by Eve Black
If they were still getting married.
Determined to settle things, once for all, she spun on her heel to tell Michael she’d decided to marry him as expected, but he was right behind her, nearly atop her. She slammed into his chest, her breasts pressed against the hard planes of his body. She tried to take a step back, but Michael’s hand slid up her ass, coming to rest on her hip, holding her in place.
Her breath lodged in her throat, and she peered up into his face through the fan of her coppery lashes. He was staring down at her, his blue eyes midnight framed by long, black lashes. His lips were pursed, and his jaw muscles jumped. Her heart jolted, and her pulse pounded, and her skin turned to fire.
“I had a good time tonight,” she blurted, desperate to break the tension.
Michael's left eyebrow arched, and his lips cocked in an utterly panty-melting smile.
“I did, too, Helene,” he drawled, and she could feel the tension only tighten.
What is happening?
She swallowed, making to turn away and head to her room, where she would immediately take a long, cold shower. But his hand on her hip slid to press against her lower back. Her gaze flew up to meet his, and his gaze flicked over her face, searching her expression, her eyes. But what was he looking for?
“You aren’t leaving so soon, are you?” he asked, as his other hand came up and his finger brushed her cheek, gliding down, feather-light, to skim her lips.
She held her breath, her whole body waiting, hoping… He leaned in, brushing his lips over hers, a soft caress that sent tingles of hot want straight to her core. He did it again, brushing a slow, teasing kiss over her lips, and she waited…but she had no idea what she was waiting for, what she was yearning for. She’d never known a man like Michael, had never been kissed by a man like Michael, and she had no clue what to do. She only knew she was on fire, her breasts ached, her nipples strained into pebbles, and her thighs quaked.
“Helene…” Michael murmured, his mouth only a breath from hers.
“Yes?” she breathed, her throat closing around the single word as desire rose up to choke her.
Michael’s finger returned to her face, tracing the line of lips, his gaze following his finger’s path, but then his gaze met hers, and she thought the world would explode from inside her.
“Don’t I get a goodnight kiss?” he drawled, his words like lava licking through her veins.
His now midnight blue eyes were blazing hot, swirling with desire and need so scorching, it burned her. It couldn’t be possible. She was Helene, chubby and sassy and nothing at all like the women he could get… So why was he leaning in again? Why was he brushing his mouth over hers again? And why was she melting into him?
He deepened the kiss, taking her mouth like a man starving. He groaned, reaching up to cup her face, holding her steady for the plundering. Helene slid her hands over his chest, reveling in the feeling of the rock-hard muscles beneath his t-shirt. And as he kissed her, drawing out her every breath, engorging her every nerve, she reached up to loop her arms around his neck, and tangle her fingers in the silky black hair at his nape.
God, this is what it felt like to be kissed by a man like Michael—no, this is what it felt like to be kissed by Michael. The one and only. And it was devastating.
Michael groaned again, and she moaned in response, her head swimming, her heart racing, but then he pulled away, breaking their kiss and pulling her arms from around his neck. She dropped her hands to her sides, and stared up at him, her confusion a palpable thing. He stood there, chest heaving, and ran his fingers through his hair, his face hard, his eyes closed. An expression of anguish etching lines into his brow.
It sunk in then…it was a mistake. He was regretting kissing her.
What a fool you are, Helene, to think a man like Michael would ever truly desire you.
Swallowing down the burn of humiliation, Helene forced a laugh.
“Well, that’s one hell of a goodnight,” she said, her voice reed thin, before quitting the room.
The cool colors of the guest bedroom did nothing to douse the flames…of her shame.
8
Michael punched his pillow for what felt like the millionth time that night, then rolled over to check the digital readout of the clock on his nightstand.
4:00
Shit. If he didn’t get to sleep, he didn’t think he could function on a full brain, even without most of his blood pooled in his cock, where it had been since walking in to find Helene folding her panties.
