by S. Ann Cole
His hands fall to his side as he regards me, narrows his gaze, and then he crosses his arms over his buff chest, rising to the challenge. “Your curfew is at ten. It’s half-past. Do you have a hall pass to be out at this hour?”
I raise a hand to my mouth and make an ‘uh-oh’ expression. “N-No…I-I don’t. Am I in trouble, Mr. Van Der Wells?” Pushing from the wall, I take two steps to him and stop. “Please don’t report me. Please. I’ll do anything you want.”
Teeth raking over his bottom lip, he cocks his head, regards me further. “Anything?”
Slipping my hand under the hem of my silk sleep-tank, I trail my fingers just above the waistband of my shorts. “Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells. Anything.”
At this, his hands fall to his side, and I watch with bated breath as his long strides eat up the distance between us. One firm, but gentle hand replacing mine under my tank, flat and confident on my pelvis, he drives me back to the wall.
My breath catches, a delicious ache rousing.
Head dipping, he licks and then nips my earlobe as he whispers, “I can still taste you.”
A whimper is all I get out as his hand drifts up my stomach, palming one of my breasts, my nipple sighing at his touch.
“I want more, Lotty.” His lips travel from my ear down to my neck, gifting me tiny, delicate bites between kisses. “I can’t sleep. Can’t concentrate. I’m going crazy.”
“You want…” I trail off, dragging in a hitching breath as his thumb flicks my nipple. “You want to try this my way then?” As his kisses pause, I quickly add, “Not what I proposed today. I mean my initial, unattached way. Just…sex. We’ll get out before anyone falls in too deep.”
Except I’m already in deep.
Noah says nothing, kisses and caresses on pause. My heart thrashes around in impatience. I swear to God, if he pulls another bullshit move tonight, I’m going to tackle him, tie him up, and rape him. I can’t stand this ache anymore.
And then his other hand moves—yes!—under my tank, settling at my waist. He grips, squeezes, and then braces himself against me so his erection is digging into me.
“Is that a yes?”
Still no answer. He just groans as he grinds against me.
I’m going to implode. I’m going to explode. I’m go to—
In one abrupt move, I’m swept up in his arms Prince Charming style and his mouth is on mine. Striding through my bedroom door, he pauses only to kick the bedroom door shut.
‘I guess that’s a yes,’ Rational Lotty mumbles in defeat.
Reckless Lotty makes a fist pump as she brags, ‘Winning!’
TWENTY-ONE
NOAH LAYS ME down on the bed, my legs hanging off the side. Nudging them apart, he moves in between, hovering, gazing down at me with hot, lidded eyes.
As his hands smooth up my thighs, I reach down for the hem of my top, arching my back to pull it off, baring my breasts.
Noah growls something feral, covering me with his body, hands, and mouth aiming unerringly for my girls. He sucks, he licks, he kneads, his erection grinding against me.
My legs lock around him as I breathe whispers of pleasure in his ear, needing him inside me. Buried deep.
Nipping his earlobe, I tell him. I tell him what I want, crave, am aching for. “Let me feel you, Noah.”
His fingers flick and tweak my nipples as he kisses down my belly, and even further down. I thrust my hips up, urging him to take my shorts off. He does, thumbs hooking into the waistband of both underwear and shorts, pulling them down my legs, getting rid of them. His head dips, and he runs his nose down my sopping seam, and oh wow, it feels good.
“God, you smell good,” he prays into my slick heat. And then he kisses it, again and again. Not lick, or suck, or flick. Just closed mouth kiss, and it evokes something I never experienced before, my legs drawing up to the bed and then wider apart. It’s teasing, so simple, yet so evocative. No tongue and I’m a whimpering, squirming mess.
When he finally gives me tongue, licking through my folds, my hips buck.
“Ohgod!” My own hands grasp my breasts, squeezing, toying with my nipples in an attempt to mimic whatever fantastic trick he was doing before. “Noah, please, let me feel you. Inside me. Please.”
Still, he doesn’t acknowledge me. He takes his precious time licking me gently, petting me, seducing me, driving me slowly to the brink.
In a pleasured haze, my body wired with pre-orgasm spikes, I brace up on my elbows to watch him, to see him.
