by S. J. Pierce
Words aren’t necessary anyway. Our bodies are ready to do all the talking.
10
One
It’s not long before I’m backed against a wall. I was so into kissing, I hardly noticed him
guiding me. I allow my purse to slide off my shoulder and fall to the floor beside a potted plant. He grips the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head, tosses it behind him, and unzips my jeans and slides them over my hips. Works them down until they’re around my ankles, then helps me step out of them. I expect him to stand back up, but he stays there, soaking me in from that angle. His gentle touch runs up the back of my legs, chills racing over them in response, and I wonder if he can feel my day-old stubble. If he does, he doesn’t care.
He flashes a quick smile, then grips me harder to show me he knows the importance of a tender kind of roughness, then nuzzles against my leg. Kisses and sucks the fleshy part of my inner thigh. A finger runs along the elastic of my panties just above.
I bite my lip, my head reclining against the wall, and my sex expands in anticipation. Desire swirls low and hot in my belly.
This man knows exactly what he’s doing, and it might be too soon to make this determination, but all my former worries of him being a jackrabbit or limp fish melt away. Men who know what they’re doing in bed understand the importance of foreplay.
I’d hit the jackpot with this one.
My fingers snake into his long hair, and I arch against the wall in anticipation. If his fingers felt that good inside me, what could his tongue do?
As if answering my thoughts, he slides my panties down to my knees, and a finger runs along the length of my sex. “Rhee,” he growls. “I love how wet you get.” He then gently slides it in, and something warm connects with my aching clit. His mouth.
As his finger goes in and out and curls back and forth, his lips and tongue take turns playing with my clit. It’s not long before the climax builds back up.
“Tell me,” he says.
He can feel my sex tightening around his finger. He slides another one in to stretch me more. His kissing turns into a hard sucking, his stubble biting against my skin, and my knees almost buckle at the sudden intensity.
I moan, and it echoes along the white walls of the foyer.
His other hand finds its way up over my bra, stopping to run a thumb inside and feel my hardened nipple, and then travels up to clasp the bend of my neck. I pull it up further so I can suck on a finger. I take his index finger and slide it in my mouth, run the ball of my tongue ring along the pad of it, and he groans against me. The vibration of it mixed with everything else sends me over. I pull his finger out of my mouth and pant, “I’m coming.”
His sucking and fingering slows a little, just enough to make sure I come long and hard, and the orgasm bursts through me, rocking me forward. “Jaxson,” I cry out, and I grip his hair tighter as the waves roll over me, delicious and intense. I don’t stifle my moans and cries of ecstasy, brace myself against the wall with my other hand.
His sucking and kissing wanes.
As I slowly come back down, the walls of my sex start to throb around his fingers.
He gives my lower belly a tender kiss as he slides his fingers out, leaving me empty but satisfied. His blue eyes find their way up to me. All I can do is stand there panting, propped against the wall for support, wet and humming and poised to go again. I smile my approval.
He works my panties the rest of the way down and tosses them somewhere before he gathers me into him and hoists me up.
My legs wrap around his trim waist, his large hands gripping the meat of my ass.
“That was one,” he says, humor glinting in his eyes, and then it fades, a primal kind of seriousness taking its place.
My tingling body responds. “One?”
He heads for the living room. “I’m going to see how many times I can make you come tonight, Rhee.”
* * *
He lowers me onto a leather ottoman like I weigh nothing at all. Nothing more than a feather.
Towering over me, I realize he’s still fully dressed, and it makes me feel bare and vulnerable. All I have on is a bra. And socks. But as his eyes roam over me, he bites his lips in anticipation, and confidence bursts through me.
I lean up, reaching for his zipper. He watches with an intense, approving look.
My small fingers work his belt loose. His button undone. Zipper down. The erection pressing against it springs free beneath his boxers, and it’s all I can do not to squeal like an idiot. My touch didn’t deceive me—it’s as big as I imagined.
I squirm against the leather in anticipation, desire blooming inside me again, my sex clenching in anticipation. He takes his white v-neck off and lets it flutter to the ground beside us.
I manage to work his pants over his rock-hard thighs, then slowly peel down his boxers.
It’s perfect. It’s smooth and hairless and perfect. As far as dicks go, it’s magnificent.
I think I stare in awe a little too long because it bounces as he chuckles. A hand finds its way to the side of my head to guide me to look up at him.
His beaded cross necklace hangs lonely against his bare chest. His hooded eyes have taken on a lustful edge…Jesus, he’s gorgeous…and I know exactly what he’s wanting.
Guess I’ll have to tease him a little first. To pay him back for the cab ride.
My sex expands at the thought, my breasts feeling full.
Nothing hotter than making a man like him squirm in anticipation.
I offer a sly smile and scoot closer on the ottoman, one hand gripping the back of his thigh, the other wrapping around the base of his shaft.
He releases a long, emptying breath at my touch. It probably feels like a decade since he first kissed me at the bar, and I then decide not to tease him too long.
He’s wanted inside me since then, and up until now, he’s made it all about me.
