by Nikki Sex
Her eyes lock onto mine as a surge of carnal energy passes between us. Renata’s lips part to inhale deeply. I adore the passion that’s reflected in her face and on her flushed, voluptuous body. There’s such urgency in her expression.
“Good girl. I want to put my fingers inside you, but I don’t want you to climax yet. Will you do that for me?”
Her eyes silently beg me as they blaze with raw hunger. “I don’t know… if I … can,” she says, breathlessly.
“You can,” I assure her. “If you do, I promise to lick your luscious cream up with my tongue. I’ve never tasted a woman and I really want to taste you.”
Renata whimpers a soft, sweet plea.
She likes that idea, knowing that I’ll be her first. I love the way her body responds to my voice. How Renata responds to me.
“Do you want my tongue inside your hot little cunt?”
Her entire body shudders. “Oh, oh, oh, please!” she begs in a hoarse, throaty rasp.
“Shhh, shhh, darlin’—I’ll take care of you,” I soothe.
I’ve never said the word ‘cunt’ out loud ever. It’s a bad word, a crass and vulgar word, but right now it seems damned near perfect. It must sound perfect to Renata too—judging by the violent response that word triggers. Unless she got hot from the idea of me tonguing her. Maybe it’s both?
“We’ll start with my fingers. Don’t move and don’t come,” I say firmly. She’s still meeting my focused gaze.
When I put my left hand on her thigh, I receive a jolt of erotic sensation. Jesus, her flesh is burning hot and impossibly soft under my palm. I can’t believe I’m touching her
Eyes on hers, I lick two of my fingers thoroughly.
Renata has small, feminine hands. My hands are much larger—my fingers are callused, blunt and thick, much different than her own soft, slim digits. In fact, every single part of her body is deliciously different. So familiar, yet so foreign.
Panting quietly, Renata watches as I slowly lower my fingers and shove two of them them inside her snug inner channel.
“Oh, God,” she moans and thrashes, frantic and needy.
Have you ever heard the saying, ‘like a hot knife through butter?’ Well, this is what they’re talking about.
Renata’s soft, slick cunt is easy for my fingers to penetrate, and it sucks them deeply inside her. Her arousal has made her more than ready. The scorching heat inside her blows my mind. Her beautiful sex quivers and her inner walls pulse around my fingers. I adore how forcefully the muscles of her core squeeze me.
Tight as a silken fist.
Even more blood pounds into my groin. I briefly imagine how it would feel to have my swollen shaft where my fingers are—with her inner walls milking and pulsing against the sensitive head. Her cunt is desperate for my cock and my cum.
I gasp as an even stronger spasm of erotic sensation races through my thighs, dick and balls.
I let my fingers remain motionless inside of her and bite back a raw, hungry groan. I want that sensation badly, but it doesn’t matter. Renata's pleasure is my sole focus.
Her breathing quick and shallow, Renata squirms.
“Be still,” I chide her. “Just lie there and let me feel you.”
Heavy-lidded, her pupils flare with lust, dilated almost to blackness. Her cunt trembles and clenches around my fingers. She’s so turned on. Unable even to speak, she whimpers pitifully. I love it! I love how she valiantly tries to meet my gaze. I can tell it’s a struggle for her.
Her toes are curled and her face is closed up tight with her efforts to avert her climax.
I can’t take my eyes off of her.
“Jesus, that’s what you needed, isn’t it?” I ask her. “The feel of my fingers inside you.”
“Yes! Your fingers, your mouth, your cock—I want all of you,” she cries out.
“You’re squeezing me so tightly,” I marvel. “This is what your pretty little cunt did to me the day before yesterday, when my cock was deep inside of you.”
Renata’s inner walls pulse once more. Restlessly, she squirms and moans. Is she going to come? Motionless, I wait, while studying her. My eyes travel over her ripe, needy body. I give her a moment to compose herself.
Fuck, she’s hotter than an M16, after firing off two hundred rounds.
“Do you want to feel my tongue on you? Do you want me to lick your wet little cunt now?
“Yes, yes!” she whimpers.