His eyes are closed, his tongue working me over, and I notice his right hand moving. I brace up further to get better look, realizing that his pants are just below his hips and his dick is in his fist, smoothly working up and down a length that I’m surprised to admit impresses me. Long and thick with a blunt red head, pre-cum dripping out of the little slit. Just watching him fist himself pushes me one mile closer to the edge.
I don’t want to come without him inside me, but as it turns out, Noah’s not the kind to be bossed around in bed. My thighs begin inching together, the telltale sign that my big O is approaching.
At this, Noah opens his eyes and he finds me watching him.
He eases up and licks his lips, not on board with me coming either. Eyes transfixed on me, fist gliding up and down his length.
“Just a quick warning,” he begins as he, with his free hand, reaches down and slides a finger inside me, in and out, in and out. “I’m always nice with my tongue.”—He removes his finger from inside me—“And sometimes my touch.”—His hand now settles on my hip—“But never with my cock.”
Before I can even register those words, he digs his fingers into my hip, grips, and suddenly I’m flat on my stomach. In the next second, both hands are gripping my hips, dragging me up onto my knees, so my ass points into the air. I let out a yelp at the feel of a stinging slap on my left butt cheek, and then a shriek as he drives into me, burying himself to the hilt.
He remains bucked, dips his mouth to my ear. “You okay?”
“Holy shit,” is all I can get out, my lower stomach aching—in a good way—from the deep press of his cock inside me.
To this, he rumbles an ephemeral chuckle, and then he begins to show me how nice his dick is not.
A total shock for me, considering how he just petted me with his gentle tongue. But he grips me firm, keeping me in place, and pounds me. Mercilessly. Deep, hard, unapologetic, with no regard for my cries of both pain and pleasure.
Like a rag doll, he then flips me on my side and orders me not to move. Climbing onto the bed, he lifts one of my legs and rest it on his shoulder so I’m scissoring him. As his head presses at my entrance, he reaches down and rubs his thumb over my clit, dick slowly pushing into me. I’m damn near close to incoherent right now everything is so acute.
Two slow thrusts are all I get before he’s slamming me into my orgasm. I’m on my side, with one leg on his shoulder, ordered not to move, so when my orgasm bulldozes into me, it’s the most intense I’ve ever felt, as my limited movements give it free reign to attack every nerve, every vein, every inch. “Noah!…Ohmygod!…Ohmygod!…Holy shit, you’re so good!”
Through it all, he ruthlessly pounds me, his pleasure-filled green stare forever on me. His chest glossed with sweat, his lip trapped between a flash of white teeth.
Just as the soul-rattling sensations begin to recede, leaving me dizzy and out of breath, Noah pulls out and flips me onto my back. He then grasps my legs and presses them down to my chest so I’m widely exposed for him. “Hold them down,” he raggedly orders. “Don’t move. Don’t let them go.”
I don’t get to even nod at this because he’s already plunging into me again, his stare locked with mine, daring me to move. I don’t. Don’t think I even can. I’m too enthralled. Mesmerized. Riveted. Watching this man take my body and own it. I used to think Andrew was matchless in bed. But, oh how naive I’ve been.
Reaching down, he touches the side of my face, thumb smoothing over my bottom lip, hips still
pumping. “Talk to me, babe,” he begs in a gentle whisper. “Like you did this afternoon. Talk to me. Tell me…” He forces his thumb into my mouth. I nip it. “Tell me what a bastard I am.”
His face is tight with pleasure, eyes brimmed with reverence and adoration for me, while his body screws me like I’m a whore in an alley. In that moment, I know Rational Lotty was right: I’ve made a mistake here. I shouldn’t have done this. Shouldn’t have tried this sex-only thing. Because I know, in this moment, with my heart flaming in my chest, tears burning behind my eyes, and my legs quivering as another orgasm soars in, that I’ve foolishly, brainlessly, recklessly, fallen in love with this man.
And as his eyes bore into mine, I wonder if he can see it. The mistake I’ve made. The regret I don’t have. The love that’s new and unexpected and utterly dangerous.