Not to mention…and this is a big mention…his goal is to give me as many orgasms as I can possibly handle tonight.
Where did this man come from?
My lips connect with the skin below his belly button, a faint trail of stubble tickling my chin, and his abs are rigid and unforgiving beneath my lips. They hover there as I squeeze his erection and work my hand up it.
“Rhee…” he hisses out.
I peek up and he’s thrown his head back.
I bite my cheek. Click my tongue ring against the back of my teeth.
I know he’s been wanting to feel it.
Just a little longer.
I sit back to get a better look at what I’m doing and run the pad of my thumb over the head.
He jumps at the sensation, and a little cum leaks out.
So sensitive.
I almost ask him to tell me what he wants, but I know what he wants. It’s a tangible thing at this point. My lips then find their way to the base of his shaft. I let the contact linger there as my hand works down, slow and deliberate. Back up. Back down.
I squeeze him hard again.
His hand against the side of my head moves to the base of my ponytail, grips it there.
The suspense is killing him.
I gently kiss his hardness, and this time, decide to say, “Tell me what you want.” I breathe it into the space between us.
He looks down at me in awe.
“Tell me.” Our eyes lock, denim blue against emerald green. My hand cups his smooth testicles and I give them the most delicate squeeze.
He makes a guttural sound, and something dark and wild flashes behind his eyes at the way I’m toying with him. It’s like he’s never had a woman take charge…and he likes it.
My other hand poises at the base. My mouth waters in anticipation.
“I want your mouth on me,” he finally rasps. It’s a litany of sorts. A cry for release.
I give in.
I take him into my mouth and allow it to slide all the way in. Hit the back of my throat. Hold it there a moment.
&nbs
p; I don’t have much of a gag reflex, lucky for him.
He moans, his chest heaving.
I pull him back out, and this time, suck and work my tongue ring around the base of his head. My hand is still squeezing his testicles, my other working up and down his shaft.
His other hand finds its way to my hair, curls into it.
More cum leaks out, and I lick it off. Revel in how good he tastes.
Up and down.
His thighs tighten.
I take him all the way in again. Out. Lick and suck.
In and out.
“Fuck,” he growls.
In and out.
Squeeze his testicles more.
A grunt.
In and out.
“Fuck, Rhee,” and suddenly, he pulls my ponytail and backs away in tandem to make me stop.
I wipe my chin and look up at him in confusion.
He swallows hard. “One sec,” he grits out.
I look back down to his glistening cock.
He doesn’t want to come yet.
After a beat, he releases an emptying sigh and straightens. Rolls his neck. “You’re good at that.
I smile victoriously.
“Too good at that.”
He then bends down, fishing something out of his jeans, and tears open a small foil packet.
He has the condom rolled on and turns back to me within a matter of seconds. Hooks his hands beneath my arms. Scoots me back on the ottoman. Then he works his way between my legs so they’re spread wide and my sex is completely helpless and open to him. He’s resting on his elbows, his stomach pressed against mine, hot and hard. The wooden beads of his necklace clatter as they pool against my clavicle. The air between us is thick with the smell of our lust and a maddening trace of pheromones.
His hips move until the length of him is pressed against the cusp of my opening. The feel of it against me for the first time skyrockets my desire for him. Every cell in my body is vibrantly alive.
My breath quickens.
I squirm. Ready for him. Needing him so badly I’m practically feral.
Suddenly, his mouth claims mine, and he pushes in.
He’s on a mission. He’s ready to give me orgasm number two.
11
Two
He’s gentle with the first thrust, only pushing in about halfway. Which I’m grateful for, because as ready as I am for him, he’s the biggest I’ve ever had and it’s stretching me in a new way, but my body welcomes it. Is trembling and squeezing around him.
He pulls his hips back, the crown of his head at the threshold, then gently pushes back in.
I grind up to meet him, enjoying the friction, allowing him to go further this time.
“Christ,” he says roughly.
I dig my nails into his back, scoring his skin. My wetness is slicking the leather beneath us.
He pauses to let me adjust.
“More,” I whimper, and I rock my hips to help me expand around him.
He obliges.
I get braver. “All of it.”
I gasp and throw my head back as he pushes in the hilt, and when he reaches the end of me, it produces a dull, delicious pain. The length of him is almost more than I can take.
“You good?” he rasps. A man trying to control his urge to release so he can make me come again.
I turn my head so our lips are nearly touching. “Better than good.”
He devours my mouth with his, the taste of my wetness still on his lips, and he pulls out, thrusts again. He hits me in the same spot. I cry out against his lips, dig my nails deeper. “Come for me again,” he says, and lifts up so he can watch me from a better angle. He thrusts again. Again.
In and out.
My legs wrap tight around his waist.
“Come for me, Rhee.”
The primal intensity in his eyes return, his body radiating heat. He grows and thickens inside me.
In and out.
In and out.
He’s rocking against me so hard the ottoman screeches against his wooden floor.
He reaches down and presses his thumb against my clit, his other fist digging into the ottoman beside me for support. Every muscle along his sculpted arm and shoulder flexes. His jaw tightens with focus. I know it’s all he can do not to empty himself into me.