"I need medicine," he grumbled, and by medicine, he meant the concoction his momma would make him when he couldn't get to sleep. Milk and honey, with warm chamomile tea.
Grunting, he rolled out of bed, ignoring the pants on the floor beside his shoes. It was his house, he didn’t feel the need to get dressed, especially since Helene was hiding away in her room, angry at him for some unknown reason.
Damn! He thought their kiss was the best thing to happen all evening, and then he’d broken the kiss, feeling like a total ass for kissing her. She’d agreed to marry him, which meant she agreed with the non-consummation, hands-off policy he put in place—back when he didn’t think, in a lifetime of chances—that he would be attracted to his potential bride.
Oh, he was attracted to her alright, and it was eating him up inside. He wanted to tell her that, to explain to her that he wanted to trash the non-consummation clause and consummate the hell out of their marriage, but she’d looked stricken, truly ashamed, like she couldn’t believe she allowed herself to be touched by him…kissed by him. God, but he wanted to do more than touch her, kiss her. He wanted to plant his cock inside her and feel her hot, wet, tight channel pulse around him. He wanted to taste her passion on his tongue. He hungered to lick the cum from her cunny, and then watch as she did the same to him—wrapping those luscious lips of hers around his swollen, eager cock.
Growling, he threw open his bedroom door and strode down the hallway toward the kitchen. Chamomile tea? Hell, to get to sleep, he’d need a hammer to the fucking head.
He flipped on the light, determined into drink the hell out of that tea and make himself sleep, and he immediately wondered if he hadn’t already fallen asleep…because his hottest, wettest, most delicious fantasy was standing at the counter, a half-gallon of ice cream in her hand, and a spoon dangling from her mouth. With only a thin tank top, Michael could see the lush globes of her large, beautiful breasts, and the tips of her erect pink nipples. And that wasn’t all… Helene was wearing the smallest, sexiest pair of lavender panties he had ever seen, they barely covered the round curves of her bodacious ass, and they dipped in the front, beneath her navel, to tease at the soft curls he could see through the sheer fabric.
“Fuck,” he blurted, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady himself. He hung his head, trying to keep the blood in his brain from rushing into his groin—too late.
“Damn! I’m sorry, Michael! I didn’t think—”
Growling, like the animal she unleashed, he didn’t give her time to finish her sentence. He was around the counter in a blink, his hands in the cascade of soft, red curls, his mouth devouring her mouth—chocolate mint.
Helene gasped, and he thrust his tongue home, tasting, teasing, exploring, begging for Helene to give in, to give him whatever the hell his body was yearning for.
For her. He was yearning for her.
Never in her life had she felt such utter longing. Michael was there, kissing her like a man dying of thirst, and she couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t touch enough of him.
When he’d come into the kitchen and turned on the light, the ice cream she’d been devouring was nothing compared to the deliciousness that appeared before her. Wearing only a pair of tight black underwear, Helene could see nearly every inch of Michael’s body—and the parts she couldn’t see were still visible. The large bulge in his underwear made her mouth water and her throat tighten. Why was she suddenly so ravenous?
And then, he kissed her, gr
abbing hold of her and blowing her mind with his mouth on hers. Fuck…she was in deep shit.
Michael broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers as they both breathed raggedly.
“Michael?” she croaked, her mind both numb and frantic. What was going on? Was he actually interested in her…like that?
“Damn, Helene, I just…I saw you standing there, looking like a fuck-me cake and I just had to have a taste,” Michael ground out, and Helene buried her face in the corded muscles of his bare chest. The heat of him poured into her, his scent—musk and sexiness—filled her nostrils, and suddenly she couldn’t think of a good reason not to kiss him, not to press her lips to his chest and lick the sweat from his body.
“Only if I can have one, too,” she found herself purring. And when he pulled back and looked down at her with eyes so smoldering she lost her breath, she knew she’d said the right thing.