Removing his thumb from my mouth, he relocates it between my legs and begins rubbing my bud. As a lightning bolt of pleasure rips through me, bringing me ever closer to the summit, I start talking, calling him the dirtiest of names I can think of, and he relishes in it. Loves it. He begs for more. It makes him wilder, intoxicated.
With a long-winded groan, he lowers over me, covering me with his body, cupping my face and all but sucking my tongue out of my mouth. A ferocious growl buried deep in his throat, he thrusts three times, four times, five times, before he jerks back, pulls out of me and grasps himself, pumping, emptying himself on my belly in hot white spurts. Rigid and swearing, pulsing in his fist.
Utterly fascinated by this beautiful creature, I watch as he braves the waves of his monster orgasm, and then little by little, he mellows down, his rough breathing slowing, evening out.
When he opens his eyes and finds me watching him with a dreamy glaze, he gives me a half-smile before leaning down to kiss me. One hand travels down, fingers gliding over my sperm-covered belly and straight into my heat, finishing me off. In less than a minute, my back is arched in ecstasy and I’m screaming his name, fingernails digging into his shoulders.
After, when the last ripples of my orgasm have faded, he presses his cheek to mine and murmurs, “Would never leave you hanging”, before dismounting me, dismounting the bed, and disappearing into the bathroom.
Having never been screwed so thoroughly in my life, I remain in the same position, not a muscle moved, in a daze. Mind = blown.
A few minutes later, Noah returns with a wash cloth. He cleans me up. Kisses me. Touches me gently with his fingertips. Making me fall, fall, fall. I didn’t see this coming. Didn’t plan this. I’m not prepared. Not capable. And here I lie, in a quasi-shock. Inert and speechless as his hands and mouth worship my body.
When he’s done, he switches off the bedside lamp and gets back in bed with me.
“Hey. Lotty,” he whispers, urging me onto my side so we’re face to face. “Are you okay?” He hesitates, then adds, “Are we okay?”
Snapping out of my pathetic post-sex awkwardness that all men loathe, I snuggle into him and press my face to his chest. “Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells. We’re good.”
His arms circle around me, his chin resting on top of my head. “Had me worried for a bit there. You being quiet for longer than five minutes is cause for a panic.”
“I was just thinking, is all,” I whisper. “I mean, dude, you just dominated my body and detonated my mind.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“If I have enough cash saved up to purchase a gift for someone high-maintenance.”
There’s a pause. “A gift? For who?”
“Sienna Sullivan,” I mumble through a yawn. Sleep, that had been evading me all night, finally descends on me. “I want to thank her, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, for cheating on you.”
I attempted to get away with sleeping in the next morning, but Noah cajoles me out of bed with nipple teasing and a finger-induced orgasm. We were mostly quiet throughout our routine sprints, but our energy, possibly because of our quick but powerful orgasms, was on peak. We jogged less, ran for longer than usual, and did twice as many sprint reps. By the time we got back to the apartment, my legs were sore, in combination with the soreness between my legs from last night’s brutal vagina domination.
At the moment, I’m leaning on the counter in the kitchen, biting into a juicy, unpeeled peach as I watch Noah descend the stairs from his room, perfecting his necktie with one hand, his suit jacket thrown over his other arm. Hair groomed, face freshly shaved, ready to kick the crap out of another day.
I’m abruptly slammed with a flashback of him pounding into me, sweat dripping off the face, submerged in hardcore pleasure. My stomach twists, nipples harden, and I have to close my eyes and count to twenty, willing myself to cool the heck down. But dammit, it’s hard. Last night was just so…so…delicious. I can’t stop thinking about it.
When I next open my eyes, all calmed down and fifty-percent less aroused, Noah is at the island, placing his jacket over the back of one of the breakfast stools before taking a seat in the one next to it.
“Why are you still wearing that?” he absently asks as he lifts the dome from his dish, revealing a hearty breakfast of bacon-scrambled eggs, sliced ham, toast, turkey sausage, peppered tomato salad, and sliced mangoes and strawberries.
I glance down at my uniform and then back at him. “What do you mean?”
Picking up a slice of mango, he bites into it and gives me a look. A look that revives my earlier arousal.
“As far as I’m concerned, I’m still your housemaid.” Biting another juicy chunk of my peach, I amend, “With benefits. Delicious benefits.”