“Then ask me nicely. Tell me what you need.”
Her blue eyes blaze with desire. “Please, Grant, please, will you lick my pussy and make me come?”
“Yes,” I say huskily. “Look at me. I need to see your face, I need to see it when I push you over the edge. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes, Grant,” she sighs.
My gaze still on hers, Renata’s eyes widen as I generously moisten my lips. Smiling, I bend forward. She inhales sharply as I put my mouth over her erect clit. Pressing tightly, I seal my lips over her quivering bundle of nerves, creating a vacuum. I suckle her slippery nub, pulsing my tongue hard against her.
Renata’s whole body stiffens and her eyes squeeze shut. For one long, breathless moment, everything suddenly stops. Is she paralyzed? Frozen with pleasure?
“Grant!” she suddenly calls out on a half-sob.
Renata’s eyelids flutter, opening and closing until her fierce, sex-glazed gaze returns to mine. She’s struggling, she can’t hold it back any longer. I want to see her come—I need to see it all.
I should give my verbal approval to allow her to climax, but my tongue is still busily working her quivering clit. Pumping in and out, I curl my fingers upward.
Her reaction is instantaneous.
She suddenly explodes, erupting into a violent climax. Her head thrashes from side to side. Her body bows and her inner walls convulse, clamping down hard, crushing my fingers inside of her. I inch back to watch her sex quiver with the force of her orgasm.
“That’s right, darlin’,” I gasp, shocked by the ferocity of her reaction. “Good, good, that’s right, come on my fingers. Let me feel it.”
Impulsively, I push my tongue inside of her, joining my soaking digits. Her hot, musky essence floods my mouth. My nostrils flare and I utter a low, guttural groan.
I pull away, licking her sweet slickness from my lips.
Fuck! She tastes incredible.
Renata’s hands fist the sheets, her muscles are coiled and taut, her face is a mask of agonized pleasure.
I use my thumb to press on her clit, while I continue to pump my thick digits rapidly, slamming in and out of her greedy, wet hole. Digging her heels into the mattress, she rides my fingers, pushing into them as though her life depends on it. Her inner walls continue to pulsate against me, gripping and milking my fingers hard.
This is a long climax! Maybe she’s having more than one?
I’m in awe.
I continue to drive my fingers in and out of her in frenzied strokes, pushing in as deeply as possible with each thrust. Only my large knuckles prevent me from going in further.
Renata’s burning hot core still doesn’t stop. I’m gripped by intense pleasure as she squeezes me again and again in a series of short, sharp contractions.
The ferocity of her orgasm triggers my own passionate release—taking me completely by surprise.
“Renata!” I call out in a harsh, breathless cry.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears and my chest heaves. With one hand on my pulsing cock, I stand up. Roaring my ecstasy, I immediately ejaculate over her mound, hips and thighs.
Renata shakes and trembles with uncontrollable aftershocks from her powerful release. The sheets are stained dark from her arousal, the evidence of her climax and mine.
Spent, my legs can barely hold me upright. Panting, I brace them, forcing myself to stand strong. Time passes while I remain there, staring at her while trying to catch my breath. Her body quivers, her pulse visibly throbs in her neck. Her lungs rise and fall rapidly. S
he’s panting too.
I watch the racing pulse in her neck slow, and her breathing become steady. I enjoy seeing her twitches lessen, then stop.
Renata’s eyes are closed. Her features—temporarily twisted with the excruciating pleasure of release only moments before, have utterly relaxed. A small satisfied smile now curls her lips.
She’s so beautiful.
Once more, I’m spellbound. There is nothing shameful about what we’ve just done, in fact, it was awe-inspiring. I feel as if her intense pleasure fired my soul. Was that an example of ‘making love?’ It certainly wasn’t sex as I’ve known it.
It was some sort of magic.
For a moment, I wonder if she’ll write or visit me if I become incarcerated. It’s a stupid thought, one I immediately reject.
I’m not going to jail. Not now. I can’t leave. For as long as she’s willing to stay with me, I need to be with Renata.
Chapter 21.
