by Selena Kitt
There was an urgency to his touch this time, a swift, anxious nervousness, as though he were trembling on the precipice of remembering something very important, as though words that could change his life stood at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said.
His hands swirled down and around the round cheeks of my ass, slipping into the valley between them, gently massaging away the paint. Again he picked up the sponge and gushed warm water over me, this time over my shoulders, so that rivulets ran down my collarbone, trickled over my breasts and fell from my nipples like raindrops from branches. The whispery caress of water flowed through me and in me, and I shuddered with desire.
Beneath me the water ran white and gold, brilliant and beautiful, milk streaked with honey. Malcolm lifted the drain and let the water run out as he turned the faucet on again, letting more warm water run out. This time he didn't turn it off, but swept it over my body, sweet and seeking. The sponge scraped against my skin, removing pigment, revealing the tattoos beneath. I felt as though he were hiding me again, and the real me, the one underneath the ink and the attitude, was a secret we shared.
I trembled as he moved his hands over my body, his fingertips scraping up my abdomen, his palms gently rubbing over my nipples, squeezing my small, perfect breasts, until the water ran clear and I panted from the heat spiraling through me. The pain in my side had subsided and now seemed far away. All that mattered was Malcolm. Long, strong fingers probed between the cheeks of my ass, and he let the tub fill with water again as he tipped me forward onto my knees and elbows. I bowed my head, letting my hair fall into the water, and as he massaged a sweet circle around my puckered entrance with one finger, I closed my eyes and gave myself over to him.
Sensation. The warmth of the water lapping at my forehead, the heat of the steam caught in the cave of my bowed body, the harshness of the iron tub biting into my knees and elbows—all of it whirled together in my head, creating a perfect moment as Malcolm gently probed me and my pussy answered his exploration with a gush of warmth and wetness. One finger pushed its way inside my ass while his other hand reached under me and cupped my breasts, rough and possessive. My mouth went dry and I had to force myself to stay still as he began to gently push and retreat into my ass while his fingers tweaked my nipples, pinching hard until I cried out. My core quivered, aching and needing, and when Malcolm transferred his mouth to my ass I groaned. He was so close, so close to where I wanted him to be...
Then the hand playing with my breasts moved down, down, down my stomach. One finger caught on my naval, dipping inside briefly before slipping out again, and he continued his trek downward. The tight ring of muscle gave way to the gentle entrance of his tongue, and he licked and thrust into me as he found my clit with thumb and forefinger and gripped it firmly. I shook and panted, my body barely able to hold on as he picked up a quick, demanding rhythm, pinching and flicking my clit while he lavished soft kisses on my asshole. The world reduced to his fingers, his mouth, his lips, my cunt, my ass, and I gritted my teeth as I felt an orgasm building in me. It had been weeks since we'd been together this way, and my body responded with hunger, with a wildness that I'd never suspected I held within me. I twisted and turned, thrashing as Malcolm played me, and when he began to scrape his fingernail over my clit the pain and pleasure became too much, sending me up and over the edge of ecstasy.
The universe contracted, and then expanded, exploding around his tongue and fingers. I shrieked, and it sounded like a wounded animal calling out. The sound echoed on the walls, in the confines of the tub, shaking the whole room with the strength of feeling Malcolm inspired in me. Over and over again waves crashed against me, threatening to take me over, but Malcolm held on to me, keeping me anchored with tongue and lips and teeth and fingers.
When at last I subsided, gasping and with tears in my eyes, he withdrew and laid a warm, fluffy towel over the top of the tub, trapping me in it. I couldn't even move, just lay there, broken and repaired, and let the steam curl around me, warming me. I heard him walk to the sink and wash up, and then he was back, pulling me out of the tub and rubbing me down. He took great care not to exacerbate my injury, but no such care with the rest of me. Swirling the cotton over my skin, he rubbed me raw until I staggered on my feet and he caught me. Lifting me up and enfolding me in the towel, he carried me back up the stairs.
