Trainer

by Marata Eros

  My eyes skate her warm pink pussy, and I slide both hands under her hips and yank her forward. Bending over, I lift her pussy to my mouth, sealing my lips around her wet heat.

  I dig in.

  “Ah!” Krista screams, latching on to my hair.

  I don't stop. I know ladies like this part and the screaming is for pleasure, not pain.

  But Krista tastes different. Sweeter. Juicier. I lick her up. Can't get enough.

  My fingers bite into her ass cheeks as I suck on each one of her pussy lips—delving my tongue deep in her cunt.

  Moving hard, in and out.

  I give her entrance one last lap with my tongue and strike her go button. Hard.

  Her hips buck, and she gives a hoarse shout, “Trainer!”

  Like my name from her. Like it when she screams it. Makes me want to fuck her even more.

  Feeling her pussy pulsing around my tongue makes me want to come, but I think about cleaning up after orgies and shit, and I hold it back.

  Barely.

  Jerking my jeans down, I lean over, tear off my shitkickers and toss them. My jeans are off in the next second. Krista lifts her arms and I strip her top and bra off.

  “Don't want to hurt ya. Hard not to.”

  This is the point when my dick is a real problem. Some ladies haven't wanted to fuck me ʼcause of the size.

  Can't blame them. They call me the “bitch splitter.” Don't want to be, but there's no denying I got a big cock.

  Krista's eyes widen when she takes in my size. “Go slow,” she says, then swallows.

  I can see in her eyes that she's afraid.

  “I can make it feel good,” I promise her. A drop of precum oozes onto my tip, and I drop my head with a shudder, throbbing for release.

  Fuck, gonna blow before I can get inside. I lick my lips. The taste of her is still on my mouth.

  Krista's eyes track the movement and she opens her legs wider for me.

  I lie down on the table between her thighs, and my dick homes in on her wet pussy with zero trouble.

  “I haven't been with anyone in a while. Actually, I've only been with two guys.”

  Don't like hearing her confess to being with another man. But I've been with plenty of women.

  Krista's a saint compared to me.

  I set the first part of my huge cock in that first bit of delicious wetness. I grit my teeth, wanting to drive my prick home.

  But there's been no woman that I could do that with. Ever.

  And Krista's tight.

  So good.

  I drop my head to her chest, listening to her rapid heartbeats as they thump against my forehead, and my body is curved, the first part of me inside her.

  Then I move to push-up position, sliding more of me inside her.

  “Ah!” Krista says, face screwed into pain.

  I still, dipping my chin and looking back at her. I'm so much taller that being on top puts me above her face. But I want those eyes. Wanna see what's in ʼem. “Don't wanna hurt ya.”

  She puts her hands on my ass, and my jaw clenches as I about come on the spot.

  “You feel so good, Trainer… but you're… large.”

  My lips curve. “So I feel good?”

  I pump another inch into her tight pussy.

  Krista's eyes round. “God yes, but I feel like you could break me in two.”

  I nod. Heard that before.

  I kiss her, whispering into her ear, “I won't. Wanna make you come again, though.”

  Leaning back, I search her face. Looking for permission to press on.

  Krista spreads her legs, and I hook them over my arms, rocking forward as far as I can. Some of me remains outside of her body.

  That's normal.

  “I think you're bottomed out, Trainer.” Krista giggles softly, and her pussy strangles my cock.

  “Don't,” I breathe through the sensation. “Don’t do that, Krista.”

  “Sorry,” she says.

  I look at her face. She doesn't seem very sorry.

  Punishment. That's what Krista deserves. I slowly pull out, her pussy gripping me, trying to suck me back in the whole way.

  “What's that face—ah!” She arches her back, and we groan together as I shove back in. Her body resists, and Krista's hips rise, easing me in deeper.

  I rock forward, surprising myself with how deep I can fuck her body. Almost in the whole way.

  Love how she feels. How wet and warm.

