The Fed Sex Man: Hot Contemporary Romance

by Scott Hildreth

  She took one last look at the collection of memorabilia. “I suppose so.”

  I flipped out the light and turned toward the hallway. “It’s about time to eat.”

  Although she’d been inside my home before, I hadn’t bothered showing her any of my personal effects. Now that I was being truthful, I felt compelled to do so. It didn’t make the process any easier.

  She followed me into the living room and circled the furniture like a cat trying to decide where to sit.

  An island surrounded by barstools separated the kitchen from the living room. I sat down there and admired her as she perused the living room. Still undecided on where to land, she turned to face me.

  Her face wore a look of concern.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I was just, I don’t know. Looking at all those pictures of you got me thinking.”

  “About?”

  “I want to uhhm.” She scrunched her nose. “Try something.”

  In a display of my childhood antics, I swiveled the barstool from side-to-side. “Care to elaborate?”

  Her lips parted slightly, revealing her desire to speak. For a lingering moment, she remained silent, gazing at me with her mouth open just enough for me to get a glimpse of her snow-white teeth.

  In an expression of her innocence, she pushed her hands into her pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of her bare feet. “The reverse cowgirl,” she whispered. “Can we try it after we eat?”

  Desire rushed through me like a fever. I tried to act indifferent.

  The lasagna was on the counter behind me, waiting to be served. There was no doubt watching her ride my cock would be far more satisfying than eating. I picked my jaw up off the floor and gave a deadpan response.

  “Rumor has it that lasagna’s better cold than it is hot.”

  Her perfectly-sculpted eyebrows raised. “Oh really?”

  “Want to give it a try now?”

  “Which one?” she asked. “The lasagna? Or the sex?”

  “The cowgirl, Cowgirl.”

  “I’ve got a lot of eating experience.” She reached for her belt. “And, a lot of catching up to do on sex.”

  The mere mention of sex had my cock standing at full attention. I slid off the edge of the barstool and pointed at my distorted shorts. “There’s only one way to change that.”

  I’d spent seventeen years screwing every woman that would give me an opportunity. Jo, by her own admission, had done just the opposite. Despite my desire to fuck her every waking moment that she was in my presence, I hoped to spend at least a portion of our idle time growing closer to her on a more intellectual level.

  She, on the other hand, yearned to experiment with sex.

  I decided to combine the two efforts. I could explore her intellectual side while we explored her sexual desires. Considering the books that she’d read, she undoubtedly had a mountain of ideas stored away. By the time we’d satisfied all her wishes, we’d be closer than a married couple.

  Satisfied I’d thwarted one of our relationship’s potential problems, I rid myself of my shorts and boxers in one shove. After tossing my shirt to the side, I glanced in her direction. Topless and bent at the waist, she was struggling to remove her fitted jeans, pushing them along her silky-smooth thighs one frustrating inch at a time.

  “I. Am. Never. Wearing. These. Things. Again.” She shoved against the spandex-infused denim with each abruptly spoken word. “This. Is. Ridiculous.”

  The jeans seemed to be stuck, just above her knees. Bare-assed with her legs bound together by the skin-tight material, she looked up and met my gaze. “Can I get some help?”

  In a hilarious effort to maintain her balance, she hopped across the floor with her pants tangled around her knees, bumping into nearly every object in her wake.

  “Please?” she pleaded, bouncing off the arm of the loveseat as she spoke.

  Before I could provide her with any assistance, she came crashing against the edge of the coffee table. The impact caused her to go reeling in the opposite direction, head over respective ass.

  When she came to a stop, she was midway between the fireplace and the couch, face down and resting against one shoulder, with her bare ass high in the air.

  I glanced at her glistening twat and grinned. “Nice pussy, my dear. Didn’t wear panties today, huh?”

  She flopped onto her side. “Will you help me? Please?”

  With my eyes fixed on her cute little ass, I ambled to her side, struggling all the while not to laugh out loud. “Lift your feet, Grace.”

