by Alexis Angel
I want to fuck him.
There. I said it. I said fuck. That’s what I want to do to Derrick.
Right. Now.
His shirt is hugging every corner and crevice of his muscles. I know I’m staring, but I don’t care anymore.
“I want you,” the words are low and soft, but my thoughts are aggressive and forceful.
“What?” He asks, looking over his shoulders.
“You heard me. I want you,” I repeat myself, licking my lips because I know it drives him crazy.
“Now?” He asks with wide eyes.
“Right fucking now,” I squint my eyes.
For a second he just looks at me and I think he’s contemplating his options, but then he charges towards me, gripping the nape of my neck ferociously as he takes my mouth, swooping his tongue around. Forcing me backwards, my legs scurry until I feel a rough hard surface against my back. Glancing sideways I can tell he’s pinned me to a tree. Actually, we’re surrounded by them, and although we can hear voices, we can’t see anyone.
“Fuck me, Derrick,” the words roll off my tongue and without hesitation, he lifts me into the air, my legs instantly wrapping around him as he pulls my hair back to attack my neck with that mouth.
Our bodies are fighting as we both rush to feel each other, our addictions growing quite lethal.
“Fucking hell,” he growls, reaching below my dress. I hear the lace tear as I scramble my hands on his belt buckle, working to free his rock hard length. The wind is cool on my wet sex, the breeze hitting me naked bottom since Derrick is lifting my dress readying me for him.
“Fucking do it!” He growls as I fumble with his belt from this weird angle. Finally, I unzip his pants and his cock falls heavily into my waiting hand. The instant I touch him he groans deeply before adjusting my hips so his head is right at my opening. Holding still, he looks deeply in my eyes. There’s something he wants to tell me, but I can’t be sure what it is. Sometimes I feel like he’s seeing right through me, reading through all my lies. It’s like he knows who I really am, and he’s just pretending to go along with everything. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.
What do you mean a guilty conscience? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.
“Give me a kiss,” he whispers and I smirk in astonishment. He’s preparing to ravish me, I can see it in his eyes, but he’s so gentle just before entering me.
“You never ask,” I tilt my head, my hands locked behind his neck.
“I’m asking now,” he smirks and I lean in to kiss him ever so slowly, our lips locked in a sensual passion as our tongues dance together in perfect harmony.
Derrick slides into me slowly, I gasp into his mouth and he swallows it, lifting me by my waist as I curve my back and swivel my hips so that I’m waving onto his manhood. It’s the slowest we’ve ever been, and its nothing short of incredible, I feel every inch of him, all eleven, as he groans in my mouth while thrusting forward.
My fingers clasp the short hairs at the base of his neck, my legs squeezing his midsection. Derrick has one hand in my hair, directing my head to control my mouth, while the other roams between massaging my breast and lifting my body at my hip. Using my arms and legs, I’m riding him on my own, pressing my ass against the tree for leverage.
“Derrick, baby, yes!” I moan in his ear before nibbling his soft skin and tugging at his earlobe. Tracing his ear with my tongue, I moan seductively, which I know drives him wild.
“Fuck!” He bites out as his hands drop to my waist, his body pushing for his climax. I grip tightly as he pounds into me harder with each thrust, his massive cock filling me to my max.
“Right there!” I beg. My hips are tilted at the perfect angle and he’s hitting my hotspot over and over. God, he feels amazing.
“Faster,” I plead and he instantly kicks into overdrive, his hands tightly grasping my hips, pulling me roughly into his hard pelvis.
“You want me to fuck you?” He growls.
“Yes, baby,” I moan and he fucks me even harder, pumping me full of hard cock until an orgasm sneaks up on me out of nowhere. Covering my mouth to conceal my cries, I’m shocked when Derrick puts me down on the ground. Without a word, he turns me around and places my hands on the tree trunk and I know to hold on. I hear him behind me before he lifts my hips, sliding me back onto his steel erection.
