“One last time,” he grit out, as if making a bargain with himself. He brought his large hand down to my hip, his fingers around my panties. “Stand up.”
Quivering, I raised myself from his thigh and in one, swift motion he ripped the flimsy lace straight off of me. I gasped at the sensation, his brute force, and he brought me back to his lap, this time straddling his waist.
“I want you facing me, baby,” he said as he positioned me, hands at my waist, then down to open my thighs. “I want to watch you when you come.”
He slipped his fingers down and I was lost instantly, barely able to cling to his shoulders as he started fucking me in a hard rhythm, first one finger, then two.
“Lean back,” he growled, and I rested back onto his other hand, giving him more to see, my glistening breasts with my pink, hardened tips, my slick, bare pussy newly waxed just for him. He knew exactly how to work me, how to make me crazy and I spread my legs wide as he rhythmically rubbed my swollen clit, thrusting his fingers into me with urgent, fevered need.
“Are you going to come hard for me, baby?” he asked, his voice deep and dark.
“Yes.” I pushed against his fingers, wanting to get there, wanting him to make me.
“You’re so close.” He feasted on me with his eyes, watching me as I grunted and gasped and felt it build and build until finally he told me, “Come for me, Gigi.”
I exploded at his command, shuddering and coming hard on his fingers. He slipped a third in as he told me to come and I felt so full, so possessed by him. He kept working my clit, forcing more pleasure out of me, demanding I give him everything. All of my body and mind sang out in response, hiding nothing, offering everything.
He guided me back onto the bed and we lay there, him holding me in his arms. As I came back to reality, I wrapped my arms around him tight, as if I could keep him there forever.
“I’ll stay,” he reassured me, stroking my back. “I’ll stay tonight.”
But you’ll be gone in the morning. I thought it, but I didn’t say it. No use adding salt to the wound. Slowly, at a more leisurely pace, we lay together and kissed, touched, wound our bodies around each other. I sucked at him and licked, then tried a nip at his neck the way he’d done to me.
Heat burned in his eyes, and he flipped me onto my side, spooning my back. “I’m going to keep you like this, naughty girl. So I can control you.”
But there was still so much I could do, even held onto my side. With my back against him, I arched my ass, pushing right where I could feel his erection long and stiff. He must need release so badly. I rubbed against him, up and down his length with my bare ass cheeks and moaned.
“Dom, please. It’s our last night together. I want to feel you naked against me.”
“Gigi.” He bit out his words, struggling. “We can’t…you know we can’t.”
“We don’t have to have sex,” I pleaded. “I just want to feel you. This one time.”
He cursed like a man going to the gallows. Then he rolled away. I turned to watch him as he removed his jeans and his huge, gorgeous cock sprang out so hard. I licked my lips. I wanted it in my mouth.
“Now you need to be good.” He pointed a finger at me, and I bit my lip, feeling chastised. “You need to let me be in control.” He smacked my ass briefly, a short, sharp sting. I cried out in surprise and my pussy throbbed and gushed in response. It felt so good. “You like that,” he whispered, husky, almost sounding drugged with lust as he read the desire in my eyes.
I looked up at him, wide-eyed, surprised myself at the response I had to his spanking. I nodded. I had liked it. My ass tingled and I wanted more. He cursed and looked away, struggling with himself. Then he looked back.
“Turn on your side.” I complied with his order, and was rewarded when he slid in along my backside, completely naked.
“Oh, Dom!” I cried out as he pressed against me, the full length of his body, his hard, hot chest, his long, muscular legs, his full hard cock pushing against my ass. “You feel so good!”
“Christ.” I could hear him panting by my side, practically feel the desire rolling off of him in waves. “Stay still,” he barked. I hadn’t realized it, but I’d started grinding my ass against his cock, my body craving the pleasure it could give. With a whimper, I tried to keep still. He caressed the arm I lay my head on, then twined his fingers through that hand, loving me and fastening me there, tight.
