by Louisa Trent
She was drenched with her own juices and from his mouth's saliva. She was also swollen, just from the little he'd done to her. And virgin tight.
Good thing they were going frottage, because Sera wasn't ready to take on a man with a dick his size, not after a year's abstinence. After the death of her husband, she needed some time spent in warm-up before getting back in the balling game.
“Oh Tomas,” she moaned. “Oh Tomas,” she groaned. “Oh Tomas,” she cried, then screamed, then came. Again.
He soothed her with kisses during the after-quakes, and when she was calm again, fell back and away, scooting onto his haunches, his balls aching so bad he didn't know if he'd be able to stand up straight when he got off the bed.
And he had to get off the bed. He had to take his frustrated ass to the bathroom where he could take care of his damn nobility in the shower.
All smooth-like, Tomas started to ease away.
No hurry. He figured he was good for another thirty seconds before he exploded.
“My turn,” Sera whispered.
Huh?
“Pardon?” he said politely, while trying not to laugh, which would've hurt his blue balls just a little too much.
“My turn to do frottage.”
Yeah. Right. It was painfully clear that the missionary woman didn't know what the hell she was talking about.
He postponed the date with himself to explain the facts of life. A short explanation, as his dick was pointing toward the shower, and he never argued with his dick's sense of direction. “Sweetie, you don't have what it takes to do frottage.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sera, honey, you can't dry hump me. You don't got the right equipment.”
That was the wrong thing to say. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he'd put his foot in it. Now Sera would set out to prove him wrong.
While Tomas debated how to make a graceful exit for the bathroom where he could jerk off his misery in private, Sera said, “Don't move. Stay right there,” and wiggled out from under.
She mounted him. There was no other way to say it. Her mouth, her hands were all over him, kissing and feeling him up and down, grinding her pussy against his ass, while he panted on all fours like he was the mare and she was the stud. It was damn humiliating.
“No! No! Not there,” he shouted. “Don't touch me there!”
Too late.
When she cupped his balls, his date with his fist in the shower was no longer necessary.
* * * *
Sera fell asleep face down on the bed. When she awakened it was to find herself alone in the room. Abandoned on one wedding night; she was not putting up with it again.
Pulling on her discarded white tank top, she went in search of her bridegroom.
Tomas and his cold feet were out on the roof deck garden. He was putting the finishing touches on a table set for two.
“How lovely,” she said admiring the surroundings, now that she was noticing them.
She pushed her disheveled hair back from her face, wholly conscious of her less than decorous appearance and her husband's dashing good looks.
How had she ever mistaken him a Southside criminal?
He had shaved, she noticed, a close shave that highlighted his strong jaw. Yes, he still had the rakish devil-may-care attitude of a desperado, and yes, there was a certain ‘gem in the rough’ quality about his face, but the man before her was totally masculine, totally confident of who he was and where he was going in the world. Who needed even features and refined manners when a pair of flashing black eyes made her heart literally skip a beat?
As to the rest...his brown chest was bare and smoothly hairless. His nipples were dark brown and flat against the immense wall of his chest. The white muslin trousers he wore were loosely woven, loosely fitting, and for that reason, were very nearly transparent.
Twenty-twenty vision was not needed to see that he wore nothing underneath. This informality on his part was much appreciated, as she hadn't had the pleasure...or the opportunity...of seeing him in the nude. She'd felt him, oh yes, she had. She knew the length of him, the thickness of him, but visually, his body remained a mystery.
The loose fit of his muslin trousers revealed some of that mystery.
He was impressively erect, and not hiding the condition. The enormous jut of his sex looked every bit as daunting it had felt between her legs. When he turned to the side to light a single white candle, she saw that his buttocks were tight and muscled, as were his legs.
Tomas Ruiz was gorgeous.
And all hers.
At least temporarily
She made a sweep of the table with a hand. “This was very thoughtful. Thank you.”
“A bride should have a wedding night dinner.” He grinned. “It's catered.”
He mentioned one of Fenton's premier hotels. “So extravagant,” she murmured or something close.
“I'm not a poor man, Sera.”
He gestured to a bottle chilling on a smaller table. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”
Tugging on the hem of the white tank top-it barely skimmed the top of her thighs-she said, “I feel a little underdressed, Tomas. I think I should find those jeans first.”
“This patio is completely private. But, if you would like to dress for dinner, you'll find something to wear in the master suite's closet.”
“You bought me something else to wear?”
He shrugged. “I enjoyed shopping for you.”
A worry occurred to her. “Tomas, is it all right that we use this condo? I mean, it's for sale, and here we are making use of the furnishings.”
“Sera, I own the whole building. I can do anything I want with the damn furnishings.”
“But why bring me here? We could've stayed at the mansion.”
“I'm having an...uh...over-night work crew gut a few rooms at the mansion and I thought they'd disturb us on our wedding night.”
“You didn't say anything to me earlier about an overnight work crew-”
“I wanted to surprise you. Remember, I told you the house is my wedding gift to you. No reason to delay what...uh...has to be done. I thought this would be nicer than staying in a hotel for the night.”
