He does none of those things. He just keeps on driving.
I take encouragement from this. I get the feeling that if it was anyone else but me, he wouldn’t even consider allowing it. As I’ve realized he’s got a heart of gold under that tough-guy shell, maybe he’s also realized something: I’ll be careful with him, too. He’s trusting me with his beautiful body and his damaged soul. This makes me want to not only honor that trust but give him the most spectacular orgasm(s) of his life.
I undo his belt. Quietly triumphant at my one-handed dexterity, I unzip his jeans and I – at first – very gently slide my fist along his huge shaft. Damn, he’s hard. Like satin-covered stone. I use his pre-cum, sliding it all over him, to wet his cock until he’s slick and silky.
And then I grip him a little more tightly, gliding my fist faster, squeezing and working him, milking him in firm, gentle pulls. I feel his body tighten. His cock begins to jerk. And I feel the warm spill of his cum all over my hand.
He’s slowing the bike now and I think it might be because he wants to zip himself up but then we’re turning into a gated driveway and I realize we’re there. We’re at the party and wow he wasn’t kidding when he said this friend of his was filthy rich. It’s a huge stone castle-like mansion with big windows and stone balconies. There’s even a turret. The house is artfully lit with glittering lights both inside and out and there’s a fountain in the middle of the circular driveway.
Jake drives up to the marble stairs that lead to an ornate wooden front door, which is open and attended by what appears to be valets and butlers. I wonder if Jake should’ve stopped and cleaned up and at least put his cock back into his jeans but then I notice that some of the other people arriving are … not wearing much of anything at all. One woman has a sort of dress on that’s made of fine gold chains that’s clearly designed to show off her body and not reveal a single inch of it. She has long blond hair and her breasts are high and round. Her nipples are pierced and the gold chains are attached to the rings there. The man she’s with is wearing leather chaps. And only leather chaps.
Jake pulls his bike up onto the grass, not bothering to have it parked for him. He kills the engine and uses his t-shirt to clean himself up then zips up his jeans. He climbs off the bike and helps me off, taking my helmet. “You could’ve gotten us killed,” he says, but there’s that understated amusement again, that cool charisma.
“It was worth the risk,” I tell him, and he surprises me by taking my hand.
“You ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
We walk up the marble stairs and we’re approached by a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses. Jake takes two and hands one to me as we enter the grand house. The front hallway is stone, lit by several standing gold candelabras. We’re led down a red carpet and into a huge open room, also softly lit with candles and several strings of overhanging fairy lights.
The scene is like something out of a movie.
A very x-rated one.
Almost everyone is naked or in some state of undress. Some people are wearing masks. People are touching and moaning and having sex. Some are talking and drinking. There’s a man sitting on a red velvet chair with a woman kneeling between his spread knees, sucking his cock, swirling her tongue around it before taking him deep. A man’s reclined on the couch with one woman gyrating slowly on his face while another gyrates onto his cock, impaling herself over and over, her head thrown back and her eyes closed; another man fingers her ass and her breasts as she moves. Two women are engaged in a sixty-nine position on a rug in front of the huge lit fireplace, each being fucked by a man as they lick and suck the other woman and the man who’s fucking her at the same time. Near them, a woman is sitting astride a man, getting fucked by his cock while another man slides his shaft in and out of her ass. She’s moaning loudly, in ecstasy.
Meanwhile, waiters are strolling around as though this was any other cocktail party, offering separate trays of condoms and lube, joints, exotic hors d’oevres and full glasses of champagne, red wine, white wine and what looks like shots of tequila.
A guy recognizes Jake. He’s wearing a fur coat that’s been splashed with red paint. He’s tall and good-looking, with dark blond hair and a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. He’s with a beautiful dark-haired woman and he takes her hand as they walk over to us.
The man shakes Jake’s hand. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it, man. Good to see you.” The guy’s gaze turns to me and he gives me a thorough, slightly lascivious once-over.