Broad shoulders jerking up in a shrug, he picks up his fork and begins eating. “Suit yourself. Although we’re long past that stage of the game, I’ll let you continue because I’m really starting to enjoy having clean clothes and a homemade breakfast every morning.”
I straighten, spine going stiff, and I set the half-eaten peach down. “Hey, this might have been a game for you, but it has always been real for me. I need that paycheck. And until you fire me, I will be working for it.”
He stuffs his mouth with eggs and toast, chewing slowly, pensively before asking, “How much more do you need?”
I frown, confused. “How much more do I need for what?”
Setting his fork down, he picks up his coffee, takes a sip. “To start over with your family in Brazil.”
I shrug. “I researched the cost of living there, and it’s not terribly bad. On top of what I already have saved up, I think an additional ten grand would help me get set up there with a comfortable apartment, a couple of months’ rent paid in advance, food and utilities if I spend economically, until I land a job.“
He picks up his fork and begins eating again, telling his plate, “I have an associate in Brazil who owes me more than a few favors. I’ll make a call, I can get you set up with a sizable apartment, rent-free. No worries about travel fees, I have both a personal and a company jet. Just say the word when you’re ready. You’re nineteen and beautiful, you don’t need to stress about this.”
This…this catches me off guard. Did those words really leave Noah’s mouth? The man who was determined I wasn’t leaving is suddenly supporting me leaving? Is this his polite way of kicking me out? Now that he’s gotten me? Like he’s done others before me, he’s gamed me into falling for him, screwed me, and now he’s discarding me?
Does feeling hurt by this make me pathetic? Yes. Yes it does. How dare I feel offended? How dare I ache in my chest? How dare tears threaten to manifest? How dare I fall in love with him?
Barely, just barely, do I manage to get out, “Why?”
He doesn’t look at me, still stuffing his face, speaking with a full mouth as he expounds, “Because I want you to be happy. And you seem to believe moving to Brazil and starting over will make you happy. So, if that’s what you want to do, I’ll help you.”
“But last week you said—”
“Last week, I thought we could work.” He raises his head to me now. �
��Last week, I had plans for us. Last week I thought you were mine, thought I could own you. But this week, you said no to all of it, to a good life, letting fear control you. And this morning, you made it clear you still have intentions of moving, even after what we shared last night.”
Wait, his offer, his support, is out of anger? Seriously? How is he the thirty-year-old and I’m the nineteen-year-old? “I’m letting fear control me?” I shoot back. “All I ask for is a little bit of freedom. I never said no to anything. You’re the one who’s scared and insecure, proposing to keep me on a leash because your ex-wife was—sorry, is a promiscuous, unfaithful, disloyal bitch and you think I’ll turn out to be the same.”
“Well, if you didn’t go around trying to jump on every cock you see then I wouldn’t have to think that now, would I?” he growls back, throwing his fork down and getting to his feet in a red temper, yanking his suit jacket off the back of the stool.
Now I’m livid. “I do not go around propositioning people! I flirt. There’s a big difference. Flirting with someone doesn’t necessarily mean I want to ride their dick. It’s a hobby for me. It doesn’t always mean anything. I told you if we were in a relationship, I would never cheat on you. But you didn’t seem to hear that part, did you?”
“Oh, I heard it.” He shrugs on his jacket, tugs the hems of his sleeves. “I just don’t believe you.”
“Great. Now I’m a liar,” I mumble, throwing my hands up. “All I ask for is a little freedom, aka trust. Nothing unreasonable. But you’re too much of a wuss to give it to me.”
“I think I gave you too much credit.” He shakes his head at me, buttons his jacket. “You have no idea what makes a relationship. And I don’t have the time right now to give you a lesson. I have a life to get to.”
“Oh, that’s rich. Like you have any kind of knowledge and experience on relationships,” I yell at his back as he turns and begins striding off. “You’ve only ever been in one, one, and it was a farce. Mine might have been abusive, but at least it was real. When I picked you up a few weeks ago, you were running for your life, damn near naked in the streets of New York, from the angry throw-knives of another woman’s husband. So YOU KNOW NOTHING, JON SNOWWWW!!”