  She extended her legs. I gripped the hem of her jeans and pulled, fully expecting them to simply slide off her legs. They stretched a foot in length and popped right back into place. Frustrated, I pulled against them so hard I lifted her from the floor. After several all-out tugs, she collapsed onto the floor and I held the jeans.

  “Jesus.” I looked the jeans over. “These things are ridiculous.”

  “I’m never buying another pair of jeggings,” she exclaimed. “Ever!”

  I tossed the jeans aside. “What did you call them?”

  “Jeggings.”

  “What the fuck’s a jegging?”

  “Jeans and leggings,” she said. “Combined.”

  “Jeggings.” I laughed. “That’s the most absurd amalgamation I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’m not even wearing those stupid things home. You can give me a pair of shorts or something. I’m done with them. Throw ‘em in the trash.”

  I was wearing my birthday suit, and she was equally as naked. The mood to have sex, however, seemed to be lost during the commotion.

  “Are you out of the mood?” I asked.

  “No,” she huffed. “This little scrape isn’t going to stop me.”

  “You look cute down there,” I said.

  She adjusted her glasses. “Put your dick in my mouth.”

  If I let her suck my cock, it’d be over before it got started. She was far too good at it. I put my hands against my hips and let out a sigh. “The last time we tried that, you sucked me stupid. I’m not falling for that trick again.”

  She rose to her feet and squatted in front of me, taking my flaccid cock in her hand as she did so. She licked her lips. Paralyzed by anticipation, I watched as she guided it into her mouth. Two strokes of her mouth later, I was as hard as a rock.

  “That’s enough of that.” I retracted my hips and extended my hand. “Come on, Cowgirl. I’ll carry you.”

  I carried her to the bedroom and carefully lowered her to the edge of the bed. Still sporting a rather hard dick, I laid beside her and laced my fingers behind my head. With my erection pointed at the ceiling, I gave the first of what was sure to be many instructions.

  “Alright,” I said. “Here’s how this is done. The girl straddles the guy, and she faces—”

  Mid-sentence, she straddled me. Her fabulous ass inched toward my cock. Despite her lack of experience, she obviously had enough of idea of how to position herself to get started.

  I began to give my first verbal instruction, but she was one step ahead of me, guiding the head of my swollen cock between her legs before I could speak.

  Her dark hair dangled along the center of her narrow back. In complete contrast to her porcelain-colored skin, the long curly locks danced back and forth as she tried to get comfortable. Considering her innocence, seeing her in that position was erotic as hell.

  Mesmerized by her body’s beauty, I watched as she forced herself against my swollen shaft. As it disappeared, so did my desire to do anything but make love to her. After taking one-third of it into her warmth, she paused.

  “Holy crap,” she breathed. “This feels good.”

  My eyes were fixed on the gap between her ass cheeks. Seeing my length disappear a little more with each gyration of her hips was hypnotic. Speechless, I gawked at the sight until my entire cock had vanished.

  “Ohhh-kay.” She glanced over her shoulder. �
��Are you ready?”

  She may have lacked physical experience, but of the ninety-thousand cocks she’d seen on porn sites, it was obvious at least some of them had been in the reverse cowgirl position. I fixed my eyes on her bold black glasses and gave the same nod of approval a professional bull rider gives the gate attendant.

  Slowly and methodically, her pussy devoured my entire length. Awestruck, I watched as I disappeared into her wet confines, repeatedly. With each well-timed stroke, my scrotum tightened a little more.

  “I…” She lowered herself until her clit was against my balls.

  “Love…” Her hips pivoted upward, slowly revealing the length of my stiff girth.

  “Your...” She forced herself along the shaft, until the tip bottomed out.

  “Dick...” She gave three quick successive strokes.

  The last three strokes elevated me to the point of no return. If I didn’t make a change quickly, it was going to be over.

