by Kim Jones
On my vagina.
I’ll save you the details of my cries and tremors and pulsating waves of exquisite pleasure and just say this: I come.
He kisses his way up my body. Hands slide to my back and he lowers the zipper of my dress. He pushes the fabric off my shoulders and it puddles at my feet. His mouth dips to my breasts. He kisses one nipple while he pulls at the other with his fingers.
I tremble. Goosebumps cover my flesh. Not from the cold, but from the aftershocks of what I just experienced. I’m still trying to recover from the best orgasm of my life. And his touch on my oversensitive body isn’t helping me come down from this high—it makes me want more.
I’m lifted. My legs around his waist. Hands still in his hair. His cupping my ass. Mouth trailing wet kisses along my neck. My back hits the couch. His big, warm body covers mine.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you on this couch since the moment I came home and found you on it.”
I nod. “Yeah,” I pant, breathless. “Me too.”
He strips off his shirt. My fingertips skim his chest. Stomach. Nipples. Shoulders.
“Your touch is as good as your taste.”
I lift my eyes. He’s watching me. On his knees between my thighs. Palming his cock through his pants as I explore him with my hands.
“I wouldn’t know.”
He arches a brow. “You don’t know how you taste?”
I shake my head. “I’ve always hoped it was like sunshine. Or rain. Or Skittles. But I’m not a very clean eater. And I danced a lot tonight. So I fear it may taste like cheap beer. Or armpits. Or heaven forbid, the sea.”
He laughs. “I swear, if your innocence wasn’t so damn sexy or your body this gorgeous or the way you come so fucking cock hardening, you could kill a mood with the shit you say.”
Hmm…well now that’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me. And it makes me a little shy, to be honest. I bite my lip to hide my demure smile and look away.
His thumb slides over my sex. He gives my clit a little rub, then dips the tip of his thumb into my opening. I whimper when he pulls away. And whimper again when he makes a show of licking and biting the pad of his thumb.
He leans over and touches his nose to mine. I inhale. Deep. He grins. Then kisses me just long enough to fill my mouth with my taste.
“Well?”
I frown. “I’m not sure. I can’t really put a name to it. But it’s definitely not armpits. Or of the sea variety.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I wouldn’t call it cheap beer or rain, either. And sadly, it doesn’t taste like Skittles.”
“Sunshine, then?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jake.” I roll my eyes. “Nobody knows what sunshine tastes like.”
I really like it when his laughter rumbles against my chest. And when he dips his head to plant a kiss to the side of my throat, I like that too.
“Would you like to know how you taste to me, Penelope?” His mouth moves down my neck and he kisses a trail across my shoulder.
“O-okay.”
“Like the sweetest kind of sin.” He kisses his way back to my neck. “Like sexy innocence.” He nibbles my earlobe. Licks the shell of my ear. Then growls, “Like my goddamn kryptonite.”
I’ve been accused of a lot of things. Being someone’s kryptonite isn’t one of them. I’m not even sure it’s a good thing. Nevertheless, it ignites something inside me.
I pull his mouth to mine. Kiss him hard. Inhale my sin. Taste my innocence. Use that recently discovered radioactive power I possess to force him to give me what I want. Which is him, naked. And inside me.
My fingers fumble with the button on his pants. He flicks my hand away and does it himself. Then he pushes his pants just over his hips. Pulls out his cock. Strokes it a couple times. Then while he retrieves his wallet from his back pocket, I marvel at the big thing that is somehow supposed to fit inside me.
Yes, I know this is overused in every romance novel. The, will it fit, line followed up by the, don’t worry baby, it’ll fit, response. But seriously. How the fuck is it going to fit?
This thing looks like a damn sixteen-ounce Coke can. Simple vaginal stretching just won’t do. I’ll have to fucking dilate to accommodate this monstrosity. And that’s not happening. Sex? Between us? Yeah, that’s not going to happen either.