“Compassion? Ah, a most selfless emotion. Have you observed how those who have suffered seek to lessen the suffering of others?”
— André Chevalier
~~~
Renata Koreman
I happily sit on Grant’s bed in the afterglow of my orgasm, contentedly watching him dress. He has a firm, tight ass, narrow hips, broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted muscles. Check out those guns! His biceps are huge. I love the corded strength of his arms.
Is Grant built, or what? His colorful tattoos enhance the devastating effect he has on me.
I wonder if that tough, solid, body of his comes from his being in the service. There’s nothing soft about him. Does he go to a gym now that he's no longer in the military? Is he a daily exercise freak? He must be to maintain that physique. Man, it really shows.
Lord, he’s gorgeous!
Grant bends down to pick up his shirt from the floor. He turns toward me, shooting me a playful smile. My heart trips, missing a beat or two. His left cheek and a tiny spot on his neck are rippled by thick, pinkish scars that pull and pucker slightly when his lips curve upward.
Earlier, I could tell that smiling made him self-conscious—but he’s not self-conscious now. Relaxed and at ease, he can be himself with me. My heart warms because I helped caused this change in Grant. Knowing that I helped him makes me melt into a puddle of pure happiness.
“You got dressed pretty quickly,” he murmurs.
I smirk. “I did.” Lifting a hand, I tuck a wayward lock of blonde hair out of my face and behind my ear. “I wanted more time to watch you.”
“Really?” His smile broadens, transforming his features. “Was it worth it?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say in a flirty voice, breathless just from seeing his smile. “Very.”
Grant laughs, a joyous sound that makes my heart soar.
The French would call our carefree interaction, le jeu de la seduction—the game of seduction. This form of flirting isn’t always about getting someone into bed. Instead, it’s an acknowledgment of a person’s manner, clothes or perhaps their beauty. It’s a way for even complete strangers to put smiles on each other's faces and warmth in their hearts.
In my case, though, I am trying to get him into bed!
Grant pulls up his zipper. The sound is an erotic rasp that makes my stomach flutter. His bedroom smells of sex and the unique musky male scent of him. I love it.
I know the real Grant now. I’ve seen the man he can be, the man he would have become without the toxic interference he experienced as a child. He’s all tough, brooding alpha male, yet he’s generous and kind too.
I understand him and he understands me.
What is this glorious bond we share? It’s a strange and remarkable thing. My heartfelt desire to be near him isn’t simple lust. I adore André, but it’s not the same. Not even when I was younger and imagined myself to be wildly in love with him.
I've never experienced anything like what I feel for Grant.
We’re so alike, both tortured by our past.
He needs me.
My thoughts return to something André once said. I have chosen to place two damaged people together in the hope they may heal each other. André is a genius. His plan is working.
Grant bravely told his secrets, first to André and now to me. I admire him so much. Continuing to look across the room at this complex, compelling man, I stand up preparing to leave. I still can’t take my eyes off him. I’m with Grant in his home, looking after sweet Briley—and I’ll be here for months!
I couldn’t possibly be any happier than I am right now.
Grant finishes dressing. His head lifts, his gaze meets mine. He’s standing perhaps ten feet away from me yet it seems like no distance at all. A jolt of electric attraction sizzles between us.
Does he sense how perfectly we fit together? Is it love? Or need? Or is it something else? Whatever it is, it’s much more than chemistry.
Smiles are plastered across our features as we gaze at each other for a long, long minute. I wonder if the naked yearning I see in his expression is the same as the one on my own face.
I never, ever want to let him go.
“So, what’s the plan, Batman?” he finally asks.
I instantly burst out laughing.
Grant flushes—he actually flushes with embarrassment.
Incredulous to hear such a silly expression from his normally all-too-serious lips, I repeat his question, “What’s the plan, Batman? Really, Grant?”
He shrugs. “I had a childhood friend years ago who used to say that. I’ve no earthly idea where it came from just now.”
“You’re happy,” I say, a statement of obvious and absolute truth.
“Yes,” he says simply.