  I drew a shaky breath and tried to clear my mind. During that lull, she began to ride me like a rented mule.

  “What’s your…dream vacation…spot,” I asked in a broken sentence.

  Bouncing on my cock like a kid on a Christmas gift pogo-stick, she glanced over her shoulder.

  “What?” she spat.

  “Favorite. Vacation. Spot.” The words escaped in three distinctly different breaths.

  She stopped moving her hips.

  Her eyes grew angrily narrow. “Whatinthefuckiswrongwithyou?”

  “I’m trying to bond with you,” I explained. “On an intellectual level.”

  She removed her glasses and tossed them at her side. “You’re going to come, aren’t you?”

  “Not if you slow down a little bit and talk to me.”

  She glared for an instant and then turned around. The charade was over. My weakness had been exposed.

  Her hands slid to just below my knees and gripped the flesh firmly. Her hips began the same predictable rhythm of gyrating fore and aft, milking my swollen length of its ability to resist her.

  She arched her back as her sexual tirade gained momentum.

  I gazed blankly at the outline of her body against the sun-lit drapery in the distance. A tingling sense of satisfaction ran along my spine. She’d made me weak for her, and I was enjoying every minute of it.

  Absorbing her beauty was easy. Like a rose transforming from a bud to a fully blossomed flower, she opened a little more each day. I eagerly took in all she offered, yearning for any glimpse into what made her so uniquely attractive to me.

  My scrotum tightened. My cock swelled. My breathing became choppy and unpredictable. It was coming to an end.

  Intellectual banter couldn’t save me. I was past the turning point. Resistance was impossible, so I embraced the inevitable.

  The time had come to fuck.

  My hand came down against the side of her cute little ass with a thwack!

  “Fuck me, you sexy little bitch,” I said though my teeth. “Fuck me!”

  I sat up and gripped her waist with both hands. Although she needed no assistance, I offered enough to remind her that sex was a two-way street.

  “Fuck me!” I forced her downward and my hips skyward, taking the breath from her lungs with the force of my thrust. “Fuck me!”

  “Holy crap,” she moaned.

  I gripped her waist firmly. With my eyes fixed on her sweet little pussy, I fucked her feverishly. “Sexy. Little. Fucking. Bitch.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Keep going!”

  It was clear that I’d met my match.

  I slid my hands to her boobs. While cupping them in my hands, I pinched her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. It was a weakness of her, and I knew it.

  With the same rhythmic passion that we’d shared in the past, we fucked one another fervently. Animalistic grunts and words of encouragement echoed throughout the bedroom as our lovemaking session reached its peak.

  Pressure built within me until I could resist no longer.

  Her body tensed.

  Mine followed.

  “Fuck yes,” I bellowed. “I’m going to come.”

  “Do it,” she groaned.

  I sank my teeth into her shoulder, pulling her against me in the process. Together, as a sexual unit, we reached climax.

  Sparks flew.

  My head spun. The ensuing orgasm was mind-blowing.

  I looked around the room and blinked a few times, not quite certain of what had happened. Upon regaining my wits, I collapsed onto my back.

  She came to rest beside me. After catching her breath, she rolled to her side.

  Her eyes thinned a little. “What was that intellectual vacation spot crap about?”

  “I don’t know.” I sighed. “An idea I had. Getting to know each other while we fucked.”

  “Can we keep the intellectual stuff confined to the dinner table?” she asked. “If we’re going to talk in the bedroom. I prefer the dirty stuff.”

  Calling her a sexy bitch was a risk. I was pleased she enjoyed it. “Intellectual talk in the kitchen, dirty talk in the bedroom. Got it.”

  “Good.” She gestured toward the door with her eyes. “Cold lasagna? I’m starving.”

  “Cold lasagna and a little intellectual conversation.” I sat up. “Sounds good.”

  “Save the intellect for tomorrow.” She twisted her hair into a messy bun and reached for her glasses. “I’m kind of vacant upstairs right now.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think you might have fucked my brains out.”

