by Linnea May
"I might eat you alive," he breathes, as I continue stroking his massive length. "Jeez, Elene, if you keep doing that..."
"Then what?" I say seductively, casting him a cheeky wink. "You'll eat me alive? Go ahead."
His eyes are dark, just slits, as he zeroes in on me, and his breathing is erratic, as I continue doing to him what he did to me. I make sure to brush along the most sensitive spot along the lower part of his tip every time my hand moves up, before squeezing his rod with all the strength I have in my persistent vertical motions along his shaft. My slow, deliberate movements are evoking sparks of pleasure throughout his system.
He closes his eyes, pressing his lips together as he revels in my kindling touch. My breath catches as I watch him, tension sizzling and encapsulating the small space between us, and I ponder my next move.
Should I?
I don't give room to any apprehension that could deny me what I seek most, and decide to follow my instinct. I gather myself up, ignoring the pinching tingle in my numb leg as I straddle his center in one quick motion. His eyes swing open in surprise, catching mine as he's now the one looking up at me. He fights to shake his head at me, his long, thick hardness slapping at his belly.
"If you're too shy, then I will have to eat you alive," I breathe, my face so close to his that our noses bump.
He tries again to protest, but not fast enough. I manage to paralyze him by grinding against his length, my hot, wet entrance dangerously close to him.
"Shit, Elene," he breathes, unable to stop himself from lifting his hips in rhythmic motions.
I feel powerful, and my heart is racing as I feel his bulky tip pressing against my folds. I continue grinding against him, moving closer with each swipe of my hips, my throbbing nub colliding with his rock-hard shaft. We moan loudly and hungrily in unison, both of our bodies begging to be united, but neither of us willing to take the final step.
Until one of us does.
I don't know what happens first, whether it’s his hands landing on either side of my hips, pulling me closer, or me tilting my pelvis until the tip of his hard as rock cock parts my lips. Everything happens in perfect harmony, orchestrated by two people who know what they want, who know what they're about to do.
My chest heaves when I finally lower myself down onto him, his steeled dick parting me forcefully as he glides into me, stretching my canal inch by inch. I groan as I throw my head back, savoring every moment as my body clenches around his impressive proportions. It hurts. It physically hurts to take him in, despite the many men I’ve been with before him. I have never been this enlivened, this ready to feel a man pumping inside me, and the sheer spark mixed with his enormous volume is enough to almost send me over the edge right then and there as he first plunges into me.
I struggle for breath, trying to keep my body in check. Not yet, not yet. I can't come again, not this soon.
We groan in unison when I manage to burrow all of him to the hilt, my split lips pressing against his pelvis as he fills me up completely, like no one ever has before.
"Fuck," I hiss, moving my hips slightly to accommodate him.
He casts me a wicked smile. "Do you really want that monster to run wild?"
I bend my hips slightly, reciprocating his smile as I nod in consensus. He may be more than I have ever had to handle, in every way, but no, he's not too much for me.
He digs his fingers into the flesh on my hips, encouraging me to move, a demand I obey with pleasure. I hold on to his shoulders, slowly ascending my hips, stopping just before his fat tip leaves my core, and then I plunge back down on him again.
"Good girl," he praises. I continue riding his massive beast, writhing my hips at an angle to accommodate him. Each plunge sends a blissful flare blazing through my core, reminding me how close I am to my next climax.
I mewl with delight when his hand lands on my ass, meeting my pale skin with molten iron, a pain that spices our play in just the right way. It also accelerates my movements, causing me to break into a sweat as I ride him voraciously.
I'm panting for air by the time he insists that I stop. I knew he wouldn't allow me to be in control for long, and as much as I enjoyed it, I'm more than happy to give the reins back to him. Damon wraps his arms around me, our bodies never parting from each other when he turns us around, lowering me to the floor, so that I’m lying on my back with my legs spread and my hands still clasped onto his shoulders. He doesn't pause for even a second before plunging back into me, thrusting violently right away, evoking gasps with every brute shove. I'm short of breath, inhaling audibly every time he pulls back and puffing with an ever-heightening buzz every time he plows back into me. He's on top of me, his hands placed left and right of my face, his ripped biceps tense and strong to support himself.
"Look at me," he utters his usual command under short breaths.
My eyes get lost in the gray depth of his, and I see his orbs widen when he locks onto mine. He lowers himself down onto his elbows, giving him added leverage for ramming his carnal lust into my depths while my back is against the carpet. Still, I'm fighting off my own impending climax. He feels so good, so close and intimate, as if he's not fucking my body but my soul. It's more than just feeling full, stretched. There's a connection between us, a connection I have sensed with him before, but it's never been this strong.
My hands leave his shoulders, weaving along the ripped outline of his chest where pearls of sweat are starting to bead. I wrap my legs more tightly around his waist, clinging on to him and drawing him in even further, my naked feet likely bruising his toned ass. This changes his angle, so that he’s applying pressure on my clit at the same time he continues jamming his cock into me.
"Shit," I hiss as I realize I can't prevent it any longer. The first jolts are already playing havoc with my center when the curse leaves my lips.