  I start moving inside. Then out.

  Back and forth. Until she's slick and my dick can begin a light pounding. Always, I think about not hurting.

  I give a gentle plunge, and Krista moans.

  “Hurts?” I ask, a drop of sweat falling between breasts I tore the bra away from.

  “No, more,” she whispers.

  Thank God.

  I speed my rhythm, the effort to not pound like I want to is hard as fuck, but this is Krista.

  She's special.

  “I'm coming again,” she says through her teeth, but I hear her, frantically raising her hips with my hands. I feel my balls clench tight against my body, and I plunge as deep as I dare, unloading my come.

  Throwing my head back, I bark my release. Haven't come like that in forever.

  Krista's head lolls to the side with the soft clenches of her pussy gradually slowing, and puts a palm between her breasts. “Oh my God.”

  My dick gives a final nod to stiffness before softening, and I gently pull out of Krista.

  I watch her lie there in a sexy tangle of limbs.

  My heart swells at the sight. That tight feeling that’s always in my chest loosens.

  It's like I can feel a chunk of it floating away. Where does that missing piece go exactly?

  Krista smiles at me, holding out her hand. I lace my fingers with hers, and I know where.

  Chapter 11

  Allen

  Bitch.

  No one dumps me. I'm Allen-goddamned-Fitzgerald. Old-money people. There isn't any nouveau riche in my family tree. My smirk is carved on my face. I leave it there, like perma-scorn.

  Even though Krista Glass’s family does not, in any way, shape, or form come close to the thoroughbred lines mine does, she is gorgeous and respectable. And from her own lips, she’s only had sex with one man before me, making her only slightly spoiled goods.

  And I need to marry someone not from the echelon I rub elbows with.

  Marrying Krista Glass is the way to go about that. She has all the more common folk credentials. Appealing ones.

  I'd give my left nut to understand why I can't marry within the circle of acceptable women, but my father’s will stipulated that I shall marry before thirty years of age and provide a Fitzgerald heir in order to obtain my inheritance. My father’s obsession that his future progeny not come from the upper echelon is an odd one, and it means I cannot select from the pool of “American royalty.”

  As an attorney, I understand the terminology and parameters of the will intimately.

  There's no foiling my father’s carefully laid foundation.

  And I’ve invested nearly two years into this ambivalent bitch.

  Further, I turn twenty-nine next week.

  Now, why can't I just entice any bitch to the Fitzgerald name? Because my wealth is not set until I marry before the magic thirty years old. As far as Krista knows, I’m simply a lawyer. My income is high compared to most, but it’s a penance compared to the billions I stand to inherit. Krista Glass is too naive to have looked closely into who I really am. She’s too indifferent, probably, to even perform a Google search.

  And she's fucking late to meet me.

  I rub my forehead, feeling the telltale vein throbbing in response to my seething anger.

  Catching her with that moron, kissing what's mine, almost made me internally combust.

  However, that won't do.

  I need her.

  And that big imbecile biker will not stand in my way. Or I will have him removed from the
picture.

  Running my palm over my tie, I tap my other fingers on the stained wooden Starbucks table, a step above similar coffee houses.

  Plush couches face a large fireplace, where flames burn brightly. Normally, it would be shut off in the first week of June, but abnormally cold weather has been with us the entire week.

  A bell jingles, and Krista walks through the door, wearing the same ratty trendy jeans from this morning. She has on a different shirt, I see.

  Pondering that, I stand.

  She meets me. “Sorry I'm late.”

  Bitch.

  I smile down at her. “Don't worry about it, Krista.” What I'd really like is to throttle her. Eyeing her slim neck, I envision my hands around it… squeezing.

  Her eyes guiltily skate away, and I'm reminded, on a physical level, I could do worse.

  Plus, I love her tight cunt.

