Beck takes the cake from my hand and turns to set it on the table beside his keys. As he turns back to me, he eyes the bottom of the ribbon hugging my thighs. “Got anything on under that pretty bow?”
“Nope,” I tell him, my hand still resting on my hip and trying to hold my sexy pose. I have no clue if I’m pulling it off, but Beck seems to appreciate what he sees.
“Perfect,” Beck murmurs, and his hands come to my shoulders. He turns me around and starts pushing me toward the dining room table. He kicks one of the massive chairs covered in cream leather to the side and uses an arm to push my books away, clearing a space just in front of me.
“Bend over,” he says as he puts a hand to the center of my back and starts pushing me forward.
Immediately I flush all over with warmth and awareness of what this must look like. I know the farther I bend over, the more the ribbon is going to ride up high on my ass and bare myself to him.
But even as I experience the thrill of excitement over the position he’s putting me in, a wave of anxiety hits me hard. My chest tightens and my muscles tense all over. My hands are practically shaking between nerves, fear, and desire as those emotions battle within me.
I consider pushing back against him, refusing to give him my backside. I know it will immediately ease my fear because I do not fuck doggy style.
Never.
Not since that night.
I’m betting the few partners I’ve had just assumed that means I’m just too vanilla for that, or maybe they just don’t care as long as they get to fuck me, but I’ve never been pressured before to do it. Only one guy had an issue with it, and he ultimately declared me too boring in bed to satisfy his needs when I refused.
Of course, he only said that after he fucked me missionary and got his rocks off.
But as much as this situation concerns me, there’s an equal part that is curious. My fight-or-flight response would normally gear me to flight, too terrified to do anything that would too closely resemble those vague flashes of memory that haunt me.
But Beck has proven to be different. That was apparent the minute he made me orgasm that first time, and thus there is a part of me that has formed a measure of trust in him to not hurt me. This part of Sela Halstead wants to push at my boundaries even though I’m scared shitless to do so.
With a deep breath, I take a moment to also remind myself that I don’t want to do anything to turn Beck off. I don’t want him to lose interest in me, and thus lose my tenuous connection he gives me to Townsend. So as if that sentiment almost gives me permission to explore my desire for him, I decide to let Beck have his way with me from a position where I can’t see a damn thing he’s doing to me.
My hands lower to the dark Danish teak wood to support myself and I lower my torso until my ribbon-covered breasts are mashed against the table. I turn my head to the side, rest my cheek against the cool surface, and stare out the window at the twinkling lights of the Bay Bridge. I take deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart, which is fueled in equal parts by apprehension and desire.
“I think this might be the most beautiful and amazing gift I’ve ever been given,” he says, and I know he’s knelt behind me as I can feel his warm breath from those words whisper against the flesh between my legs.
He doesn’t touch me though, and doesn’t say another word, which makes my heart pound harder. I only feel the warmth of his breath fluttering and I start to tense with anticipation.
Crack.
His palm comes down on my right ass cheek with the force of what feels like a sonic boom. It scares me so badly I scream, “Fuck!” and push upward from the table, but then just as quickly groan and flop back down when he sinks a finger inside of me.
My legs start to buckle as Beck runs his lips over the stinging skin on my butt and his finger moves gently in and out of my pussy. He bares his teeth, bites my flesh, and murmurs against me, “That was for the old man comment.”
I laugh for just a brief moment, almost hysterically, as I realize with relief that he just spanked me and it wasn’t all that bad. But then it’s not so funny anymore when his finger is gone and his tongue takes its place. He works at me from behind, finally bringing his hands into play to help spread my legs further with extreme gentleness.
Beck groans in delight as he licks and sucks at me, making it sound as if I’m the most delicious present he’s ever had. No matter how many times he has had his mouth on me down there, I still always marvel at his voracious appetite and his clear love of making me come this way. The man has some serious oral skills.