He took me to his bed and set me down, towel-drying my hair and covering me with blankets before slowly disrobing himself.
I watched him. The light was low, the electrical lights of the city already flaring up against the encroaching darkness, and he seemed like a vision standing next to the bed, dreamy and unreal. First he unbuttoned his shirt—covered in streaks of gold and pale cream paint—slow and sure. One by one the buttons popped and revealed the skin beneath that I knew so well, but felt now that I was seeing for the first time. His muscled chest, the fine line that ran down his abdomen, the six-pack he sported, all were new to me as he unwrapped the prize of his body before my eyes.
When at last the shirt fluttered to the ground I sighed and stretched out a hand, inviting him to come to me, but he didn't. He unbuckled his belt first, taking his sweet time, and the strength of his hands, barely restrained, gave me a bittersweet thrill. The whisper of the belt drawing through the loops on his pants sent a shiver up my spine, and when he popped the button of his fly I licked my lips.
He let his pants and boxers fall to the ground and stood next to the bed, naked, his erection enormous and straining, standing straight out from his body. Reaching out, I took it in my hand and drew him toward me. For once he complied, climbing onto the bed with me and straddling my chest, letting gravity and his girth stretch my lips out. My hands went around his ass and dug in, my fingernails clawing against his skin. He felt so good, so hot and fine, and I moved my head forward, gulping his cock greedily. The taste of him stirred my core again, and I thought of taking his length into my pussy, riding it until we both couldn't stand.
Above me Malcolm grabbed the headboard. It groaned under his grip as he began to thrust. He held himself back, quick and tight little nudges, but still enough for me to force myself to relax and let him rock his hips, letting his cock slide in and out of my mouth at will. The muscles under my hands were hard and trembling, and as I dug in and he began to pant, I wished we could stay like this forever.
In and out, he let his cock slide into the tight seal of my lips, and I was rewarded with tiny drops of sweet precum. I let my tongue swirl over them, licking up every last pearl until I felt him stutter and stop his stroke, clearly driven to the edge. "Sadie," he moaned, and then swung off me.
I protested wordlessly at the loss of his warmth, but he didn't leave me hanging. Instead he drew the covers up over both of us and pulled me gently on top of him.
"I don't want to hurt your side any more than it already is," he whispered. "I have to let you take over.
I shook my head. "I don't want to," I told him. "I trust you."
He smiled at that. "I know," he said. "But I don't trust me. I could be at death's door and still be fucking you. I have no control when it comes to you. I just want to... to..." His hands floated just an inch from my face, and I felt the heat rolling from his palms. Gently he outlined me in the dark and I reveled in the phantom touch of him before moving down and swiping my dripping pussy over his thick cock. Just the sensation of his cock against my slick flesh made us both gasp, as though we had never felt it before. Biting my lip, I angled my hips and began to nudge him inside.
It was harder than I thought it would be. The wound in my side screeched in protest, and more than once I had to stop, panting, and let Malcolm hold my trembling body up so I didn't sink further onto his erection before I was ready, but when I finally slid him home—all of him—I collapsed forward and buried my face in his shoulder. His arms came around me and held me. The rough texture of his pubic hair ground into my clit and his cock filled me to the brim.
He ran his hands over me, as though soothing a
wild beast, and then under me he slowly drew out and thrust in.
The sweetness of it brought tears to my eyes. He wrapped me up in his body, holding me immobile as he pushed his hips against mine, his cock sliding in and out of my tight channel, the mound of his pubic bone grating over my clit, still hypersensitive from his earlier rough handling. I felt another orgasm build in me as our hips slammed together and he held me tight against him, our hearts hammering in time against our chests, as though trying to reach each other though blood and flesh and bone.
His cock swept in and out of me, and I coiled and curled over him, my mouth finding his ear. "Malcolm," I whispered. "Malcolm, Malcolm, make me come, make me come around you..."