I don't have to tell him. The way his face lights up when I'm overrun with hasty pleasure is telling enough. He can feel my muscles clenching around him, and he sees it in my eyes — just as I can see it in his. In an equal expression of blissful euphoria, finding his release deep inside of me. A feral groan escapes his lips as he coats my inside with his hot seed, adding two, three more deep pounding thrusts before collapsing exhausted on top of me. He barely manages to support himself so he won't suffocate me.
His body melts into mine. Both of us are still breathing heavily, our bodies throbbing with fulfilled need as we lie there together, our limbs intertwined and his hardness still buried between my legs. My limbs are wrapped around him, holding him close as if I were terrified of losing him.
And to be honest… I am.
Chapter 34
Damon
I feel like an idiot. How could I ever think I'd get enough by fucking her only once? Addiction has never been a problem for me, despite the bad example my parents set for me, but if I've ever been close to becoming addicted, this is it.
To her.
Nothing has ever been enough for me, no amount of wealth, no woman, no drug, no individual experience. And when it comes to women, I have always felt the need to move on to the next one once I’ve had her. They were too willing to surrender themselves to me, but only in ways that I'd long grown tired of.
Elene ran the risk of meeting the same fate as every single woman before her. She followed her professional routine, offering the same boring dish I've been served hundreds of times before. But she didn't disappoint when I asked her to let her guard down. She readily showed me a side of her that not a single one of her previous clients were allowed to see.
Her previous clients.
Is that what I am to her? Another client? My mind certainly seems to like that word, as it keeps popping up every time I think about her. And I think about her a lot. Way too much.
It's been a week since she finally swayed me to bury my cock between her legs — and I have seen her every single day since. Every single evening, she continued waiting for me, kneeling na
ked, her face obediently lowered until I asked her to look up. I never made her wait long, not because I wanted to be nice, but because I couldn't wait to see her. My work life has been on an unscheduled pause ever since Scott disappeared. We still haven't heard from him, and I'm beginning to think that my investment in this guy's start-up may have been a big mistake.
But the thing is, I don't really care. So what if the money is gone? I invested a lot in his company, but only as much as I could afford to lose. It would be a vexing setback, but it wouldn't destroy me in the least.
Still, not knowing what the hell is going on with him and this whole business endeavor of his — the first I invested in after years of doing nothing — drives me up the wall.
Maybe that's why I seek her out every night, craving her body as much as her company, to distract me from life outside the sinful black velvet room.
She has presented herself to me in her rawest form tonight, following my demand to not wear anything, no lingerie and not even a hint of powder on her cheeks. I could tell that she didn't feel comfortable about that at first. She has been naked in front of me countless times, enduring my inquiring gaze and probing touch, but not being allowed to shield her pretty face behind a mask seems to be her greatest sacrifice yet.
All that insecurity vanished once I ravished her delicate body, lashing into her with such greedy lust that it could be mistaken as our first time together.
She's lying in my arms now, still breathless, and a small river of sweat is running down the valley between her perky breasts. We're lying on the floor, as we always do. This room has become more than a simple place to meet up. It has become our sanctuary. Ours. Once I step through that curtain, I forget about the outside world. Faced with her, that is an easy task.
I can't get enough of her, and I would be lying if I didn't confess how much I love this feeling. I've never been hooked on a woman before, but damn, it feels oddly liberating.
"I need a drink," she whispers, nestling against my chest. I watch as she lazily lifts her left hand to trail along the sculpted lines of muscles she adores so much. I'll admit, having her look at me as if I were a fucking god feels pretty damned good.
"A drink, huh," I reply, my eyes following her unhurried journey down my ripped body.
"Yes, please, sir," she responds, making my heart ache with an uncomfortable sting.
"You know I don't like to be called that," I remind her.
She flinches, realizing her mistake. But instead of apologizing like I expect her to, she unfolds out of my embrace, turning to lie on her tummy. She rises up, supporting herself on her elbows, and looks down at me.
"Why do you not like to be called sir?" she asks curiously. "Almost all of my other clients wanted to be called that. It may just be occupational habit, but with you I feel..."
She pauses then, her eyes diverting for a moment, and then regaining her composure, she clears her throat. She inhales a much needed breath before she concludes, "You deserve it. You really are a... my sir."
She blushes, trying to cover up that she lumped me together with her clients. It's an endearing sight that almost makes me forget she used the words "all of my other clients."
There we are. I'm just another client. Her phrasing is a healthy reminder of that.
"I am not your sir," I say, my tone coming out more bitter than I intended. "I don't like to be addressed like that."
"But why?" she asks again.
I sigh. "Because it's what people used to call my father. Sir Graves. Especially his subordinates. Sir this, sir that — I would hear it all day long as a child. For me, that damned title is too closely connected to that man."
Awkward silence stretches between us, and I begin to regret my honesty. Why did I have to mention him? She doesn't need to hear sob stories about my dysfunctional parents.
"And... you don't want to be reminded of your father?" she asks, her voice cautious.