He trailed his fingers down my other arm, then covered my hand resting on the mattress. “Keep your hand here. Understand? Don’t move it.”
“Yes,” I sighed, knowing it would be hard. I wanted to move my hand back to his ass, push it against me, work it around to touch his cock and maybe guide it over to where I wanted it. I wanted to give Dom my virginity. I wanted him to take it so badly.
Assured of my compliance, he took over, moving his free hand along my body, caressing my breasts. He settled against my ass, moving his fingers down to my pussy to push me against him, bucking against me with his impossibly large cock. I moaned and tilted my head back, eyes closed.
“You feel how much I want you,” he growled. “How hard it is for me not to take you.”
“I want you to,” I panted, begging. “Please.”
“You know I can’t, Gigi.” He moved against me, mimicking the rhythm, as if he were pushing himself inside of me. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” I moaned and couldn’t help but push my ass back into him. And I got more of what I wanted. He moved his hand to his cock, then brought it between my slick thighs so it rested against my pussy.
“Oh! Yes!” I worked down along its length, loving the way it felt against me, covering him with my slickness, trying to get my clit down on it.
“Are you getting off on my cock, Gigi?” His voice sounded so dangerous, like a warning and it turned me on even more.
“You feel so good.” I wished I could free my hands and push his cock exactly where I needed it. I could press it against my clit and slide it there, my arousal keeping it so slick. But he held one of my hands against the pillow and I kept the other one fisted in the sheets, like he’d told me.
“So wet.” He was moving against me now, pushing himself in and out between my thighs, each time bumping up against my clit.
“Please,” I pleaded, moving my hips against him in the rhythm he set. “I need to feel you inside me.”
“Gigi,” he groaned, tortured.
But I couldn’t stop. “Just the tip, Dom. Please. Just the tip. You’ll slip right in.” I could feel how close he was, how easy it would be for him.
“Fuck!” And then he did it, he brought the huge swollen tip of his cock to my quivering, wet entrance. “Stay still,” he ordered me.
“Yes, yes,” I promised.
When he pushed in, I nearly came. He stretched me and my eyes watered with it, even though it was just his tip. But he was so big, the head of his cock so fat, and I’d never had one in me before. It felt so fucking good.
“So…tight…” He made a deep, guttural sound and stayed still in me. Then he moved, just an inch forward, an inch back.
“Dom!” I screamed, wanting him to know how good it felt, wanting him to know he could go in all the way. I wanted him to.
“That feel good?” he asked, an inch in, and inch out. He let go of my hand and fisted his hand in my hair, claiming me. “You like my cock in you, baby?”
“Ugh! Oh!” I couldn’t form words any more, and I could feel an orgasm swelling, right at the cusp, ready for him again.
“Are you going to come for me again?” he asked, teasing me, in an inch, out an inch. “Are you going to come on my cock?”
“Yes,” I groaned, wanting it so badly, wanting to feel his come shoot hot inside of me as I milked it from him.
“Come on my cock, baby.” As always for Dom, I did as I was told, coming crazy for him, my pussy quivering and clenching on his wide crown. I felt his whole body tense, and then he pulled out as he came in full, hot spurts all over my ass. The f
eel of him coating me, marking me, gave me another crest of orgasm and we both groaned together, losing our minds. For the last time.
He left my side as I was still in a daze, then came back with a washcloth to clean me.
Like before, I protested. “I want you on me.” But I let him tend to me, such strong and caring strokes, cleaning my ass cheeks, my lower back, my own arousal that had dripped between my inner thighs. He pulled his jeans back on, and I fought the tears that clung to me once again. The halo of orgasmic joy still hovered. I wanted it to last.
He circled me in his arms and pulled me against his chest, spooning me as he’d done before. This time he pulled the comforter up over both of us.
“Sleep, beauty,” he murmured into my ear. “Sleep.”
“I love you, Dom,” I whispered to him.