“Cole, Zara,” says Jake. “Zara, this is Cole Peyton. Our host.”
“And this is Bianca, a friend,” says Cole. Bianca is wearing nothing but a delicate silver chain around her waist. She has full breasts, olive skin and is completely shaved from … well, from the waist down.
“You guys are overdressed,” comments Cole. “Help yourself to adult beverages, illegal substances, rubbers and food. Whatever. There are different rooms for different preferences, and some empty bedrooms upstairs if you two prefer some privacy.”
“What happened to your coat?” I can’t help asking. I wonder if it’s real.
“My mother was wearing her seventy-five-thousand-dollar mink in the city last week and look what happened. Some animal-rights group on the warpath. I like it better with the pop of color, don’t you? Definitely lifts the whole look.” I can’t figure out if Cole is gay or straight or some combination thereof. Not that it matters. This is clearly an anything-goes-and-then-some kind of party.
Bianca weaves her arm through mine as Jake and Cole talk. “I’ll give you tour if you want.” She has an accent, which I can’t immediately place. Brazil, maybe.
“Sure.”
I glance at Jake. He takes a shot of tequila from a passing tray and knocks it back. “I’ll be right here,” he says.
I don’t really want to leave Jake, weirdly, but Bianca’s pulling me by the hand and Jake’s talking to his friend, so I follow Bianca into the next room, which is dimly lit and looks like it might be a formal living room but all the furniture has been removed and the floor’s now covered in cushions. On the cushions is a mass of maybe twenty naked bodies, writhing and fucking and entwined into every imaginable position, some of which look downright acrobatic. One thing every person at this party seems to have in common: they’re all exceptionally good-looking. And, I can’t help noticing, the men all seem to be exceedingly well-endowed. There’s a dark-skinned man in the middle of the pile who’s clearly the crowd favorite. He’s got four women vying for his ‘gift’ – and what a gift it is. I’m no mathematician but from over here I’m guessing twelve inches might be a conservative estimate.
I feel like asking Cole how he managed to compile his party list.
We’re moving on to the next room, the dining room. The table is covered with food. Strawberries, chocolate dipping sauce, honey, whipped cream. Trays of oysters on ice. People are feeding each other, smearing food onto each other, licking the food off each other. Two guys and a girl are sitting on a couch feeding each other strawberries. They wave to Bianca, and try to summon her to go to them.
A naked woman adorned with whipped cream is reclined on a chaise with three men attending to her: one sucking her breasts, one licking her pussy, and one kissing her mouth. She’s coming, loudly. When her screams calm, the man at her mouth repositions himself, smearing his cock with honey and offering it to her. She starts hungrily licking it off. The man at her breasts starts squeezing her big breasts together as he slides his big cock between them. The man at her pussy thrusts his cock into her and starts fucking her hard.
God.
We’re standing there, and Bianca gently brushes my hair back behind my shoulder. “You’re very beautiful,” she says. We’re both getting turned on by the sight of the woman getting fucked by three men.
“You are, too.” She’s exotic-looking, with her dark hair and bronze-colored skin. She has full, red lips.
“Cole’s right,” she says, reaching f
or the silk tie of my short, wrap-around dress. “You are overdressed.” I’ve had several shots of whiskey and a glass of champagne by this point and I’m feeling my relaxed, starry buzz. I let her untie the knot so my dress falls open. I’m not wearing anything else except my tall boots. My breasts fall free of the fabric with a delicate bounce. Bianca reaches her arms around me to tie the dress at the back, revealing me fully.
I’m already wet, from the motorcycle ride and now all this.
She’s close to me. Her breasts brush against mine and the light, soft touch against my nipple sends a channel of warmth to my core and makes me gasp. She kisses me, very gently, touching her tongue to my lower lip. Before I can gently protest, she pulls back. “Your Jake is to die for. You shouldn’t leave him alone for too long.”