"Correct."
My brusque reply was a feeble attempt at finishing this conversation, but she's not ready to let go just yet.
"Why not?" she presses, not realizing that what she’s really doing is forcing me to talk about my least favorite topic.
"You don't want to know."
She pouts. "Yes, Damon, I do. That's why I'm asking."
She uses her elbow to nudge me in the side. It's a tickle more than a shove, but it makes me flinch nonetheless.
"I don't have the best relationship with him," I confess. "Let's just leave it at that."
She sighs with disappointment. "I knew that much already."
I arch my eyebrows in surprise, casting her a quizzical look. She responds with a sheepish smile.
"You mentioned that you invested your trust fund in Bitcoin to piss off your parents," she explains. "No loving son would do that, if his family all got along."
Fine. She doesn't need to be a detective to figure that one out.
"My childhood wasn't exactly picture-perfect, you could say that," I admit.
I expect a sympathetic smile, even pity. But that’s not how Elene reacts. Instead of empathy, she just huffs.
"It's hard to feel sorry for a boy who grew up on a silver spoon," she says. "I mean, you told me about the private schools, nannies, a trust fund. A lot of us can only dream of such things."
"I never said I was poor," I say, agitatedly. "And I didn't ask you to feel sorry for me. There's obviously no reason for that."
"Damn straight," she says, playing off her words with a cute wink. "So, then, what was so terrible about your childhood?"
I sigh. "I didn't say it was terrible. In a word, I guess you could say it was lacking one major thing."
She regards me with renewed curiosity.
"Parents in the full sense of the word," I answer her unspoken question. "Or parental guidance, parental love. Whatever you want to call it."
Her expression hardens as she nods along. "So, they weren't there for you."
"They paid people to be there for me," I elaborate. "And I wouldn't blame them, if that's all there was to it. They were goddamn busy building their company, especially during the first years of my life. It was the project of their life, their major centerpiece — not the child they never planned to have. But they provided all the necessities for me. It would be fair to call me ungrateful, if that was all there was to it."
"But it's not," she concludes, a questioning undertone accompanying her statement.
"It's not," I say, biting at my lip as I ponder whether I should go on. It may not be smart to tell her the truth, but the idea of sharing this grim detail of my past with someone other than Dean felt almost cathartic, like it could possibly lift a huge weight off my shoulders – from my life – one that I had tried my best to ignore for as long as I could remember.
"They were users," I finally blurt out. "Drugs, cocaine mostly. A lot of it."
"Oh, shit," she gasps, her blue eyes widening.
"Productive users, my father liked to insist on calling it," I add. "They started seeking solace in snow shortly after I was born, maybe even before that. I don't think pregnancy would have stopped my mother, if she had been into it back then. Of course, as a child I didn't know. At that young age, I just noticed that I didn't really have any parents. They were never around, and when they were, they were either drunk or high. They were either trying to push themselves to do more work or trying to force their active minds to slow down, so they could relax. They needed a hit for everything, but cocaine was really what got them into trouble in the end."
"They became addicted?"
I shake my head. “More like they got caught.” I pause and then pick up again. "Addiction isn't really the problem, but they got roped into some shit. They started accumulating large amounts of coke and storing it in our home without thinking twice about it. They got caught many, many times, but were always able to bail their way out — until they no longer could."
"They were in prison?" E
lene asks, her voice a little too loud for my taste, and the expression on her face is one of shock.
"Were? They still are," I say. "And if it was up to me, they'd stay there for a very long time."
She raises her eyebrows in surprise. "That's harsh. They’re your parents."
I shrug, used to this kind of judgment. "Their attorney agrees with you. But I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive them for being so dumb, so fucking careless and stupid."
My voice is shaking, as it always does when I'm forced to talk about those two. I hate it, and especially doing it in front of her. Elene doesn't need to see this side of me, this fucking weakling I become when I'm reminded of the two people who have let me down for most of my life.
There's nothing sexy about vulnerability — but the look on Elene's face right now makes me think that she may disagree.
Chapter 35
Elene
The pain is all too visible on his face when he speaks about his parents. I've never seen anyone this tortured, and it makes me question if I’ve been fair about my own judgment of him — or men like him.
I’ve always envied those who could afford the luxuries he seemingly takes for granted. I have no idea how rich he really is, but the mere fact that he's a VIP member of this club tells me that he’s among the upper echelon. If that wasn’t a dead giveaway to his wealth, then his tailored custom-designed suits, his sleek-looking brand name wristwatch, and the polished dress shoes he kicked off on the floor when we attacked each other certainly are.
Damon has appeared in the same unmistakable high quality threads since the first time we met, and there is no doubt that he exudes a power reserved for the wealthy. It’s been like that since he let me undress him for the first time. Admittedly, our routine has evolved, so that I'm no longer a passive participant during our play time, but an active player who gets to take and give just as much as he does. Once, a button ripped off of his shirt when I was hastily stripping it off his marvelous body, and we both laughed about it. He spanked me – hard – but in a playful manner that only made me more hungry for him.