  “It's this damn new job. I only have three students, but the allotment per is an entire ninety minutes. I had to come up with teaching material and a plan on the drop…” She reaches up, tightening her hair knot.

  I glance at it.

  All of that will change once we're married. Allen Fitzgerald does not abide top-knot coiffing. My eyes run to her legs as she sits at the chair opposite me. Her jeans have more holes than fabric.

  My eyes sharpen on her face. “I interrupted something disturbing today.”

  Krista knots her hands together, probably to stop the fidgeting.

  I continue my unflinching gaze on her face.

  “Yes.” She shoves a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “One of my students has developed a crush on me, I think.”

  A deep flush creeps up her face, coloring her high cheekbones a light pink.

  She’s lying.

  I am an expert liar, and I can spot a non-truth a mile away.

  It's more than that biker having a crush on her. Krista hasn't perfected the art of a blank face or feigning indifference with any degree of proficiency.

  Casually, I lean back against the seat of the chair and loosen my tie. Then I fling my arm along the seat back. I appear comfortable, but because I'm six feet two, my limbs are equal length and there's simply insufficient room to balance that arm.

  I leave it where it lies, feigning a casualness that is opposite of the internal war that rages.

  “The interlude seemed more two-sided from where I stood.”

  Krista looks down, putting her clenched hands in her lap. “I didn't come here to talk about my job, my students, or anything like that.” Her eyes rise to meet mine.

  I know what she'll say before she's said it, and my body reacts in a physical way. The rage mixes with embarrassment, causing nausea to surge in an acidic geyser in my gut.

  “It's about us, Allen.”

  Of course it is. I say nothing, silently wanting to kill her as I plunge my dick in her body. Finally, I say, “Oh?” The acid in my stomach burns, but I keep that fucking smile affixed like my life depends on it.

  It doesn't. Hers does, though. Krista Glass will never know how close she comes to dying.

  “I've been thinking.”

  She doesn't think. I do all of that for both of us.

  “We've grown apart in the last month or two, and…” The little bitch musters courage at this part. “I want to take a break.”

  Nobody breaks from a Fitzgerald. No one.

  I lean forward, taking her hands in mine. “I understand.”

  Her dark eyebrows jerk high. “You do?”

  “Oh, yes.” I give her hands a light squeeze before falling back against the chair again. “I know how much I've pressed you lately.”

  “Yes.” Guilt flashes across her eyes again.

  It must be that moron she was bunny humping against her crappy little car this morning.

  Pouring on the charm, I continue, “It's just—you know how much I love you, Krista.” I duck my head, pretending as though it's a painful admission, when really, I’m hiding my eyes before the lie.

  She nods. “You've told me. And you're a gorgeous guy, Allen. You're smart. You say all the right things.”

  My smile hurts my face, though I glow underneath the flattery of her words.

  Then what is the fucking problem?

  We are clearly on the same page. She sees how perfect I am.

  I frown.

  “But I need more.”

  You'll get more, you stupid bitch. Stick around until the money comes in, then you can teach all the imbecilic children you want to.

  She’ll learn a few things about obedience too.

  Traveling her fragile neck, my eyes leave the fingerprints of my intent behind.

  Krista Glass has no idea how careful I've been with her.

  Just ask all the dead whores I've gone too far with, or Abbi, my personal assistant and so many others. Those messes took some extreme measures to tidy up.

  I look down, schooling my expression.

  “What more could you need, Krista?” I ask softly, behaving like the wounded suitor, when all I yearn to do is reach across the table and choke her until her face blooms like a plum.

  Beads of sweat spring to life on my upper lip.

  “There needs to be chemistry.” Krista waves her palm between us. “That indefinable something that tells me we can't be apart.”

  “That soul connection?” I arch my brow. “Is that what you're talking about?”

  Krista gives a small shrug. “Probably.”

  “It's a fable.” I lift my chin, looking down my nose at her as I shut the notion down hard.

  She takes a fortifying breath, and I check out her fine tits. “And there's the issue of our sex life.”