"I will," he breathed. "Sadie, beautiful Sadie, my muse, my muse..." His hands went to my ass and gripped my cheeks tightly, suddenly moving me over him in different ways, angling up against the upper wall of my core, thrusting high and deep while my clit scraped and rubbed against him. My mouth opened and I swirled my tongue over his ear, slipping and probing into the folds, gentle and urgent, the same way he ate me out, and Malcolm lost control beneath me. His hips thrust and he thrashed, rolling in the bed under me as his cock plunged into my core, but all the while still carefully keeping me immobile so as not to hurt me. His fingers dug in, and I knew he would leave bruises, but I didn't care.
Then he thrust into me deeper and harder than ever before and I came, shuddering and shivering. Under me Malcolm called my name and I fastened my hands in his hair, pulling and tugging his head back until I revealed his throat to me. As I came I bit down and he cried out and thrust wildly beneath me, carried away, and I felt his cock coil and tighten before emptying his seed into me in short, sharp bursts. Together we strove in the warmth of his bed, in the light of the city, and when it was over I fell asleep on top of him with his cock still inside me.
* * * *
I woke in the middle of the night. We had shifted positions and Malcolm slept beside me, one arm thrown over my chest, and his breathing was deep and slow. He looked almost human in the light of the streetlamps outside, his face half-smooshed into the pillow under his head. The space between my thighs was delightfully sore and raw and sticky with his cum, and I clamped my legs together, as though I could keep that feeling with me forever. I rolled into him and kissed his forehead on an impulse.
He woke almost immediately, his cherry wood eyes black in the dim light, and I wanted to fall into them. Which was really silly, I reflected, because that'd probably hurt both parties. I must get sappy after getting laid.
No, not just getting laid...
"Hey," I said.
"Hello," he replied, all formality before tightening his arm around me and drawing me closer. The wound in my side, now unobscured by pleasure, tweaked and I winced. Malcolm froze immediately, and then moved toward me himself. I let him come. I'd spent quite a bit of time chasing after him, it seemed. It was only right that he return the favor a little bit. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
I smiled and burrowed into his shoulder. He smelled good, rich and manly and dark, and I let myself revel in his scent. "I think I'm fine," I said. An understatement.
"Good," he said. "I'm glad. I worried I might hurt you."
"Don't worry about that," I said. "I'd let you know if you did."
His mouth twisted. "I'm sure you would.” Then he smiled. "And I might like it."
"If you want me to whip you and peg you, you only have to ask."
The look on his face was priceless. "I never said anything about pegging and whipping," he said.
I laughed at him. "Then what were you thinking of?"
"I was thinking more giving me a slap or something, after which I would tie you up and show you just how nice a little slapping can be."
Good grief, I was getting turned on by him talking about slapping me. The memory of our first painting session rose, when he slapped and flicked my nipples, driving me to an orgasm that nearly broke me apart, and I blushed. He saw my cheeks darken and grinned at me. "You are precious, Sadie," he said, running his hands through my hair.
For a long time we lay there, listening to the sounds of the city, far away and faint, but still active even this late at night. Finally I drew back and looked into his eyes.
“Malcolm,” I murmured. “What are we? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend? Artist and muse?”
He tilted his head and looked very thoughtful. “Lovers,” he said at last. “We are lovers. The lovers, in The Kiss” He was referring to the Rodin piece, the man and the woman caught in a passionate embrace.
“I hope not,” I said. “They look really uncomfortable in that position.”
"A little discomfort never hurt anyone."
"That's... that doesn't even make any sense."
He chuckled. “Well fine, if you're looking for sense I'm afraid I don't have any for you. You make me lose my senses.” He ran his hand down my body beneath the comforter, but when he hit a sore spot on my hip I winced. He stopped immediately. “What's wrong?”
I lifted the comforter and turned toward the window, exposing the imprint of his hand on my flank in purple and blue. “Just a bruise,” I said.
“Oh. Oh, Sadie. I'm so sorry. I tried so hard to keep your side from getting re-injured and I just ended up hurting you again...”
