” he groaned deliciously. “I couldn’t do anything but think about it from the moment you strolled into the bar.” And with that his mouth collapsed into my neck, tasting every inch, driving me insane.
If I would have slowed down.
If this had been a different scenario.
If this had been less impulsive, I would have taken the time to discern more about this man. But instead, this was steamy, audacious, venturesome, irredeemable, and precipitated sex. And I wanted it. I wanted him.
His hands slid up my skirt, clamping my ass with unrepentant greed, causing my thighs to automatically thrust into his waist. He was tall, nearly a foot lengthier than my 5’4 frame, but not quite. And he was strong and hot and available at the right time; the time that I threw caution to wind for the first time in years.
He then walked in long treads—I guess that’s what people of his height did—further into the dim suite. And for the sake of going on and on about his impressive physique, I must mention the steely erection that promisingly poked me from beneath.
He tossed me onto the bed as he drank in my body. I felt a little awkward with this part, but chanted a mantra in my head that this was a part of the game; though years ago, I’d done this before with little or no thought. I could do it again.
He bore a gritty air in his perusal. Nervousness swathed me as his eyes slanted and he reached down to my silk, ivory blouse and found its concealed buttons. His hands moved slowly. My pulse could be heard as I watched him. When my eyes traveled up his corded arms to his flexing chest, my mouth swung open. He must have noticed because he chuckled.
Arrogant SOB, I see.
Finally done. He pushed the hem of my blouse from my skirt, revealing my lace bra while my skirt remained over my abdomen. Suddenly, he exhaled as his lids slowly collapsed. He liked what he saw.
Thank fuck!
His long arms slid behind my now arched back as I rested on my elbows, and he unclipped my bra freeing my heavy breasts. He was moving too slowly for my liking. From my cloudy recollection, this was supposed to be fast, abbreviated and unapologetically self-gratifying. I hastily moved to unbuckle his leather belt that I could identify as Gucci from the plated buckle. By the time I arrived at his briefs, I saw the Calvin Klein banner on the elastic.
Just how old are you?
It didn’t matter!
He’s hot. You’re horny. He’s willing.
I rushed to sit up, pulling down his slacks, willing him a satisfying girth, considering the tent in his suit pants. When he sprang out, I lost my breath.
Clearly, he noticed because he chuckled again and assured, “Close your mouth. We’ll be fine, I promise.”
Then he reached into his now collapsed trouser pocket to pull out a condom. I exhaled silently, grateful for him not being an irresponsible dick—pun intended. But I was still concerned.
“Listen…” I whispered, anxiety rising from within.
He broke his attention from coating his very swollen member to regard me.
“You’ve changed your mind?” he choked out. I’d guessed if there was a safe turnaround point in this situation we’d surpassed it.
I sighed long, gripping my forehead. “No!” That came out more urgently than I intended. “It’s just that…” I was drunk, yet still had the dignity faculty. “It’s been a really long time. I just want to make a plea for you to go easy until you’re…well suited, if you get what I mean.”
His eyebrows tightened as he considered my odd request.
“What’s a really long time?”
Damn.
His voice was so deep and soothing, causing a wellspring between my legs that were harboring his strong columnar thighs.
“Ummm…I don’t think that’s an appropriate question for this occasion.” I spoke with empty emotion.
His lips
twitched up to a half a smile. I didn’t mean to be rude. I mean, he would be inside me in a matter of seconds.
“Let’s just say long enough for that,”—I regarded his menacing erection that had to be the size of my wrist, if not larger—“to do undue damage if not properly handled.”
He hid his smile. In fact, his smile wasn’t in his mouth, it was in his eyes. After a fleeting pause, he pulled up to peel off my blouse and bra, giving another obvious appraisal. I sighed inwardly.
At least they’re still intact.
He moved his sexy torso from the bed to rid himself of his boxers, trousers and shoes. A tingle shot up my spine when he went for my pumps. As he held my ankle that dripped in small diamonds on a delicate rope in his warm hands, he examined my black Yves Saint Laurent suede pumps all the way up to my lace top thigh-high hosiery.