She smiles and blows me an air kiss as she walks toward the group on the couch. She sits on one of the men’s laps and he starts kissing her breasts.
I make my way back to Jake and I don’t bother re-tying my dress.
When I reach him, Cole is gone and Jake’s leaning against a wall. There are four naked girls talking to him and two of them are kissing each other. They’re close to him and he’s watching them coolly but he looks big and mean, surrounded like a caged animal: a dark-eyed jungle cat who might attack at any moment.
When he sees me, his eyes get even darker. Just at the sight of him, I get even wetter. So much has happened. So many images echoing through my mind and pulsing through my body. I can’t help think of that woman in ecstasy, being circled and pleasured by all those men with their big, hard cocks.
Jake can see me. My full breasts and my slick pussy.
The girls notice the way Jake’s looking at me and they fade into the background.
All I can see is Jake.
All I care about is Jake.
I gasp in surprise as he pushes me up against the wall, corralling me with his big body. His leg pushes my thighs apart and his hand is on my throat. Loosely, but still. I struggle, and mutter an oath, angry that he would do that … and so turned on I think I might go mad.
“Jake.”
“Are you showing off, Zara?” he rasps into my ear. “You want everyone to see that luscious little body? You want all these people to see your wet pussy?”
“Everyone’s naked,” I whisper. “I –”
“That pussy’s mine.”
“Jake –”
“Do you want me?”
“I – yes. You know I do.”
“You want me here? Now?”
“No, I –”
“Then what are you doing tempting me like this, all hot and wet and ready for me.”
We’re drawing attention, especially when his hot fingers slide against my slippery sex and I moan. And when two of his fingers dip into my saturated core and his thumb skates across my clit, I don’t care who’s watching. My head falls back I enter a state of arousal so high and so sweet, I don’t have room in my world for modesty, or anything else. I like that my breasts are full and my nipples are beaded exposed like that, for all to see. For him to see. I love that I’m his. That other men are watching me. That other women are watching him touch me. He’s chosen me. He’s mine.
Jake’s fingers slide deeper. His thumb slides against my clit in a dazzling, circular caress and oh, god I realize I’m moaning again.
Please, Jake, I hear myself beg.
I’m dying for more. My wanton inner slut has been unleashed – by him – and he knows this. He’s playing me like a goddamn expert. Like a genius who’s far better at this than anyone should be.
“You’re so damn wet,” he murmurs in my ear, leaning close enough so that the coarse silk of his hair brushes my flushed cheek. “You love it, don’t you, sweetheart? You fucking love me getting you off in front of all these people.”
I can’t even speak. But I do love it. I love how hot and how dirty he is and how skilled those damn fingers are. I love this sensual, liberated side of myself that doesn’t care about anything except how ridiculously aroused he gets me and how much I want to get fucked by him. My sexuality has been unleashed and it’s a crazy feeling.
“Don’t you?” he growls, his voice low and menacing. Here’s the big bad Jake Wolfe, the dark rebel that drives me wild.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Jake. Yes.”
I cry out when his fingers slide deeper, touching some insanely sensitive place inside me as his thumb presses deftly against my slippery clit. The pleasure takes hold, rippling in fluttering waves that begin in my core, exploding through my body in tidal surges that are so good and so intense I’m only vaguely aware of the people around me, the faces that fade in and out of my blurred vision. I only care about how big he is, how warm and strong and aggressive, holding me up and touching me, sliding his fingers deeper.
“We’re gonna go and find somewhere more private now, Zara,” Jake murmurs, and I’m still coming. The waves are long and he’s doing something with his thumb and his fingers to spin the pleasure deeper and higher. The sweet, clenching bliss is completely overwhelming me. “We’re gonna walk through these rooms and you’re gonna leave your dress open so everyone can see how beautiful you look and how fucking turned on you are. For me. Then I’m going to take you upstairs and teach you some things you can’t learn in an Ivy League classroom. Are you ready for me?”