Without a word, Michael took her hand and led her down the hallway and into his room. Once she was in the middle of the room, he stopped, turning to look at her in the dim light filtering in through the large bedroom windows. The gloom and shadows were her friends, hiding most of her rather billowy body from his eyes. He didn't need to see it to feel his way…
“Come here,” he demanded, the command in his voice sending shivers of hot desire licking through her blood.
With only a moment to steady her legs, Helene walked to Michael, stopping just in front of him. He reached out, grabbed the bottom of her favorite sleeping shirt, and pulled it up, over her head, and tossed it onto the floor. Now, there were only her panties hiding the last private piece of her.
On instinct, Helene raised her arms to cover her breasts, but Michael’s grunt stopped her.
“Don’t you dare cover those…they’re beautiful,” he drawled, the truth like a pike to her belly. He really thought her…beautiful?
Michael’s gaze was bold, accessing her frankly. Helene held her breath, her mind racing. What would he think? If the lights were on, would he be disgusted? Would he walk away, thankful for the non-consummation clause? The agonizing anticipation was nearly unbearable.
Finally, Michael came to her, taking her mouth once again—and by taking she meant owning. He took possession, urging her to open for him, so he could deepen that possession. And while his mouth stole her breath, his hands were on her waist, slowly making their way up until his thumbs brushed the super-sensitive underside of each breast. She shuddered, even the tiniest touch of his hand on her aching breasts was like a revelation. But then, he was cupping her breasts, taking their weight into his palms. She moaned into his kiss, shuddering again when his thumbs brushed against her straining nipples. She broke the kiss to groan.
His deep chuckle made her all the wetter; she knew her panties were already soaked through. He flicked her nipples again, and she arched into him, closing her eyes to focus all her attention on his hands and the wicked things she wanted him to do with them.
Unable to see him, she was both shocked and awed when his hot, wet mouth encircled her left nipple, sucking on it. Her knees were in danger of giving out, as was her heart.
“Michael…” she groaned, praying he understood her urgency.
Barely pulling away, Michael eased her toward the bed, then slowly backed her up until her thighs hit the edge of the mattress. He looped his arm around her shoulders and gently laid her back, his eyes never leaving her face, as though he were just as fascinated by her as she was by him. As the soft fabric of his sheets slid over the flesh of her exposed ass cheeks, she felt Michael's weight as he knelt on the bed over her. He bent down, taking possession of her mouth once more, and she let her hands roam free. She pressed her hands against the hard flesh of Michael's chest. Sleek muscle made of steel. As he continued the kiss, she slid her hands over his shoulders, up his neck, and then back down to the muscles just behind his shoulders. God damn the man was hard everywhere! On impulse, she dug her nails into his back, and he tensed, then…he groaned. A deep, guttural sound that thrummed through her core. Her belly clenched, her need for him only growing. But…she was a virgin. Michael was Michael, he'd probably slept with more women than could fit in his penthouse, so his experience in the bedroom far surpassed hers.
What if I’m not any good? What if…I can’t please him?
Suddenly anxious, Helene pushed against his chest, breaking their kiss.
“Michael…I don’t think this is a good idea,” she rasped, shuddering again as his fingers slid into her hair. Held between his palms, her face was the sole focus of his attention.
“Why not?” he asked, his voice equally as raspy.
She swallowed, willing her body to calm the hell down. “I’ve…never been with a man before, and…”
His grip on her face tightened, and she peered up into his midnight eyes.
“You think that because you’ve never had sex that you shouldn’t?” he asked, incredulously.
She tried to shake her head. “No, I just…well, I’m scared that I’m not going to…you know…”
She watched as realization dawned. The wickedness of the smile that grew on his face should have damned them both to hell for eternity.
“Helene, believe me, I am already enjoying this far more than my cock can handle,” he ground out. “With as fucking hard as I am right now, I just might explode without ever getting into the lush body of yours.”
The naughtiness of his words made every nerve in her body misfire.