“Oh, I’ll fuck you, baby,” he growls before slamming into me, easing out and slamming back. Lifting onto my tippy toes, I push off of the tree to collide with him, his pelvis causing my ass to shake violently.
“Oh God!” I moan. I love him slow, I love him rough.
Wait. I was talking about the sex. Don’t go putting words in my mouth. I don’t mean I love Derrick. I mean, I don’t know what I mean. He feels incredible and that’s what I’m talking about now. Don’t get me off topic.
“Take it, baby,” he growls, his pace quickening even further. My body is building for another orgasm, and I’m trying to prepare myself so I don’t yell so loudly this time. We are outside, in a public park, in New York fucking City, for Christ’s sake.
“Yes! Derrick! Yes!” I moan, my head going lower and lower, the angle of him hitting my front vaginal wall is just too fucking good. My right leg wanders into the air and he grips it with one hand, so now I’ve got to balance on one high heel donned foot.
“You’re so fucking sexy!” He bites out and my climax takes over. I try to keep it to moans, but a few yelps slip through the cracks, it just feels too good. My pleasure always turns him on, and I can tell by his lack of control that he’s on the edge of exploding himself. His hips are rocking into me with no regard, his hands so tightly gripped I know they’ll leave a mark. Turning to look over my shoulder, I catch his eye as he rocks in and out of me quickly. The second I lick my lips his eyes wash over with lust, and his lids close slowly as his head falls back in ecstasy.
He growls loudly when he stills in me. I can feel his cock jerking and pumping out his spunk. He cums so fucking much! I keep milking him, clenching my pussy around him, sliding back and forth, on and off his trembling length.
“Take it all,” he growls, pushing his hips into me while squeezing my ass. His pelvis keeps thrusting forward until his cock is completely still, and then he pulls out of me slowly.
Pulling me back to a standing position, he kisses me fiercely, leaving me panting when he pulls away.
“You’re fucking perfect,” is all he says before squatting down between my legs. Removing a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he gently wipes between my legs.
“Thank you,” I blush. The way he cares for me after ravishing my pussy is almost more intimate than the sex itself.
“I’ll always take care of you, love,” he says sternly, looking through me in the way that makes me a bit uneasy.
“And I’ll always take care of you,” I smile. And I mean it. I do care about him, and don’t go giving me that look. I don’t know what it means yet, but he’s not out on a limb alone. I’m there with him in some way, I’m just not sure what that way is just yet.
“I believe you.” He assures me and it does actually put me at rest a bit.
“Can we get lunch?” I ask.
“We can do whatever you want,” his eyes look heavy, but not in a tired way. There’s something more but I can’t be sure what it is.
Delicately removing bits of bark from my hair, he straightens my dress, smoothing out the part he’s rumbled by grabbing my breast. Tucking my ripped lace panties into his suit pocket, he winks at me and I know I blush.
Lifting on my toes, I straighten his collar, and smooth down his shirt before running my hands through his tousled hair. Checking each other out, we glance up and down before nodding our approval.
“Ready?” He asks, extending his hand, and I smile, interlocking our fingers before continuing our walk through the park. Knowing how crazy we just were together while no one in the park except us knows is the most erotic and sexy thing ever. I keep glancing up a
t him as we walk in silence, and I’m quite sure he’s thinking the same thing.
* * *
I’m trying to finish my article for the Abigail Adams page tomorrow. The mind numbing orgasm in Central Park was yesterday and I’ve spent all day today trying to finish up the Abigail Adams piece that I need to turn in before 6 pm.
I never thought I’d have trouble writing Abby, you know? I mean, it’s only something I’ve always imagined about once I started at News of the Times. You can’t get any higher as a journalist at that newspaper than the Abby section. And even as much as I want to one day write my own column for The New York Times, I’m so happy to be given this many feature stories on Abigail Adams.
The only problem is that I’ve gone through ten drafts. And thrown all of them away.
I sigh and slump back on my seat. I’ve been trying to put together an article since I woke up. It’s already noon, and I’m still wearing the robe I slipped on my naked body when I woke up next to Derrick. I’m in my room. I refuse to see Derrick because I’ll feel really bad looking at him as I write about him.