  My jaw jerks back. Keep it together, Fitzgerald, my mind commands.

  My hands become fists, flex apart, then fist again.

  “What issue?” I manage between my teeth.

  Krista meets my eyes. “You don't seem to care about what I need. It's all about you getting what you want, and not caring about my pleasure,” she finishes on a whisper.

  Of course I fuck her and get off. I restrain the urge to roll my eyes. She has got to be kidding. I'm not going down on any woman. I don't care if she ever has an orgasm.

  Krista Glass, like all women, is a sperm depository. There's not a simpler truth.

  “I didn't realize you felt that way.”

  Now Krista looks slightly irritated. “I've said what I need before.”

  “Not in such precise terms.”

  She slaps the table, clearly losing patience. “Allen, you're a grown man, and almost six years older than me. I should not have to give you a blueprint of what a woman likes in bed.”

  Several people pause their conversations to stare at us.

  Heat suffuses my face, which I know manifests as a blotchy, unattractive ruddy color on my neck and face.

  My hands ache to strangle her.

  “I'm sorry,” Krista says, looking around at the keen observers in this public place, where she basically just told me I don't know how to fuck.

  Aloud.

  “I shouldn't have said that.”

  She's right—she shouldn't have.

  I stand, and she does too. Walking toward the door I know Krista will follow me.

  It's time for some prime manipulation. The effort hurts my already-battered ego. After opening the door for her, I follow her out.

  We stand, staring at each other. “Give me another chance to show you what I can do, Krista. We've been dating for almost two years, since Samantha introduced us.” I tack that last part on to sway her.

  Krista closes her eyes.

  I lick my lips, forcing my fingers apart and to lie loosely at my sides.

  She opens them. “I want to, Allen, so much—but I think there's too much between us to try again.”

  Krista turns and walks away to her car.

  She believes it's over.

  But it's only begun.

  Chapter 12

  Krista

 
I close the car door then slap the lock. Knitting my hands together, I pin them to my lap then bend over to rest my forehead on the steering wheel.

  I believe I escaped something awful.

  Where is the relief I should feel?

  My heartbeat's erratic, my mouth is dry, and my palms are damp. Telling Allen he wasn't meeting my needs in bed is so true. He says everything he ought to say, all the right things.

  But there's this small part of me that feels like he just says what he thinks he's supposed to, not what he really means. I can't shake the gut feeling.

  Shivering, I remember his eyes on me, like pools of ice skimming a lake. When I first met Allen through Sam, I thought he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen, with golden-blond hair and azure eyes the color of the Caribbean sea I'd never visited. He has a strong jawline and a tall, athletic build. He’s smooth with words, articulate, and apparently sincere.

  Because I was so excited to be on the arm of a man like that, I didn’t see his flaws right away. Then as I got to know him, his true colors would show up in unguarded moments. He was critical and judgmental, and he always thought about himself first.

  That was never more apparent than when we were in bed together. My God, he didn't even get me ready. He just used lube and pushed his way inside. He told me to get on the pill because he wasn't going to wear a rubber.

  When he wanted it from behind, he ordered me to get on my hands and knees.

  Like a dog.

  There was never that sense of intimacy or connection.

  The couple of times I asked for him to do something a certain way, so there would be a remote chance of me having an orgasm, Allen said he would take care of it.

  He never did.

  My vibrator was the only relief I got. I swear I went through two Costco packs of double-A batteries.

  His flaws piled up, and our relationship sparkled less as time wore on. The lavish parties he attended with people not from his work, his dad's mansion, his wonderful, designer clothes—

  they made me start to wonder... who is Allen Fitzgerald, exactly?

  I became more distant, and Allen began to sense my slow withdrawal. Somehow. The last time we were in bed together, I knew our relationship was over.

  He was rough—too rough—like he wanted to fuck me into staying. The sex seemed desperate.