I’d never know if he felt the same way. I drifted off, somehow the exhaustion of all my intense emotion winning out over my desire to stay awake and savor every last minute. I fell asleep encircled in his heat, his scent, his protectiveness.
When I woke up he was gone. I didn’t even know where he was going, but true to his word he picked up and left without a trace. Even his mother didn’t know where he’d headed. His cell phone was no longer in service. I had no idea when or if I’d ever see him again.
I left town, too, heading to my brother Colt’s apartment in the city for the last couple weeks of August. Soon I’d head back down again to Nashville for my sophomore year of college. I hadn’t seen much of my father before, and I didn’t see much of him for the remainder of the summer, either. He and Brandi eloped, making it official. So that happened. But other than that, things in my life went back to how they always had been.
Even though everything about me had changed forever.
Part II
FOUR YEARS LATER
10
Dom
The wings lifted us into the sky, gray clouds swallowing us up. The flight attendant who’d been so openly checking me out when I boarded the plane made her way over to me as soon as she could.
“You need anything you just let me know.” I nodded and asked her for a scotch. Twenty-five days left of my thirty-day leave and already I felt antsy. Funny, out on tour sometimes I’d wish like hell I was back stateside. But once I got back I’d realize I’d gotten used to the rhythm of the Special Forces. All that constant adrenaline, the nonstop problem-solving and maneuvering into or out of life-threatening situations, it made things like sitting for a few hours on a commercial airline seem impossibly boring.
Four years ago I’d had no idea what I was signing up for. Driven by the need to get away, I’d showed up on the doorstep of a recruiting center. I hadn’t planned on joining the Special Forces, but apparently I’d showed potential. I kept calm under pressure. I smacked down their physical fitness tests like I wanted them to give me a real challenge. The only problem was my juvenile record. As an adult I was clean, but at 13, 14 and 15? That was another story, and it almost knocked me out of the running.
They’d nearly denied my enrollment, but I’d called in the big guns. Colt kept asking me what he could do for me. I’d asked him to help me apply for a waiver, asking the military to overlook my youthful transgressions and instead consider my strengths and the fact that I’d had a clean record since I was 16. Colt was the one who made it all come together. He didn’t just serve as a character witness, himself, he got me a couple letters of references from guys so far up the chain of command my ranking officer had called me into his office.
“You know a lieutenant general?” he’d asked with genuine surprise.
Years of keeping a straight face no matter what got thrown at me helped. Of course I didn’t know any lieutenant generals. But I was able to answer with honesty, “I have some good friends, sir.”
He’d stamped his approval on my application that afternoon and I’d begun months of grueling training: boot camp, advanced training, airborne, survival training, specialty training in weapons. The language training was the hardest. A working knowledge of Pashto didn’t come easy. But I wrestled my way through it and it had come in handy during my several tours in Afghanistan and Pakistan.
Four years ago I thought I’d seen too much violence and death. I’d had no idea. I’d just spent the past five days with the friends and family of a guy from my battalion who’d died in an explosion. Only 27 years old, just like me, Hank had had everything to live for, a wife and a two-year-old son back home in North Carolina.
I couldn’t help thinking it should have been me. We’d both been out riding in a convoy, slowing for a checkpoint. But Hank’s truck had been ahead of mine, and it had been the one to trigger the roadside bomb. I should have been the one in the lead. I had a lot less at stake. But he’d been the one to go. Now the guy who’d always had my back with his wiseass smile and wicked sense of humor, a husband and father, was gone.
Wincing, I took a sip of my scotch. I’d taken a piece of shrapnel to my shoulder in the blast. It didn’t slow me down, but our captain had told me it was time to take leave. That was an order. I was long overdue, but I kept signing up for more. There was always need, and always guys who had wives and kids waiting for them back home. It made more sense for me to be out there, especially in the areas that saw a lot of action with insurgents. Better me than a guy with people back home waiting for his return.