“Christ, Sela,” Beck says as he pulls his mouth away from me and replaces his tongue with two fingers now. “You’re so wet. You’re pussy is fucking begging for my cock, isn’t it?”
I nod against the wood, but just so he knows my thoughts are still with him, I whisper, “I’m begging for it, Beck.”
He laughs darkly, pushes his fingers in extra deep, but just as quickly they’re gone as I feel him stand up behind me.
An undercurrent of panic fills me when I hear him tearing open a condom packet and the sound of his belt being pulled free of his pants. When his hands grab on to my hips, I have to suppress the urge to scramble away from him. The only other time a man has been behind me, he fucked me in the ass with no lube, and it tore me up so bad I bled terribly. I imagine it was quite the surprise to the doctors who worked on me in the hospital when I was brought in bleeding from my wrist, to find blood in my panties as well.
The looks of pity on their faces…
My eyes prick with unwanted tears and I blink against them furiously. I want to tell him to stop, or maybe to just be careful with me, but then the tip of his cock is being pressed to my pussy. Immediate relief and lust slam into me so powerfully that I actually have to suppress the urge to ram myself backward onto his shaft. This is proof positive that Beck North has definitely broken through some barriers I have with regard to sex.
“Happy birthday,” I tell him again softly, a tacit permission for him to do with his present what he wants, but also to myself. It’s permission to myself that I’m allowed to enjoy this.
He doesn’t disappoint, punching his hips forward and filling me up in one seamless stroke.
I cry out from the force of the pleasure that rockets through my body.
“Fuck yeah,” Beck groans, and immediately sets a quick pace. The feel of his length moving in and out of me, the friction and sounds, the smell of his cologne and the extinguished candles in the air. It all makes me dizzy with lust, hungry to get him to completion, and an almost savage need he’s created within me for a nuclear orgasm that apparently only he can hand out to me.
Beck pounds inside of me, the head of his cock hitting that most sensitive spot, and my orgasm curls inward before blowing apart. I cry out his name, as it’s become my habit to do so, and it causes Beck to plant deep as he starts to come right along with me, and all I can think is that this is the best feeling in the entire world.
He bends his body, curls around me, his hands slipping around my waist. His labored breath ruffles at my hair and I can’t help but smile when he murmurs, “Best. Birthday. Ever.”
Chapter 12
Beck
I cut two slices of the cake that Sela bought, and even though I detest raspberry, I know I’ll give my best groan of pleasure when it hits my tongue so she knows how much I appreciate what she’s done. I cannot even remember the last time someone recognized my birthday, outside of Linda giving me a card each year and Caroline calling me on my birthday, which is way better than a card.
My parents, the cold, emotionless robots that they are, never celebrated birthdays in an intimate way. When Caroline and I were younger, they would, of course, throw huge parties and invite everyone in their social circle. There would be ostentatious food, pony rides, clowns, bouncy houses, and a gazillion presents for Caroline and me. But that wasn’t really for us. That was for show.
It was a way for our parents to prove to t
he world that they were good and benevolent, and that my younger sister and I were well cared for. As we got a bit older, the parties stopped but the expensive gifts didn’t. I was given a Porsche for my sixteenth birthday. Caroline received a Mercedes convertible. When we both reached adulthood, we got access to our trust funds and only the impersonal birthday card sent from my mother’s or father’s secretary.
As per usual this year, I got a card from Linda and a card two days late from my parents. Caroline called me on my birthday while I was at work, and she then put Ally on the phone, who sang “Happy Birthday” to me. Until today, that had been my favorite birthday memory.
But as much as I love my niece, and she was beyond adorable singing to me on the phone, I’m sorry…Sela’s gift was infinitely better.
Not just because it was sex, because, hello…sex. Sex is amazing in and of itself. Sex with Sela is beyond compare. Taking her bent over my dining room table, listening to her little moans and feeling her push back against me so I’d give it to her deeper? That was absolutely mind-blowing.