My heart leaps and there it is again, that miraculous sense of connection. Yes. One little word that communicates so very much. I can read the world into that one word. Grant is saying that he was scarred and scared. He believed he was a monster—unloved and unlovable, defensive, isolated and alone.
He doesn’t feel that way now.
Yes, he’s happy. Yes, he cares for me. Yes, he’s grateful.
Moments pass while his intense, slate-blue eyes meet mine. His hooded gaze drinks me in, worshiping me, cherishing me… adoring me.
Sex shattered Grant’s world, robbed him of trust and caused him a lifetime of shame. Two days ago, I’d felt shredded by his pain. I wanted to banish the sorrow and soul-destroying guilt from his eyes.
This Grant is no longer uncertain or ashamed. He’s opened his heart and learned to like himself. His acceptance and appreciation feels very much like love.
I clear my throat of the well of emotion that has lodged there. “Well,” I say, shifting restlessly and attempting to sound normal, “I thought we might try some basic touching.”
He frowns and I immediately sense his barriers rise.
I grin. “But first, let’s get something to drink and I’ll go check on Briley.”
With a long-legged stride, Grant exits ahead of me, leading me out of his bedroom. I love the look of his taut buttocks and the muscular shape and length of his thighs. Damn, even his walk is sexy.
My stomach flutters. I doubt I'll ever get enough of this man.
He turns to face me as I move toward my bedroom where Briley is sleeping. “What would you like? Orange juice? Coffee? Something else?” he asks.
I blink. For one long moment I envision a comprehensive example of the something else Grant could provide. Something hot. Something dirty, something raw, primal and really, really raunchy.
Knock it off, Renata! Sheesh! Can’t you keep your mind out of the gutter for three minutes?
“Coffee sounds wonderful,” I manage to choke out, “but it might keep me from sleeping.” Tilting my head, I add, “Do you have any graham crackers? I’m in the mood for graham crackers and milk.”
He nods. “I can do that.”
Briley’s sleeping soundly on his back with one tiny hand near his mouth. I stare at him for some time, soaking him i
n. What will he do with his life? There’s so much potential in this little person before me.
I listen for his almost silent breathing and my nostrils fill with his sweet smell. It’s the clean scent of innocence, new life and endless possibilities.
When I walk downstairs and into the kitchen, Grant already has graham crackers out on the table and is pouring milk into two glasses.
“How’s Briley?” he asks, as he puts the milk back into the fridge.
“Fantastic,” I reply. “Drug issues or not, his parents must be loving. An unloved child could never settle in as easily as he has.”
I take a bite of a cracker and smile at him. “We should take a moment to debrief. I thought our foray into sexual intimacy went pretty well.” I arch an eyebrow in a teasing manner. “I’m not complaining, at any rate. What do you think?”
Grant doesn’t reply. Instead, he slowly and carefully dips a cracker into his milk, takes it out and eats it.
We grin at each other stupidly until I do the same, dunking my cracker into my glass. Unfortunately, my timing's off. Both of us laugh when my graham cracker falls apart into the milk.
“Do you want another glass?” he asks.
“Never!” I protest, using the indomitable voice of a warrior. “Soggy, graham cracker milk is a hazard but it’s an important part of the whole experience.”
Amused by my declaration, the corners of Grant’s mouth tug up with humor. We do that electrically-charged mutual staring thing again. It’s remarkably intense, this link we’ve forged together.
Finally, he takes a deep breath. “I think our liaison tonight went well,” he begins and there’s a rarely seen playful look in his eyes. “With more practice, I believe that I might even learn to be good at it.”
“Reeeeally?” I say, drawing out the word. “Even better than that? Because what we did… that was pretty damned hot.”
“Oh, definitely,” he says.
He grins in a smug, horny male, ‘I want lots and lots of sex,’ manner. I’m grinning the same way, except in a horny female manner.
“I don’t know how much more I can take,” I tell him, “well, without risking spontaneous human combustion.”
Laughing, Grant slouches back in his chair, draping himself over it invitingly. My inner channel clenches and moisture wets my thighs. Already aroused, my body moves from a pleasant sensual buzz to instantly being primed and ready for him.