“Yes. God, Jake, yes.” My pussy is still pulsing around his fingers but he slips free of me and I think I might go insane from the sudden removal of his touch. There are tears in my eyes, from the rock-my-world orgasm and also from my need to get closer, to feel more of him. Now.
Jake takes my hand and starts leading me through the rooms of people. Eyes are on us. People call to us and say things. Things about how we look and how they want us to join them.
We barely notice.
Jake’s leading me away from the crowd and the noise, up the stairs.
We keep climbing, past the bedrooms.
Up and up.
Into the turret, with its big wooden door and stone walls. It’s warm, and dark. Quiet. There’s a large bed. The only light comes from outside the expansive windows, from the stars and a crescent moon against the night sky.
Jake closes the door.
And locks it.
I can’t be as gentle as I probably should be. I’m too far gone. She’s so damn ready for me. So needy for my big cock. Which is exactly what she’s going to get.
But not yet.
First I’m going to make her come a few more times so I don’t hurt her. She’s small. Her pussy is unbelievably tight. And unbelievably wet. She’s the hottest little goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. I’m going to soften her up and drive her wild and fuck her so good she’ll never forget this night.
For all the right reasons.
Tonight’s different.
Zara’s different. I don’t want to hurt her. Always before, the pain was even more important as the pleasure, the need to give pain a dark force in me that I’ve never been able to completely control.
I’m not sure if I’ll be able to, but tonight I want to control it. I want to give only the kind of pain that heightens pleasure, and nothing more.
The beast is in me, though, fighting to break free. I can feel it. I can feel its fury.
I let go of her hand and peel off her dress, tossing it aside. I pull off her high-heeled boots. I want her completely naked.
Her body is sublime in the moonlight. Her breasts are pale and creamy with their rosy, puckered peaks. I’m going to taste and bite and suck on those nipples until she’s moaning and coming. I’m going to feast on her luscious, youthful body until she’s so sated all she can do is sigh and sleep.
I take off my shirt and rip off a strip of it. And another. I’ve let Zara touch me more than any other girl has ever touched me. I’m not sure why. She’s sensitive to a side of me she can’t know about. She’s careful.
Tonight I don’t want careful. And I know by now girls get crazy in the throes of lust. They get dema
nding and pushy with their need to come. I’m in charge tonight and I’m going to make sure I stay that way.
I push her onto the bed, gently – or at least as gently as I can. Her eyes are wide but she’s willing. She’s on her back and I position her, pulling her a little further up the bed. I take one of her wrists and I tie it to the bed post. Then I tie her other wrist. I want her legs free so I can turn her lower body. I’m going to feast on her everywhere and I want full access.
She doesn’t protest but I can see her racing pulse at the base of her throat and her full breasts are rising and falling with her breath.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
My cock is – once again – throbbing and rock-hard. I unzip my jeans to ease the pain. I let my jeans fall and I kick them off. I crawl onto the bed, crouching over her.
“Jake,” she whispers.
I’m scaring her a little, I can see that. I can reassure her but there’s no need. Once I get going, she’ll forget about fear and everything else. “It’s all about your pleasure, darlin’,” I say, hearing the own drawl in my accent that comes out every now and then. “Relax, if you can.”
I take her breasts in my hands and squeeze them gently together so her nipples are close together. I take one of the tight buds between my teeth and bite it softly until she gasps. Then I draw it into my mouth and suck it deep, laving my tongue over the underside of the tip until it’s nice and wet. I do the same to her other nipple, taking turns and kneading her breasts as gently as I can until both creamy mounds are wet and juicy and hot. She’s moaning now and her legs fall open. I could touch her clit now and make her come but I want to work her up this time, so the orgasm is extreme. Life-changing. I want to blow Zara Ashe’s fucking body and mind with pleasure.
Taming Jake Wolfe Page 7