She frowned. Why did she have the feeling that Tomas, her husband of only a few short hours, was lying to her?
Must've been the nervous stammer that gave it away. Tomas never stammered.
Two seconds later, the stammer was gone and Tomas was saying in an authoritative way, “Get dressed now. When you're ready, come join me up here on the roof.”
Apprehension about her husband's possible lack of truthfulness was forgotten in a rush of happiness as she raced to do his bidding.
* * * *
Dinner was not a relaxed hour of light conversation and delicious cuisine.
Sera barely noticed the food on her plate. She knew that she lifted the fork to her mouth several times but could not for the life of her remember if she had swallowed or not. She certainly could not recall the taste of what she may or may not have eaten. It was all a blur, lost in her excitement over the coming night.
Her wedding night, she thought anxiously, plucking at the white gauzy dress she was wearing.
The dress was sexy. Whether or not she looked sexy in it was another matter entirely. If she went by her husband's behavior, she'd have to say that she must look absolutely hideous in the dress, as Tomas hadn't looked at her directly throughout the course of their silent meal.
Was she so repugnant that he couldn't bring himself to glance her way?
There was no other explanation for his tenseness, for his lack of conversation, for his strained discomfort.
She missed his teasing. As difficult as it was for her to admit, she even missed his studied charm. Why wouldn't he at least look at her? Spare her a glance?
But no, he refused to look at her across the width of the damask tablecloth.
Tomas was having second doubts about this marriage. Just when she
had started to hope too!
His loss of control when it was her turn to perform frottage had thrilled her. His loss of control had made her feel like a desirable woman for the first time in her life. Sera knew Tomas didn't really want to make love to her, but the illusion that he did want her, genuinely wanted her, had done much to booster her sagging confidence.
Now this! The silent treatment and no eye contact.
Was it her big bottom? Did he find the size of her hips repulsive? A complete turn-off?
Or perhaps the problem was her small breasts. Men liked busty women. And she was anything but.
Or maybe it was everything about her, both big and small. She just simply and totally disgusted him.
She finally said, “I don't want to sleep alone on my wedding night.”
Again, she was thinking but didn't say; she would not dwell on her disastrous first wedding night now.
“Will you share that big bed with me?” she asked her new husband.
“I'm sorry, Sera. I just can't.” He pushed away from the table and went to stand by the roof's brick wall.
“You could try closing your eyes,” she suggested, rising from the table and going to him.
Standing before him, she undid the ties on her flowing, white gauzy dress. “You could pretend I'm some other woman, some woman you'd rather be with, an attractive woman.” She slipped the dress off one shoulder, then the other. Without any other means of keeping it up, it fell softly about her ankles.
“What the hell are you trying to do to me, Sera? And what the hell is this shit about me pretending you're another woman? I know damn well who you are. You're my wife. And I only have so much control.”
“Control? I don't understand.”
“When you touched my bal-my testicles-I lost it. I want you to know that has never, and I do mean NEVER, happened to me before. Except with you. I can usually keep a woman happy all night long without ever...without ever...”
“Ejaculating?”
Tomas blushed a very nice shade of brownish-pink. “Geez, you talk blunt! But yeah. That,” he said bashfully. “I make damn sure the woman is always wearing a smile of satisfaction before I even think of...before I even think of...”
“Ejaculating?” she again supplied.
How had Tomas Ruiz earned his womanizing reputation if he couldn't talk frankly about sex? She wondered.
“Yeah. That. A gentleman always takes care of his lady first.”
“You did take care of me first, Tomas. I was only trying to return the favor. And now I'd like us to sleep together in the same bed. Is that too much for a bride to ask of her husband on their wedding night? We can turn off all the lights...or...or...you can just close your eyes and pretend that I'm some sexy beauty. I don't mind. I only want to be with you-”
“Fuck!” Her husband started frantically rubbing the back of his neck. “Sera, look at my cock, woman!”
She did. It was difficult to believe, but the bulge was longer, harder, thicker than before.
“Oh, my.” She licked her lips.
“That's what you do to me. That's what your tits and your ass and your sweet luscious cunt do to me, and that's why I can't sleep with you. I'm already in pain. How much more do you expect me to take before I can't take no more and I ram my dick into your lady-like pussy? You're too tight for me tonight. Now get away from me quick.”
“I can't, Tomas. I need to touch you,” she said, and sank to her knees in front of him.
“Sera, no!” he shouted. “You're a lady. Ladies don't go down on rough men like me.”
Was his opinion of her gallant, but nevertheless misguided? Or was he just finding excuses to avoid intimacy, any kind of intimacy, with her?
Yes, he was erect, but that was only physiology. Telling her he wanted her must have been a lie, she decided, for an experienced man like him could tell how much she wanted his penis in her mouth, wanted to know the taste of him, the smell of him, the essence of him.
She could tell him. But if she did, if she revealed to him just how badly she wanted him, there was the very real risk of him running in the opposite direction.