“But…if you want to wait until tomorrow…when I fuck you as my lawful wife, I will,” he drawled, and her heart began hammering against her sternum—did that mean he wasn’t going to finish what he started tonight?
A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “I can tell by the look of panic on your face that you’re worried about all that pent-up lust…” He leaned down, taking a nipple into his mouth and nipping with his teeth. She started, her body nearly flying clean off the bed. He raised his head and met her gaze. “Does my bride to be like it when I bite those sweet nipples of hers?”
Breathless, Helene nodded. Michael grinned devilishly and bent to take her nipple into his mouth again. With his hands and his mouth, Michael kneaded her breasts, biting, licking, and sucking on them until she couldn't form a coherent thought. She was lost to him, and he hadn't even touched her where she needed it most. Her dripping wet pussy was aching, the lips of her labia swollen and throbbing.
But then, as if sensing her body’s cry for release, Michael slid his hand down, over the smoothness of her soft belly and under the band of her panties. At the feeling of his fingers moving over the curls at her apex, her breath caught, and when those same fingers breached the folds of her pussy she began trembling.
“Holy fuck, you are so wet, Helene,” Michael grumbled, gazing up into her face with a look of awe in his eyes. “If I can’t fuck you yet, I’m at least going to get my fill of all this sweet, creamy goodness.”
Before the words cleared the haze in her brain, Michael was inching down her body, kissing the sensitive flesh as he moved along. She could feel his hot, uneven breaths against her belly button.
Then, his hot breath was blowing against her wet pussy. She groaned, writhing. And when he slid his fingers further into her aching folds, she opened her legs wider, panting.
“Michael, please… Do it. Taste me. Make me come!” She didn’t know where the hell that came from, but she didn’t care. She needed his mouth on her like she needed her next breath.
“As you wish…” He opened his mouth and flicked his tongue over her lips, right through her panties. He removed his hands then used his right hand to pull the panties to the side, giving him a sliver of access to her most aching parts. Then his tongue was there again, lapping at her, pressing in to flick against the engorged bud of her clit.
The touch of his tongue on her clit sent a shock wave of ecstasy through her. She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut as the urge to scream built in her chest. With his other hand, he spread her lips wide
, and he deepened his naughty kiss. Flattening his tongue, Michael lapped at her entrance, teasing her with the promise of filling her, then he pressed in.
“Oh. My. God!” she cried, lifting her hips to give him more of her, so he could take more of her.
“Yes, mmmm, that’s it,” Michael cooed, stroking her already taut nerves. “You taste so good, baby, just like I knew you would. I could eat you forever.”
"God, eat me, Michael," she murmured, throwing her head back and arching up. Her hands at her own breasts, she cupped them, squeezing them. She was wild, an animal desperate for the taste of completion.
Michael bent to deliver another, long, hard lick, then he took a finger and slid it into the aching heart of her, then he pulled it out. Then he slid it in again. He did the same with two fingers, in and out, filling her with a yearning that burned through her like a wildfire.
Sensations she’d never felt before began to spread out from her core, twisting her, burning her, sending electrical jolts through her. And when Michael grabbed her hips and pushed her down into the mattress, he dove in with even more fervor. With every stroke of his tongue, the sensations spread, growing stronger, winding her tighter. He took her clit into his mouth, sucking on it, twirling his tongue around it—and she detonated!
Screaming, Helene felt the charged air around her explode. Dancing lights behind her eyes blinded her, and she arched up into Michael’s mouth as he continued to devour every last drop of her come.
Once her screams subsided, and the stars had faded to a soft twinkling, Helene finally dared to move. She reached down and dragged her nails down Michael’s back. He groaned, and she looked down into his eyes. The sight of him, his mouth swollen and glistening, made her heart somersault. He was magnificent. And when he smiled, showing her a row of white teeth, he looked like a wolf, chuffing in pride.
He should be proud. She’d never known such bliss in her life.