On a side note, I now understand what heroines mean when they say a penis is beautiful. I never thought a cock could be beautiful. This one actually is. Well, for a cock. I mean, it doesn’t compare to like a sunset or a clear blue sky or the long awaited birth of a famous giraffe’s baby, but to the other penises I’ve seen—in real life and on T.V.—it’s beautiful.
“Hey….” Jake’s soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. Concern is etched on his face. “You okay?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. But um, yeah. No. That,” I point to his cock, “that’s not going in this.” My hand sweeps up and down my entire torso. I’d motion all the way to my throat, but I’m being realistic here. No penis is that big.
A slow grin spreads across his face. “That’s more flattering than sir.”
I lean up on my elbows. “Really? I figured you’d be mad.”
“Because you said my dick was big? Baby…please.”
He keeps calling me baby and I’ll let him put that thing in my butt.
“I almost came just hearing it.”
“Want me to say it again then? Is that how you want to get off? Because I was serious when I told you that this isn’t happening.” I do the finger point-torso sweep again.
His head tilts a little and he studies me with a mixture of hope and disbelief. “Are you a virgin?”
“Did you really just ask me that?” I shake my head at him.
“So, no?”
“No, not no. I was shaking my head in disbelief. It wasn’t my answer.”
“So, yes?”
“That is a very personal question, Jake.”
“We crossed the personal boundary when you were pressed up against my windows, screaming my name, coming on my face. I think it’s safe for me to ask if you’re a virgin.”
Fair enough.
“I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex. Not a lot of it, but enough to know that your cock is way too big for me. I have a narrow channel, Jake.”
He groans as if he’s in pain and strokes himself. “That mouth of yours is killing me, baby.”
Okay. He can have it. If he rips me in two? Totally worth it.
Kidding.
He can’t have it. When a man says, I’m going to ruin you for every other man on the planet, it’s supposed to be in reference to him being great in bed. In this case, Jake would ruin me for an entirely different reason. Hot dog down a hallway kind of reason.
“I’m scared.” My admission comes as a shock to me. Why did I say it? Why did I whisper it in a voice tinged with fear? Why does looking at his handsome face with all its softened features make me feel like I said exactly what needed to be said?
Jake stuffs his rigid cock that is now sheathed in a condom, into his boxers and pulls his pants up over his hips—not bothering to zip them. Probably because he can’t. He stands and holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”
I take his hand and let him pull me from the couch. He grabs a blanket and wraps it around my shoulders before leading me into the kitchen. There, he lifts me to sit on the counter, pours us both a glass of wine, hands me one, clinks my glass and takes a big sip.
I guzzle mine until there’s nothing left.
He pours me another one.
“Better?”
I nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
“It’s not that big, Penelope.”
My eyes roll. I thought we were having a sweet moment. He just wants to get me drunk and fuck me. “Have you done research on this? How many penises have you actually seen, Jake?”
“Probably more than you. And wipe that look off your face. No. I’m not nor have I ever been, gay. But I am a man. Who has pissed in a public urin
al. And watched porn. And may or may not have measured my dick along with all of my frat brothers in college.”
“And how did you measure up?”
He takes a sip of wine.
“That’s what I thought.”
The way he looks at me—curious like I’m a mystery, yet captivated by what he’s already unveiled—has me feeling that feeling again. The way he licks the corner of his lip and drops his eyes to my legs has me rethinking this whole, it won’t fit, thing. And when he tucks my hair behind my ear, looks me dead in the eye and whispers, “You truly are a vision, Penelope Hart,” I swear I can feel my vagina widening just for him.
What the fuck am I doing?
Is it really that big?
I don’t even drink sixteen-ounce cans of Coke.
I can’t recall the last time I saw one.
What do I know?
And aside from the fact that I’m sitting naked, on a kitchen counter, in a penthouse, that belongs to Chicago’s most eligible bachelor, who just so happens to be the hottest man on the planet, I have an opportunity to get some hands on, real life experience with my That Guy. This is research. Nobody made the New York Times’ bestseller list with a book they didn’t do some research on.