Especially since he doesn’t even know. He still thinks he’s reforming a stripper. He doesn’t even know my real name.
I know. I know.
Stop looking at me like that. Please.
I feel terrible. Every day I’m worried that he’s going to find out. That something is going to happen. That I’m going to lose him once he finds out.
Because for the first time, a man is more important to me than my career.
I mean, at least not hurting a man is more important. I think it would be for most people.
Which makes me, like, a terrible human being doesn't it?
I think back to Central Park and the sex we had there - anyone could have discovered us! It’s a wonder that no one walked by.
How did we even start?
Oh right. It was me.
I mean, I’m not normally like that, am I? Everything you’ve seen since I met Derrick should tell you I’m not that kind of girl.
Only I’m becoming one. For him.
And all it took was him talking about his dad. I scrunch my face. His dad sounded really horrible.
I get distracted and start Googling King Leopold I of St. Livy.
I also pull up a database search on the database for The News of the Times.
I begin to compile as many articles and data and decide to go get some coffee.
Derrick is going out to the gym. He looks at me. “Still working?” he asks.
“Yup,” I say eyeing him. He’s wearing basketball shorts. That’s it. He's shirtless. I want to jump his bones right now.
As if sensing my thoughts, Derrick looks at me wolfishly. “Want to take a break?”
God. I want him to push me against the wall and take me. I want to throw him on the ground and impale myself on that tree trunk of a cock he’s got swinging between his legs. He makes me cum so hard. I’m becoming a slave to my desire for his cock.
But I have reports waiting. Reports about his father.
I smile back at him.
“Later,” I say to him, smiling. Derrick shrugs and tells me he’s going to the gym.
I wonder if he exercises his cock too. Is that even possible?
Stop it Alicia! This is crazy!
I sit back down with my coffee in my room in front of my laptop and start reading the compiled reports.
Oh. My. God.
I spend literally three hours in front of the computer. My coffee has gone cold. I’ve been so caught up.
Derrick is so wrong about so many things.
And I decide I can no longer write character assassination pieces for Samantha Scar.
In Derrick words, I’m fucked.
Derrick
“So basically, the last three weeks have been tremendous, Your Highness,” Larry is telling me.
I smile. “Is that your professional opinion as my lawyer, mate?” I ask him.
He cracks a grin. Maybe for the first time since he’s been around me. “That’s my professional opinion. You have a court date for some parking tickets and fines for some citations, but honestly, if you keep up the good behavior that you’ve got going, you should be absolutely fine.”
Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe that less than a month ago newspapers were openly advocating that I should be tossed out of the country. I look over some of the papers this morning.
“Prince Charming!” reads The New York Post. It’s got a picture of me and Daphne, although her face is facing the other direction. I think the photographer was trying to capture her fucking perfect legs and ass. But we’re holding hands as we cross the street towards the Met. I’m wearing my tux and looking at her. I fucking remember exactly why I was looking at her. Because she looked fucking gorgeous. And I realized how long we’d been seeing each other.
“Queen of the Castle!” reads the Daily News. I’m carrying a box of some shit and taking it out of my condo with her pointing where on the street I should put it. Again, that’s all Daphne. She’s been moving more and more stuff out of her ransacked apartment and as she brings stuff over, a lot of my fucking shit is going out.
First to go was a fair amount of porn.
Don’t fucking laugh, mate. I didn’t really mind it much, because it was all fucking DVD’s and magazines. Stuff I never looked at.
And care to guess how fucking amazing Daphne was about all that? She didn’t mind at all when she discovered it. In fact, we fucked hard that night, doing it much better than the people on camera. Honestly mate, they should pay us to fuck. People could fucking learn a thing or two when I’m making Daphne cum for the 8th time in the night or when we both fucking pass out from hours of fucking.