“Don't be sorry,” I said. “I like it. It's like your signature on your masterpiece. How else would anyone know it was yours?”
His shoulders relaxed at that. One hand came up and cradled my head, drawing me in for a kiss while the other soothed and smoothed over the bruise he had left behind in passion, as if he couldn't quite believe my words and wanted to make it disappear.
I did like it, though. Another mark on my body. Another piece of my life story.
My favorite part yet.
The CEO and the Girl from the Coffee Shop by Terry Towers
Chapter 1
"Damn, damn, damn," Beth muttered, leaning over the coffee shop front counter, pen in hand, attempting to find a way to make college possible. Sadly, the numbers didn't seem to want to cooperate. As it appeared, financially college just wasn't going to be happening for her this coming fall semester. There was no way around it; she was barely making enough to survive as it was. She was making so many sacrifices, too many as a matter of fact. Having to cut back on the hours she worked at the coffee shop in order to attend school, while paying the massive tuition wouldn't work. As it was the cost of living was a financial burden that was more than she could handle at the present time.
"Damn," she cursed again, a little more loudly than she intended, as she rolled the offending list of expenses up in her fist, turned, and tossed the paper ball into the nearby garbage can. The paper ball hit the back of the can and fell in soundlessly.
"Impressive shot."
Beth sighed as she turned back towards the counter and gave Gabriel a faint smile. Any other day she would have loved seeing Gabriel - his visits were normally the highlight of her afternoon. However, today was different; not even the sight of her secret crush could brighten her day. Nope, not even the tall, lean, dark-haired hunk in the finely tailored suit with the piercing dark eyes could take her mind off of her troubles.
"Afternoon Gabriel,” she said solemnly.
Leaning an elbow on the beige marble counter separating them, he smiled at her. His sweet, seductive smile helped melt the icy mood she'd been in, up until that point - slightly. "So, come on, tell me what's bothering you? Where’s that beautiful smile you usually present me with?” He had a warm yet concerned look on his face.
“Oh I got it! Your boss is being a jerk?" he teased lightly.
A smile began to lift the corners of Beth's lips for the first time that day as she shook her head. "No."
He raised an inquisitive brow at her. "Oh I definitely got it now. Boyfriend troubles, right?"
Her smile widened. "Hardly." Grabbing a large paper cup from the dispenser she began to pour his coffee.
"The usual?"
she asked, ignoring his question. She didn't want to be spilling her financial woes to customers - not even Gabriel. And as for her non-existent love life - she really didn't want to be spilling that to him.
Gabriel nodded. “Okay I’m done guessing,” he gave a little chuckle. “Then tell me? What's wrong?"
Beth secured the plastic lid onto the cup and sighed, sliding the cup across the counter to him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned her hip against the counter and caught his gaze. "Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?"
Damn, he looks good today. The top button of his off-white shirt was undone. His black satin tie hung loosely around his neck. He looked as though he could have just walked off the pages of GQ magazine. He was, without a doubt, one of the hottest men she'd ever met. His easygoing demeanour and sinfully sexy smile complemented his good looks perfectly. Does he even know how hot he is? she found herself wondering. Of course he does... How could he not?
Gabriel chuckled. "I really want to know. Wouldn't have asked if I didn't."
Beth huffed. "Well, the problem is that I just can't catch a break."
"Can't catch a break?" Grabbing a bill from his trousers pocket he passed it to her as he accepted the coffee. "Why do you say that?"
Accepting the payment she rang in his total and proceeded to give him his change. When she offered it to him, as usual, he waved it off so she dropped it into her tip jar. The tip equalled roughly three times the cost of the coffee; he was easily the best tipper to walk through the doors of the coffee shop.
"Well, I'm halfway through college and there is no way I'm going to be able to afford to go back next year. I can barely pay my bills even with all the overtime I put in this place. Like, take this week for instance. I have a choice... do I pay my electricity or my telephone bill?"