Sigh….
The things I do to be a good writer.
I finish my wine. Grab his glass and finish it too. Shrug the blanket off my shoulders. Wrap my hands around his neck. Pull him to me. Lock my legs around his waist. And fist his hair in my hand.
“Kiss me, Jake.”
Within moments we’re back on the couch. Our movements frantic. Mine because I need him. His because he’s probably afraid I might change my mind. But that can’t be right. Because he grabs my wrists. Pins them over my head. Gives me a long, thoughtful look and then asks, “Are you sure, baby?”
Baby.
Gah.
If I wasn’t sure before. I’m sure now.
“Please.”
His mouth is on my nipple. Hands cupping my ass. Hips grinding against me. He moves lower. Lower. Lower. That tongue of his finds my clit and performs that tongue dance he’s so good at. He slips a finger inside me. I’m a little embarrassed by how easily it slides in. He adds another finger and there’s not much resistance there either.
It doesn’t take long for me to reach that point where I don’t care if a small SUV can drive in there. I’m coming so hard, screaming so loud, flying so high, feeling so. Damn. Good. I fear I may lose consciousness.
He asks me something and I nod. I have no clue what I just agreed to, but it doesn’t matter. If I die, I’ll go out knowing that sparks really do explode behind your eyelids when you have the right kind of orgasm.
You know, I’m ashamed to even look Jake in the eye right now. Because that big Coke can cock of his that I swore wouldn’t fit, slides right up inside me without anything more than a slow, persistent thrust. Jake does the whole, “So fucking tight,” speech on a pained cry, and I know it’s just to make me feel better.
“You have to relax, gorgeous. Trust me. I won’t hurt you.”
I just stare at him. Really, asshole? Did you have to say it out loud? It’s obvious he isn’t going to hurt me. Because it’s also obvious that I’m not as narrow as I thought I was.
To humor him, I let out a loud breath and relax every muscle. It’s like someone let the air out of me. I just deflate completely and sink about three inches into the couch cushions. I hadn’t realized how tense I actually was.
I hadn’t realized Jake wasn’t even halfway inside me either.
I can’t help it. I smile. Big cheesy grin. You know…because narrow channel and all that.
“Pretty proud of yourself I see.” He pushes deeper and my smile turns into an O. He slides out, thrusts back in a little more and I groan. The next time steals my breath and he pauses to kiss me stupid and remind me to breathe before pulling out and burying himself in me completely.
Oh.
My.
Fuck.
It’s so much. So, so much. I’ve heard this sensation described as feeling full. I’m past full. I’m in cock overload. I can feel this motherfucker in my spine. One wrong move could result in paralysis. This shit isn’t natural.
“Penelope….”
I hope like hell that strangled cry is because he’s just come and this is over and he can get out of me while I still have feeling in my legs.
“If you don’t stop squeezing my cock you’re going to kill it.”
“What?”
He chuckles. Mutters something. Lowers his mouth to mine. I melt. The moment I do, I understand what he’s talking about. He doesn’t shrink in size. My vagina doesn’t get any bigger, either. But without the Kegel death grip, the feeling changes. Still more than full, but not at all unpleasant. The great thing about big dicks? They can reach places that elicit sensations most women don’t even know exist.
Take my word for it, though. They exist.
“You think too much.” His hips swivel and I gasp. “If I can’t make you forget everything but me, then I’m not doing something right.”
“You’re right.” I grin up at him. “Perhaps you should step up your game, Mr. Swagger.”
His smile is wicked. “My pleasure, Miss Hart.”
I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut.
I’d have been fine with plain ol’ vanilla sex—me on my back. Him thrusting and grunting inside me while I moan and claw at his arms. But when Jake Swagger steps up his game, it’s like going from Pee-Wee football to the NFL. Just…one minute you’re a three-foot-tall quarterback, missing your two front teeth, pausing mid-throw so your mom can take a picture, and the next you’re six two with a Nike endorsement, a Maserati, a supermodel to cook your dinner and another to lick your balls.