But, I have to say, the biggest turnaround has got to be The News of the Times. Abigail Adams. That lady used to be a fucking cunt to me a month ago. Now, she’s the sweetest fucking thing. Today’s Page Eight headline is in front of me. Want to know what it says?
“Sweet Sinner.”
That’s fucking right. They managed to get a picture of us outside on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Daphne is looking out and I have my arms around her, wrapping her up. I’m kissing her cheek and she’s leaning into me.
Fuck. I don’t know how they’ve been so fucking spot on. They got it first when Daphne and I first met at Per Se. They got it when I rescued the little boy, even though I didn't want it public. They got the details on Daphne and basically have been controlling the story around her.
It’s like Pressly or Sam, or even Larry has been tipping them off. Don’t think I didn’t ask them. But each said no, and I fucking believe them.
“As long as the three tabloids are on your side, Derrick, you’re golden,” Larry is saying to me, as if reading my thoughts. Fuck. If I’m so transparent, no wonder it’s so easy for the gossip pages to capture me.
“I have to say, the philanthropy isn’t going unnoticed amongst the diplomats from the US,” my father says over speaker phone.
Fucking hell. Just what he would think about. This fucking cunt doesn’t give two shits about family.
“Fuck me, Leopold,” I burst out. “Do you even care about whether I get deported or not?” I ask.
Larry and Pressly draw sharp intakes of breath. I continue, not caring. “You know, never mind,” I say. “I want this trade deal to mean more to you than me, because it makes hating you that much fucking easier.”
There is a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Derrick, you’re my son,” the King says. “I love you. I’m sorry you don't believe that.”
He sounds fucking tired. But whatever. I don’t fucking care.
“So, court date coming up, the city seems to love me even more, but the newspapers really fucking love me, and Leopold’s trade deal is going well,” I say to Pressly and Larry. “Anything else?”
They both announce that they have nothing else. I hang up the phone before the King has a chance to say goodb
ye. He’s said his piece. I don’t want to hear any more from him.
“Sire,” Pressly takes me aside after Larry leaves. “I know the King and Your Highness have had difficulties, but I wonder if you should show him a bit more respect?”
I pause and look at Pressly. “You’ve been very loyal all these years since Mom died,” I say. “I hope that’s not going to fucking change.”
Pressly sighs. “Not at all, Your Highness,” he answers. “But I do know that the King loves you and…”
I don’t give him a chance to finish. “You call what he did to my mother love?”
I’m nearly screaming at him. But then I remember Daphne and I quiet down.
“You want to know what love is, Pressly?” I ask him. But I don’t wait for him to answer. “Daphne’s given herself to me selflessly. She’s helping me become a better man. She could have asked me for anything. But she didn’t. She only gave herself.”
Pressly is silent and I continue, “The total opposite of Leopold.”
I know it irritates everyone who I refer to the King by his first name. But it’s one of the only ways I can fight back against the shackles of royalty I was born into. If I had been just a regular man, I at least could have the option to never fucking talk to my father.
Pressly sighs and decides to drop the case. I’m glad. I was getting pretty fucking heated. But I think about what I said about Daphne.
I’m being serious. She’s like a fucking angel. My angel.
She makes me want to be a better man.
She helps me work at being that better man.
Fuck me, just the thought of her takes away all bad memories in my fucking head. I’ve nearly forgotten about the King, and Pressly - everything.
All I want to do is find her.
I head straight to the room, but I stop dead on my tracks as I hear the sound of running water coming from the master bathroom. I grab the golden knob of the door - it’s not locked, so I just turn it and step inside. A thick blanket of steam covers the whole room, but I can still see Daphne’s perfect shape through it.
She’s in the shower, completely naked; her head is held high, her eyes closed as she runs her hands through her hair. I remain still and in silence, just taking in the sight of her. I’ve fucked a legion of women, but not one of them compares to Daphne. I don’t know what it is about her that draws me in like this - maybe the gentle curves of her thighs, the smoothness of her skin or the way her smile comes so easily... I don’t fucking know and, in all honesty, I don’t really give a fuck. All that matters is that she’s right here, with me.