“These can stay on,” he murmured tentatively with pinched brows.
I melted. For some god-awful, juvenile and giddy reason, I was further turned on. I hated myself for that reaction.
But when he went for my skirt that was bunched in a messy disarray around my waist, I waggled in knee-jerk reaction. He stilled.
I couldn’t provide an explanation; only respond categorically, “That stays on.”
Another pause before he came to a resolve about it and pulled my black lace panties off. I watched curiously as he sifted them between his thumb and index finger in adjudication before placing them next to me on the bed. He descended upon me with his wide wings and muscular arms. Using his thumb, he caressed my face as his hooded eyes examined me from my forehead to my chin. His tongue slithered out like a snake and brushed lithely from my chin down to my pulsing neck and lowered to the valley between my breasts.
As I stole a glance, I saw my tautened nipples peaking over my breasts resembling mountains. Every inch his tongue traveled trailed flames through my skin. My breathing grew ragged and out of control as my palm mauled the comforter beneath. He tortured my nipples, pulling them one by one, sucking, nibbling, pinching them between his soft lush lips. And to ease the spikes of pain, he used rapid swipes of his deft tongue to offset the sting, sending me closer to the edge.
He used his fingers to sprinkle lines of pleasure down the sides of my rib cage. He did this, slowly testing my sensitivity endurance until his left hand found its way to my inner thigh. He grabbed it with failed control, much to invoke a tempered reaction from me. It worked. My spine jerked, causing me to incline from the bed with a slam back into the mattress on my way back down. I felt his cool breath hit my heated skin when he snorted in response. This time, I was too caught up to resent his arrogance. With little effort, he dismantled my self-control.
I exhaled lungsful of air when I felt him insert a finger inside of me. It glided in with little effort. He circled it around and around, beckoning a shiver before entering a second.
“Gah,” I cried out as he sucked in my right nipple, pulling it so far back into his mouth, I thought I’d explode from the sensory overload. I lay helplessly as he skillfully unmanned me.
I felt as he pushed in a third finger, rendering my soaked terminal full to capacity. My eyes fluttered as I held my breath. But in no time, he worked his fingers into a rhythmic groove while orally assaulting my raw and hyper-sensitized nipples. Eventually, he introduced his thumb, thrumming my clitoris and in no time, warmth coated my body and I knew, undisputedly, I was at the breaking point. I exploded, bonelessly shuddering over the bed. My heart pounded in my chest and suddenly I couldn’t feel my limbs. In a flash, that changed and I felt every heightened inch of my body, including the core of pleasure that roared from my center. He wouldn’t stop. His mouth worked overtime, as did his wrist and thumb.
I don’t know if it was because it had been so long since I’d been worked over by a decent lover or the fact that he was exceptional, but my reaction to his ministrations was free of shame or embarrassment. I didn’t think I could calm myself if I wanted to. I felt like I was having an out of body experience, yet with all of the utterly blissful senses that could only be felt inside the shell of a body. It was outright euphoric.
When the time came that my body could no longer function under the sensations that rippled through it, I palmed my hands against his rock hard chest and nudged him away. He caught on, pulled from inside of me and elevated his frame so we were nose to nose, eye to eye. Behind his heavy gaze was a bit of amusement. He understood full well what he’d just done to my body as he drank me in again.
I didn’t understand what his fascination was with gazing into my face, my eyes, studying me like a curriculum. He softly swiped the back of his fingers against my flushed face. His expression was impassive, but I knew there was something behind it all.
Then I felt it.
He tried distracting me with a caress, but there was nothing that could have stolen my attention from the sharp pain at the apex of my thighs. I was wet—awfully wet—but not even that could save me from the acute pain I felt when he attempted to enter me.
But I needed it. I needed this. I called upon every fiber of courage, will, and resistance of pain to help ease the process. But not even they got him in.
“You have to relax, sweetheart. Let me in.” His voice was soothing, but I detested the attempt at endearment during this impersonally-intended experience. We were too connected—literally. Soooo not figuratively.