  “I’m kind of vacant up there too,” I admitted. “You did a number on me.”

  Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “By the time this night’s over, you’re not even going to remember how to tie your shoes.”

  27

  Jo

  Lost in a daydream, I answered the phone without so much as looking at the screen. “This is Jo.”

  “Good morning, Miss Watson. I’m Jessica, SD Hildreth’s wife. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well, thank you,” I responded. “How are you?”

  “I’d be a lot better if my husband wasn’t such an ass. He told me about the conversation he had with you, and I’ve called to apologize for his narrow-mindedness.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I said. “I started reading his memoir, and I kind of understand now that he’s a little different than most. It’s part of what makes him unique, I guess.”

  “Different?” She laughed. “You should try living with him. It’s interesting.”

  I reached for Hildreth’s memoir, which was sitting at the corner of my desk. “From what I’ve read, you two get along really well though, don’t you? I mean, I’m not done with the book, but it sure looks like that’s where everything’s headed.”

  “Oh, we get along great. He’s a wonderful man, if he knows you and likes you. His problem is that he doesn’t trust people. Anyone. So, he goes through life with this crappy look on his face, convinced he’s not going to let anyone get close enough to him to hurt him.”

  I hated to say anything, but after reading the part in his book about what the government did to him, I can’t say that I blamed him. “That’s understandable though, considering what happened to him.”

  “I suppose,” she said. “Again, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s no big deal, really.”

  “If you’re still open to it, he’d love to participate in your promotion,” she said. “We’ll donate whatever you need. As long as it’s successful for you, that’s what matters.”

  I sat up in my seat. “He agreed to that?”

  “He didn’t have a choice.” She laughed. “Yes, he agreed.”

  “Oh. Wow. Uhhm. Well, ten paperbacks is what we like to give away each month. Can you do that?”

  “Sure. What about swag?” she asked.

  “If you’ve got extra, I’d love to have some. Bookmarks. Pencils. Whatever. We use it to promote his work, and, of cou
rse, the store.”

  “Are you sure ten books is enough?”

  “If you want to send a few more, that’d be great. We can do a bigger giveaway.”

  “This helps your bookstore, too. Is that right?” she asked.

  “It brings us a lot of traffic, yes. You know how romance readers love signed paperbacks.”

  “I’ll send fifty,” she said.

  “Holy crap,” I gasped. “Seriously?”

  “If you can make use of them, I’ll send them.”

  Having fifty books would be a game changer for me. I could do all kinds of contests and drive tremendous traffic to the store, and to Mister Hildreth’s work.

  “That would be awesome,” I said.

  “I’ll put together a nice box of swag, too.”

  “That’s just. That’s fantastic. I can’t wait.”

  “I sent you a friend request on Facebook,” she said. “I’ll forward the tracking numbers. You can get with me anytime by PM.”

  “Okay. Thank you, again.”

  “It’s the least we can do,” she said. “I feel awful about what he said.”

  “It was harmless,” I said.

  She sighed. “It’s not always harmless. A few months ago, a publisher sent him an email about a manuscript. He was waiting for her to contact him, but when she did, she didn’t identify herself, so he didn’t realize it was her. She just said, send me the manuscript to your most recent piece of work or something like that. He responded, saying send me the passwords and log-in information to your fucking bank accounts. She sent an email back and said, excuse me? He responded, and said, go fuck yourself, lady. I don’t send manuscripts to anyone. She responded by saying, I’m the representative from XYZ Publishing, and you’re the rudest individual I’ve ever had the opportunity to speak to. He didn’t apologize. He sent her another email, explaining that if she’d have identified herself, everything would have been fine. He went on to say that her lack of doing so proved that she was either ridiculously pretentious, or ridiculously unprofessional. Either way, he told her, he wasn’t willing to do business with someone like her. Needless to say, that relationship ended long before it even started.”