I bite my lip as I feel the climax building again. The only thing I can focus on now is the way he’s sliding into me, punishing me with every intense and violent thrust.
My sex tightens around him on the verge of orgasm, a tremble rolling through me. I didn’t think I’d come so soon after the last one, but it’s completely out of my control.
His teeth flash white with a smile, knowing it’s about to happen. The way he’s watching, the way he’s looking down and reveling in the way he’s making my body move with every thrust, enjoying the way I’m responding to the feel of him inside me, I fall apart.
The orgasm tears through me, and the room is filled with my cries, my body bowing beneath him. This one is longer and more intense than the first.
It only entices him to go faster, the sound of his skin slapping against mine rivaling my moan.
“Yes,” he cajoles, pounding me mercilessly, over and over. Beads of sweat form along his chest and upper lip, glistening in the dim light. “Come hard.”
I grip the sides of the ottoman, convulsing as I come for him. The hand that was on my clit finds its way back to the side of my head, making sure I hold his gaze while my body jerks with pleasure.
He swallows hard, the eye contact and the spasming around him too much to bear, but he somehow holds himself together.
Yes, this man is a unicorn. A sex warrior.
Slowly, I come back down, panting and molten, my sex contracting. His grin fades as he takes me in, post-orgasm number two. I know I’m sweaty and flush and tattered.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” The earnestness in his voice makes my stomach flutter.
I don’t know what to say, so I prop up on my elbows. Swipe a piece of sweat-matted hair off my cheek.
Tentatively, he slips out of me and stands. His dick is still at attention and rock hard. Slick and glistening with my wetness. I collect myself a moment before I stand along with him.
How will I ever walk again after tonight?
“Need a break?” he asks from above.
I manage a weak smile. “Not unless you do.”
“Good,” he says and helps me stand. My head spins from the sex high mixed with the lingering traces of alcohol. Before I can take a wobbly step, he’s gathering me into his arms again. “I want you in the kitchen this time.”
* * *
Seven. Jaxson made me come seven times tonight. And our DNA and clothes are all over the first floor of his house to prove it. After the living room, we moved to his granite countertops, then again on the table in his dining room. I rode him on the floor of his study. And finally, we made it to his bedroom, where he fucked me from behind on the edge of his bed. I begged him that time to come. I wanted to feel the release. Wanted to feel the way he pulsed as he emptied inside me.
Now we we’re lying sweaty and panting and listless against his down comforter, neither of us speaking for a good while.
I’m languid, my arms strewn above my head, legs like jelly. My sex is lusciously sore. He’s on his side, drinking me in, as if he hasn’t had his eyes on me all night. They stop on the tattoo of a finch below my right breast on my ribcage. He runs the pad of his finger over it but doesn’t ask what it means. I noticed earlier he has a tattoo on his side, so he must understand how personal and sacred some can be. It should be up to me to share what it means. But I don’t plan to do so with him. He’s only a distraction from my emotional demons tonight, nothing more. I then think of the one on my foot, a boat anchor, and reach down to tug off my sock, the one piece of clothing that managed not to come off. He notices the anchor too but doesn’t ask.
I decide to break the silence. “You know, you’re much b
etter at sex than you are a conversation starter.”
He laughs, eyes dancing through the dark. His hair is curling on the ends from the exertion of the night. “How so?”
I reach over and tug a strand. “Your best pick-up line was, you from around here?”
He cringes. “That was pretty bad.”
I shift to lie on my back, stare at the expanse of white ceiling. He needs two ceiling fans in here it’s so big. “That’s a good thing, I guess.” Guys who know how to pick up women can be the worst kind of trouble. I just needed the best kind of fun.
Looks like I nailed it. Or technically, he did. Seven times.
He doesn’t ask me to elaborate, and I decide I like that about him. Maybe he feels the same as me—no need to get close if it’s a one-time thing. “Thanks…?” he eventually says with a chuckle. His finger trails along the dent between my breasts. “Still managed to snag you, though.”
I cackle, tug at his finger and kiss the end of it. “It wasn’t because of your pickup line, though.”
“Then what?”
“I think you know what. Because you…” I try to think of how to phrase it without sounding too girlie.
“Now, don’t tell me it’s because I’m different or I’m gonna vomit,” he says mockingly.
Jerk. I gently nip at his finger and push it away. “Well, you are.” And mind-blowingly hot.
Silence lengthens between us as we fondly remember the moment back at the bar.
The room settles, the only sound is his air system as it pumps warm air into the room.
My eyelids start to feel heavy and I fight a yawn, exhaustion hitting me hard. Which means it’s time to go. “Thanks for tonight,” I say, sitting erect, a riot of curls swallowing my shoulders. I have no idea where my hair elastic has gone. It’ll take me forever to find all my things around this monstrosity of a house. I blush in remembrance. “I guess I better get going.” It comes out with less gusto than intended.
I don’t really want to go. His bed is impossibly comfortable, and I’m exquisitely tired, but I also don’t want to assume he’s cool with it or give him the wrong impression.