The trick was to keep it light, no pressure on him to give more than he could. And so she bantered flirtatiously, “We're married, Tomas. Yes, the arrangement will be of short duration but there's no reason why we can't enjoy each other's bodies while we're together. It won't mean anything-”
Undoing the buttons on the front of his muslin trousers, she reached inside for his penis.
The weight of his manhood was substantial. Once again, having never held...or seen for that matter...an adult male with an erect penis, the thickness of him in her hand came as rather a shock.
He was pulsating. And hard. Yet so incredibly soft, all at the same time. She drew an eager finger down Tomas’ astounding length, tried to ring him with two fingers and failed, put her face, her nose, against the enormous dark head and inhaled the scent of his sex. When she could wait no longer, she tasted him with the tip of her tongue.
Tomas dug his hands into her hair. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Oh, my. She loved her husband's rough edges.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she replied and took him into her mouth.
His thrust, though infinitely gentle, still came as a surprise. She was a grown woman; she should have known what to expect!
But she hadn't known, hadn't known at all.
Her gag reflex went into overdrive and she coughed, fell backwards. Contact was broken.
“No!” she cried.
How stupid could she get! What must he think of her?
Embarrassed, she looked out over the brick wall.
“I know I'm not like your husband, Sera,” he said evenly, quietly, no betraying anger reflected on his vocal cords, “but I won't have my own wife turn her face away from me like everybody else does in this whole fuckin’ town. It's your right to reject me in private, it's your right not to want my cum on your ladylike lips,” Tomas continued, “just don't make the mistake of rejecting me in public “
Like her husband? She thought, trying to understand why there was so much quiet anguish in his voice. But they were married! Tomas was her husband now!
Then she understood. Matt. He was talking about Matt! He still considered Matt her husband.
Tomas was not like Matt! And that was a blessing for which she was thankful. She couldn't have borne another sterile marriage. Tomas had misunderstood! She hadn't turned her face away from him! She hadn't rejected him. She'd never do that! She wanted him desperately; it was her own ineptness that she couldn't face.
She needed to explain. “No! It's not like that.”
He lent a hand to steady her as she swayed on her knees at his feet. “This marriage idea was a mistake. We'll get it annulled. Don't worry, you'll still get the mansion.”
“The mansion,” she repeated, dully. “The mansion is my dream, it's all I've ever wanted.”
Until I met you, her stuttering brain finally processed. She wanted Tomas more than her dream.
She had to explain, had to tell him how much he was beginning to mean to her, but there were no words adequate to the task. Tomas needed to be shown the depth of her feelings for him.
Letting her actions speak for her, she took her husband's thick penis in her hands again, and guided the hard length to her lips.
“Sera, you don't have to do this. I don't expect it...”
Her reply was incoherent. “I do. I do have to do this. I owe you...so much my dream...you've given me so much...” Oh, she was saying it all wrong, doing everything all wrong! She wanted this so badly that she was botching it.
Mortified, she couldn't go on, couldn't complete the thought, couldn't tell him that he was more important to her than her dream for a school, that because of him, she was able to feel something again.
At her incomplete avowal, a hurt look fell over Tomas’ face. “You don't owe me nothing.”
In a rush to show him how wrong he was, she virtually pounce
d on his penis, inexpertly taking him once again between her lips.
He moaned deep in his throat. Had she would hurt him? Bitten him by mistake? Damaged him in some other undefined way?
But, no. He didn't appear injured. In fact, his big hands held her lightly around the shoulders, supporting her, and he was moving very slowly, very carefully, in her mouth.
She was relieved that he hadn't rejected her, but she still couldn't relax. This was a man who had droves of women lined up to please him, women who knew what they were doing, while she didn't know what she was doing. Enthusiasm couldn't possibly make up for expertise. Almost thirty-one years old, and a widow, and she didn't know how to pleasure the man who was her husband.
Consequently, it was over before it really began. A few tepid thrusts, a gruff groan, a hot spurt at the back of her throat and Tomas was disengaging. Because she didn't know how to draw it out, the whole thing couldn't have lasted more than a minute. She was a complete failure as a woman.
Not knowing what was expected of her next, she looked to Tomas for guidance.
“Your call,” he told her, his voice kind but defeated.
She'd done that to him, she thought as she swallowed. She'd put that horrible resignation in his voice. He was too kind to ever tell her so, but she knew just the same. He regretted their marriage, realized what a mistake he had made, and now was trying valiantly to accept the intolerable, which was what marriage to her amounted to.
When he helped her to her feet, her humiliation over her botched effort at seducing him caused her to bolt. She ran downstairs to the master suite, where she crawled under the quilt on the big bed, and in private, cried herself to sleep.
Sometime much later she awakened with a sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. When she rose from the large empty bed and searched the luxury unit, her sick feeling was confirmed: Tomas was not in the condo.
Unable to bring himself to sleep with her, her new husband had left her alone. It was a repeat of her first wedding night, only so much worse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Tomas?” his wife called out to him from behind the partially open bedroom door. “Is that you?”
Damn! He'd disturbed her! He thought he was being so quiet about sneaking back into the condo. The elevator doors opened and closed with hardly a squeak He'd even taken off his boots. How had she heard him?