But that’s not why it’s my favorite.
It’s my favorite because while I’ve only known Sela for a week, I’ve learned enough to know that what she did tonight was way out of her comfort zone.
Sela, the frugal student, who is happier to have a tea kettle from me than a two-thousand-dollar Louis Vuitton purse. Sela, the confident woman, who is sexier in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt than in Victoria’s Secret lingerie. Sela, the passionate introvert, who has yet to try to trap me with sexually overt moves and promises.
When I walked in tonight, saw her standing there in that ribbon, I did more than start to get hard for her. I felt a shift in my skepticism about the nature of women and the lengths they’ll go to get what they want. I’ve seen firsthand how some women can take without ever giving a single thing in return, and still think they deserve more. But Sela stood before me, hesitantly offering me her body, not to get anything in return, but merely because she felt bad I had not celebrated my birthday.
Sela, the inexperienced, put herself out there with all the risk on her shoulders and the only motive to her plan that I have something just for myself.
It simply touched me.
“You didn’t have to clean up,” I hear from behind me, and turn to find Sela standing there in her normal sleep attire, her hair pulled on top of her head in a messy bunch and damp around her neck from the shower she just had. A simple black tank top and black cotton panties, skin dewy-looking from some peach-smelling lotion she slathers on, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Of course, she comes to bed each night wearing something similar, and each night she ends up naked by my hands.
I wonder if there will ever come a day where she just gives in to the naked part and ditches the cute but sexy sleepwear. Will it happen this week, since my birthday surprise shows she’s coming out of her shell a bit? Or maybe it will take a few more weeks to get truly comfortable? A few months?
I stop my brain in midthought and just blink at Sela in confusion. Am I actually considering more than our planned month together?
The immediate thought doesn’t strike fear in my heart.
Interesting.
“I cut us each a slice of cake,” I tell her as I grab a fork from the drawer and hand it to her, followed by a plate filled with chocolate and raspberry—gag—goodness. “And I didn’t mind cleaning up the kitchen. You went to a lot of effort on my behalf.”
“Yeah, but it’s your birthday celebration, so you shouldn’t have to do anything tonight,” she points out as she dips the fork into the cake. She puts it in her mouth, closes her eyes, and moans. “I love chocolate and raspberry together.”
And fuck…that little moan. So goddamn sexy it makes me want knock the plate out of her hand and drag her to the floor.
Instead, I clear my throat and pick up the slice I had cut for myself, intent on eating the cake without gagging. “So what do you want to do the rest of the evening?”
Sela raises her eyebrows in surprise, because that is an unusual question. Our normal evenings are I come home, we go out to eat or eat in, and then we fuck for hours until we fall asleep.
“Whatever you want to do,” she says while sinking her fork back into the cake. “It’s your birthday party.”
I break off a tiny piece of the cake with the least raspberry on it and scoop it up. “Well, normally I’d say let’s get naked and get in bed, but we do that pretty much every night. How about we just hang out?”
I can tell this completely stuns Sela, because her face clouds with skepticism. I smile at her and put the fork into my mouth, pull in the offensive-tasting crap, and chew. Sela watches me and her eyes narrow, getting ready to call bullshit on me for just wanting to hang out and not just get to the hot and dirty fucking.
“You hate the cake, don’t you?” she accuses, sex completely forgotten.
I stare at her midchew and force a swallow. “What? No, of course not.”
“You totally hate it,” she says while pointing a finger at me. “I can tell by the look on your face.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Oh yeah,” she fires back with a mischievous grin. “Then eat some more. Right now. In fact, eat the whole thing.”
God, she’s fucking cute.
I grin back at her and turn to set the plate down on the counter. “Okay, I hate raspberry. You got me.”
She winces and lifts her shoulders in apology. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure what you’d like and I just thought everyone on this planet liked chocolate and raspberry together. Are you sure you’re not an alien?”