I nodded and tried closing my eyes in desperate search of pleasant and relaxing thoughts. That didn’t work because my eyes shot back open at the infinitesimal thrust he made, staying on course for my entry.
Shit!
“I know I’m not supposed to ask this, but answer at your own wit,” I proposed just over a gasp, unable to breathe from the pressure he applied below. I took a hard swallow. “What’s your first name?”
His eyebrows arched, “I thought we were only ‘acting appropriate for the occasion.’”
He damn sure used his wit. He threw my words back at me! I shot him a chastising glare. He stifled a smile on his wonderfully sculpted chestnut face and hesitated for a half a second, I’m guessing to think of a name.
He uttered, “Jack.”
Oh, he didn’t even try to be creative!
“Okay, Jack, my name is Ann. One: Ann is preferred over your generic sweetheart.” I winced from his next drive inside me. “Two: I don’t know if it’s that it has been so long or that you, by far, oversize every man I’ve ever been with, but your girth is out of this world-type large, so I’m going to need you to give me a moment to soak you all in. Pun intended.” I spoke in short breaths, trying to endure the discomfit.
I caught the push of breath on my neck from his short chortle, and he eventually came back into my visual focus and whispered, “Okay.”
Another push into me, though gentle, I felt full. We were getting nowhere and fast.
His eyes softened for a moment, expressing sympathy for my distress, and immediately they strained as if he was waging some internal battle. I knew this facial expression wasn’t from him enjoying himself because he had yet to be fully inside of me for the games to have begun.
He slammed his eyes shut for a few seconds in deep concentration. It concerned me until they opened again and he lowered his head toward mine slowly.
Is he going to kiss me?
Am I panicking?
You don’t kiss on a one-night stand!
Now, I was embattled.
This man was drop-dead gorgeous and built like a Greek god; of course, I wanted the panoramic experience!
But not on a one-night stand! I whined in my mind. Meanwhile, he stopped mere centimeters away from my now heavily anticipatory lips. His eyes kept going between mine as if he was examining me, in search of something within me.
Wha…Why?
When his delicious breath hit my lips, all wavering of permissions were out of my head. Jack’s lips touched mine softly at first and I could tell he was still unsure of his decision. I, on the other hand, was suddenly very certa
in. I wanted to feel his mouth on mine just as much as I wanted to feel him inside of me.
He kissed me again, this time with more deliberation, and my body trembled.
What in the hell is going on?
My hands involuntarily moved up the back of his head, pushing him closer to me and that’s when he pushed his tongue into my mouth, skillfully dipping it in, reaching further and further each time. Jack was a practiced kisser.
I was enraptured, even through my alcoholic haze. For a second, I forgot that we were strangers who met at happy hour, inside of a bar, just blocks away from my job. For a moment, he felt like a lover, someone who lit my body afire with purposeful passion.
His strong arms were astride my ears and his wide shoulders felt protective. Sex in this position would make you forget the course of a date or dating that we decided to forgo this Friday night, just hours from midnight.
His adept tongue made me escape the reality that he was just an incredibly good looking and alluring man, sitting at a table with his boisterous associates, obviously throwing back a few after a long workweek similar to mine and Clarice’s—
SHIT!
Clarice! I have to text her to let her know that I made it “home” safely.
I forgot all of those facts and instead embraced the enchantment in Jack’s kiss, helping me to forget all that afflicted me.
Before I knew it, desire blossomed in my belly and I was thrusting my sex at a moderate place, desperate to rub against that agitating need, buried within my throbbing walls. Though I was filled to the hilt, I wanted so badly to release the embankment of sensual buildup from within.
That’s when Jack broke the kiss and his collapsed face, waking me from my trance.
He groaned, “Shit! You feel so good.”
And those words made me aware of our bodies smacking at their point of contact. He felt incredible, too! So incredible that in no time, I felt something that wasn’t familiar, but definitely a sensation that I’d felt once or twice before in my life. It was a burgeoning deep in my belly, and the more imminent it became, the faster I moved to crash with it. I felt myself cresting. I moved with fierce speed, my hips soaring higher and higher, meeting Jack’s plunges.