I looked out the window. Gray on gray. The flight from North Carolina to New York took less than two hours. Then I’d head up to my mother’s place, the penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side she now owned in the wake of Richard’s death.
Their marriage had barely lasted a year. He’d been diagnosed with stomach cancer about six months after their wedding. It had metastasized, spreading into his bones and brain, and he’d passed just over six months later at 67. It was hard to imagine. The man I’d met that summer had seemed like the consummate businessman in the prime of health. Sure, he’d had gray hair and the slightly stooped shoulders of an older man, but he’d had the buffed and polished look of the wealthy. I would have given him another 20 years. Instead, he’d married my mother at 40 and left her a widow at 41.
I hadn’t gone to the funeral. I’d been in the middle of training. I’d thrown myself into it so wholeheartedly, it almost seemed surreal when I got the call. Of course I’d worried about Gigi. She had to be devastated. But my showing up might not make things any less upsetting. Plus, duty had called, and my mother had straight-out told me not to come to the funeral. Apparently a lot of people in the extended Kavanaugh family plus a few other interested parties like his COO were less than happy about Richard’s much-younger wife of one year inheriting a bundle. She’d told me to stay away from the mess. And she didn’t even know how messy it really was.
I’d kept in touch with Colt over the years, or rather he kept in touch with me, calling me every few months. He was as good as his word. He never forgot what I’d done that August night. Months after I first left and our parents had eloped, he’d invited me back to the Kavanaugh holiday party, asking me to come join the celebration with his closest circle of friends and family. I hadn’t taken him up on his offer. But even after his father had died, he still kept up the invite, telling me even though we were no longer related through marriage I’d always be like a brother to him. I’d saved his life and that of his sister’s. He’d never forget it.
There were a lot of things I’d never forget, either. Over four years had passed and I could still remember that summer as if it had happened yesterday. Gigi’s face, her scent, the feel of her skin. She stayed with me no matter how far I traveled, year in, year out.
But I didn’t hope. There was no future for us. I’d always known that. It didn’t matter that our parents weren’t married anymore. It didn’t matter if I finished up this tour and settled into doing a job that didn’t involve risking my life on a daily basis in classified operations on foreign lands.
I was fine on my own. And by now I was sure someone had snapped her up. Sh
e had to be out of college, maybe planning her own wedding. Colt had taken over the family business. Maybe she’d linked up with one of his executive team members, some Ivy Leaguer who’d support her in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. The lifestyle that she deserved.
It didn’t make any sense that I wanted to smash in the face of this imagined executive. There was no reason to feel pissed off about the fact that we lived in completely different worlds. In fact, it made things easier. It wasn’t as if I’d ever have to run into her with her man. Really, there was no reason I’d ever see Gigi again. Unless I went to the holiday party Colt kept inviting me to attend. The one happening that weekend in New York.
The plane landed at JFK. I grabbed my carry-on duffel, hopped on a bus and then the subway up to my mother’s place. Every button on the doorman’s uniform was polished to satisfy even the most demanding drill sergeant. He looked down his nose at me with suspicion, but once he got my name he warmed right up.
“Your mother’s expecting you.” He opened the door.
The building was way too fancy for my taste. I didn’t want to look at a gold cherub’s bare ass every time I came home, never mind wait under it for the elevator. But my mother had always had expensive taste. She’d always spent every penny she had on luxuries. Back in the day, when a commercial would come on TV for a fancy car or a tropical vacation, she’d always murmur “one day.” I guessed that day had come.
“My baby!” She squealed with excitement at my knock, flinging open the door and giving me a big hug. She looked good, if kind of done-up. But Mom had always gone in for the dramatic eye makeup and the cleavage-revealing tops. When I’d been 14 I’d wanted to cover her in a robe, but now that I was 27? So fucking what. I’d just watched a buddy of mine die right before my eyes. If she wanted to wear a lot of makeup and show off, I figured I wasn’t the one to say anything about it. Life was short.
Undeniable: Dom & Gigi Page 12