Jake Swagger doesn’t fuck around.
Before I can even process what’s happening, I’m flipped on my stomach. Hips lifted. Knees spread. Ass up. Back arched. Hair fisted. Head pulled back so I can see our reflection in the windows.
I love how he touches me. How me slides his hand up my back and across my ribs to palm my breast, instead of just directly reaching and fondling it. It makes the lewd position I’m in feel sensual. Makes me feel sexy. And makes him a good lover.
“When I fuck you like this…on your knees…that pretty little ass of yours in the air…you’re going to feel all of me.” His hand slides down my stomach to cup my pussy. “This sweet cunt is going to feel me for days.” The tip of his middle finger dips inside me. Then he drags the wet digit through my lips to circle my clit. “We’ll start nice and slow. You tell me when you want more. I’ll let you set the pace, baby.” His voice drops to a whisper. “But I decide when you come.”
He kisses me softly on my temple, like I’m someone to be cherished. Like I mean more to him than an ass in the air and a quick fuck. The intimacy contradicts everything in this moment. It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted from sex. Yet I never knew it until now.
My entire body thrums with this pulsing energy that will not fade. When he releases my hair to drag his hands across my spine and to my hips, I break position on a sigh. He’s quick to correct me.
“Ass up, gorgeous. Hollow your back. I want to see every inch of you. Watch your pussy swallow my cock.”
Fuck. Damn. Oh. My.
I do as he says. He wastes no time pushing inside me. I look over my shoulder and tremble when I see those gray-green-blue eyes hooded with lust. Darkened with desire. Lips parted as he breathes deep—his chest rising and falling as slow as his thrusts. The sight of him is as much of a turn on as what he’s doing to me.
He’s deep—so deep. I’m deliciously full. Stretched wide. The size of him elicits sensations that border on pain which only heightens my pleasure. My response is a continual song of loud moans that are like a cathartic release. I can’t control them anymore than I can control the build that stirs in my depths. Or the sweat that beads on my skin—fighting the fever that burns inside me. Or the need for some
thing more. Just a little. Just enough to push me over the precipice.
“More, Jake.”
He drives a little harder. It’s not enough.
“More.”
His hips move a little faster. It’s not enough.
“More…please.”
His words get a little dirtier.
“…Love how greedy your fucking pussy is…”
Still, I can’t find my release. He pounds inside me, pistoning his hips mercilessly. Bruising the back of my thighs with his own. Spreading me open with his hands. Baring every part of me and reminding me how much the sight turns him on. But without the touch of his tongue or his fingers on my clit, I just…can’t.
“Jake, I—“ My voice cracks. Frustration builds. Need becomes overwhelming. I push against him. Meet his thrusts. I’m a wet, wanton mess with no shame. No humility. Filled with desperation.
“Tell me, baby.” He shifts behind me and the movement causes me to stiffen. He doesn’t stop, only slows his pace a fraction while I adjust. Within seconds, I’m pushing back against him again. Hoping this is the angle I need. But my release is still just out of reach.
I whimper. If I don’t come soon, I’ll combust or at the very least, my vagina will be ravaged beyond repair.
“Please, Jake. I need…I need…”
“I know what you need, sweet girl.” Oh…the way he talks.
The deep tenor. The reassurance. The unspoken promise of delivery. Right now I’d do anything for this man. I’ve never felt the desire to please anyone as much as I do him in this moment.
His hand wraps around my stomach and he lifts me. My back to his chest. His mouth on my neck. Hands on my breasts. Then…oh.
Oh.
OH.
“There’s the sweet spot,” he murmurs, rocking into me with long, smooth strokes. His hand slides down my stomach. Finds my clit. He rubs me in the slowest, most torturous way. The build climbs, but at a pace I’m not patient enough for.