“I like chocolate just fine. Vanilla or even strawberry. But raspberry, no.” I shudder just to prove my point.
“You’re so weird,” she says, and takes another bite.
“So, want to just hang out tonight?” I ask her, enjoying this little interchange.
“No sex?” she asks to clarify.
“Of course there’s going to be sex,” I scoff at her. “But not until later. We can watch TV, listen to music, play cards, go out for a drink. Whatever you want.”
Sela takes one more bite of cake, chews, then swallows. She hands me the plate and says, “You take that, and I’m going to go brush my teeth so you don’t have to taste raspberry on me.”
“What makes you think I’ll be tasting raspberry on you?” I tease as she walks away. “I just want to talk and hang out. I don’t plan on kissing you or anything.”
She doesn’t even look at me as she saunters down the hall, her ass swaying and those black panties exposing the bottom cheeks that’s fucking sexy as hell. “Oh, you’re going to kiss me all right. You’re not going to be able to help yourself.”
I laugh to myself as I turn to scrape the remainder of her cake into the garbage, because fuck if she isn’t right about that.
—
“Okay, are you ready?” I ask Sela as I reach into the box. I pull a card out and wait for her to choose.
She sits on the opposite end of the couch from me, still wearing her black tank top and panties, which are obviously distracting. Her back is pressed up against the armrest and her long legs are stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other. They press up against my jean-clad legs as I sit at the opposite end of the couch, with my back flush against the armrest as well.
Sela nibbles on her fingernail and says, “Sports and Leisure.”
We were too lazy to play a full game of Trivial Pursuit, so we’re just taking turns reading trivia questions to each other. If we get the answer wrong, we owe sexual favors to the other. Or at least that was the original premise when we started, but both of us kind of suck at this, the favors mounting up. But it’s really moot anyway, since we never seem to have a problem bestowing favors on each other.
My eyes scan down the card to the orange circle with “SL” in the middle and I read out loud to her, “What do Las Vegas blackjack dealers stand on?”
Her eyebrows furrow and she ni
bbles harder on her nail. With a shrug of her shoulders she says with a great deal of uncertainty, “A stool?”
I bust a gut laughing the minute those words come out of her beautiful mouth. The card falls to my lap and my hands go to my stomach because I’m laughing so hard it hurts. Sela gives me an exasperated look, leans forward, grabs the card from where it rests on my right thigh, and reads the answer out loud. “Seventeen?”
I snap my mouth shut, choke down a snicker, and stare at her.
“I don’t get it,” she says in a confused voice, and I almost fall off the couch laughing again. She uncrosses her legs, raises her knees, and kicks out at me with a mock snarl of outrage. “What’s so funny?”
Straightening up, I get myself under control and tell her, “Seventeen is the number at which a blackjack dealer must stop taking hits.”
“I still don’t get it,” she says more forcefully. “And I think the way the question was worded that ‘stool’ was a logical answer.”
A snort pops out, and I tamp it down so I don’t lose it again. “Have you ever played blackjack before?”
She shakes her head.
“Poker? Spades? Rummy?” I ask, throwing out popular card games.
She shakes her head again but adds on with a mischievous grin, “I’ve played Monopoly before. I’m actually quite good at that.”
Chuckling, I grab her by the ankles and pull her legs back down so she relaxes. I smooth my palm up and down her calf, actually petting her in a casual way that denotes we’re still relaxing. If it was something more than relaxing, my hand would be moving higher up in between her thighs, but I’m content for now.
Very content, actually.
“Have you ever been to Vegas?” I ask her, my hand now moving to her foot. I glance down at her toes, coated in a light purple color. I pick her foot up and start to massage it.
She groans and her head tilts back when she says, “Never been. Any fun?”
“For some people,” I tell her. “If you like gambling, cheesy shows, and all-you-can-eat buffets, none of which I really like.”
Sugar Daddy (Sugar Bowl #1) Page 9
