Deep in You

by Penny Wylder

  “I can never get enough of you,” I respond, my voice low and throaty.

  He laughs softly. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  I hear a soft clinking sound. Metal. I realize what it is just before he clamps them around my wrists. Handcuffs. He hooks the chain between the cuffs over a coat hook on my wall, leaving me with my arms pinned over my head and my legs spread wide before him while he turns to rummage in my drawer again.

  “You like to tie your girls up?” I ask with a sly grin.

  “I do when they’re mine,” he says. His eyes when they catch mine again could burn straight through my skin, that look is so hot. “And you’re all mine now, Carmine.”

  When I see what he’s pulling out of the drawer next, I bite my lip with nerves. I haven’t actually had the nerve to try these yet—I got them in that sex toy of the month club, but never actually put them to use.

  He weighs the two vibrators, attached by a long cord, in his palms. They're small, almost like my bullet, sleek and smooth and designed to hit just the right spots. Plural.

  Caleb grins and tests the length of the cord. "Hmm. Shall we test your limits yet again?" he murmurs, that sly grin never leaving his face.

  "’Shall we?’" I smirk. "So British of you, Caleb."

  He steps closer and runs his hand up my arms. "Are you complaining?"

  "Of course not. That accent's the reason I started falling for you." I answer without thinking about it, automatically.

  I immediately clamp my mouth shut, wishing I could take it back. But Caleb leans in close, his mouth just an inch from mine, that infuriating, addictive grin still fixed on his lips.

  "Falling for me, huh?" he murmurs.

  "Only the accent," I reply, defiant. My voice comes out a whisper.

  "Mm. Understandable." He brushes his lips across mine, feather-light. "Because I'm definitely falling for your dirty mouth, Carmine."

  "Just my mouth?" I smirk.

  He kisses me again, harder. Longer. "Maybe more than just your mouth." His hand slides between my legs, and I gasp softly at the cool press of the vibrator cupped in his palm.

  I arch toward him, straining against the cuffs that keep my arms pinned over my head. "Fuck, Caleb," I gasp.

  "I love driving you wild." He kisses along my neck as he circles the vibrator against my pussy lips, not yet turning it on. The smooth metal warms as he continues to roll it across my skin. "And I love how fucking kinky you are..."

  "I love that you indulge all my fantasies." I tilt my head, try to catch him in a kiss again, but he's already licking my nipple in a slow, teasing circle.

  "Don't forget the fantasies you haven't thought of yet," he murmurs. Then he presses the tip of the vibrator against my pussy. With a flick of his thumb, he turns it on, and I gasp and twist my hips as the vibration sends a shock through my nerves, my belly tightening.

  “Oh, I never forget a promise like that, Dirty Boy.”

  He smirks. “Good.” With that, he presses the vibrator an inch into my pussy. I gasp as my lips part to admit it, the vibrations making me twist against the wall. He pins me in place with one hand and pushes it farther into me, until it’s hovering right over my G-spot. I gasp and moan, the intensity making my whole body quiver. But just when it’s becoming too much, he shuts it off again, and I cry out faintly in protest at the sudden lack.

  I don’t have long to complain. A moment later, he’s reaching for the other end of the long cord, and smoothing a handful of lube over the head of the second vibrator. When I realize what he plans to do, my eyes widen.

  “Never tried this one, Dirty Girl?” he asks. He presses the second vibe, a small egg-shaped one, against the tight pucker of my ass.

  “You did find a fantasy I hadn’t thought up,” I admit. Then I gasp, forgetting about our banter, as he presses the vibrator into me, an inch at a time. I moan aloud at the pleasant, tight stretching sensation. When the egg finally pops into my ass, Caleb flicks it back on, both vibrators going now, and I can hardly catch my breath, the sensation is so intense. My toes curl and my mouth falls open, my hands clenching and unclenching around the cuffs.

  But Caleb isn’t done with me yet.

  He spins me around and presses me against the wall. I feel the tip of his cock rest against my ass, and I turn to catch his eye, breathing hard, my pussy tight with the thought of what’s coming.

  “I haven’t claimed this sexy ass yet,” he murmurs, tracing a palm over the curve of my ass longingly, before he slaps it once, just hard enough to sting.

  I moan. It’s hard to concentrate with both vibrators inside me at once, the one in my pussy pressed right against my G-spot.

  Then he leans his hips into me, and the tip of his cock presses into my ass, pushing the second vibrator deeper as he does.

  “Fuck, Caleb,” I manage to groan.

  “God you are so fucking sexy.” He grabs my hips with both hands now, slowly pushes his cock deeper into me. Between the slim vibrators and his thick, rock-hard cock, I already feel like I’m fuller than I’ve ever been.

  Caleb reaches up with one hand, cups my chin and pulls me into a hard kiss, his tongue invading my mouth as he thrusts one last time, pushing his cock all the way inside my ass. The vibrations and his dick are enough to push me over the edge. I moan as my orgasm sweeps through me, and he just deepens our kiss, drawing back slightly to thrust into me again, and again.

  By the time he starts to fuck my ass in earnest, the vibrator in my pussy pushes me into a second climax. I come screaming his name, and he locks eyes with me, fucking me faster, his muscles taut as his own pleasure starts to build.

  I come a third time before he grips my hips with both hands and thrusts into me, his teeth clenched.

  “I’m gonna come in your tight, perfect little ass, Dirty Girl.” He bucks harder, grips me tighter, and I thrust back against him, my voice lost. “I’m gonna come, fuck, Carmine…”

  A guttural moan escapes his throat as he comes, and I moan again at the hot rush of his cum inside my ass. He flicks off the vibrators and pulls out of me, reaching up to unhook my arms. Before I can move, he’s scooped me into his arms and carried me the few steps to the bed.

  We wind up tangled in the sheets, our legs entwined, both of us breathing hard, covered in sweat and sex, unable to wipe the smiles from our faces as we gaze at one another.

  “I am definitely falling for more than just your sexy mouth, Carmine,” he murmurs. Then he leans in to kiss me, softer, sweeter this time, even as his arms curl around me possessively.

  “I think I might be falling for more than just your accent, Caleb,” I admit. We grin at each other and he pulls me closer.

  As we drift off to sleep, I turn to peer up at him: the sexy, incredible man who just a few days ago was no more than an unbelievably hot photo on my computer screen.

  Who knew? Sometimes cheating the system and avoiding dating really does work. I grin and curl up against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat drums in my ear as I fall asleep.

  This time when I dream, it’s all fantasies that I know I can one day actually live out.

  I wake up to the scent of something delicious, mouth-watering. Bacon maybe?

  I find the bed beside me still warm, Caleb’s form missing. For a moment, my heart leaps into my throat. Then I hear the soft hum downstairs, his voice perfectly on key, and the soft sizzle of something. Not to mention the smell.

  I toss on his T-shirt, the first one I find discarded on the bedroom floor, and pad downstairs. When I reach the kitchen, Caleb has his back to me, dressed only in his boxers. I take a moment to admire him, this hulk of an Adonis who I’m sleeping with. This man’s man, who dominated the hell out of me last night, filled me in every way possible, satiated me in a way I never imagined I could be. He’s the only person who’s ever completely understood my kinks—not only understood, but also reciprocated them, loved them as much as I do.

  “Don’t just stand there,” he scolds, his back still turned.
“Come get your breakfast.”

  I laugh and step into the kitchen. Cross to his side. Before I can see what he’s cooking, he sets down the spatula and grabs my face in both hands, kissing me, long and slow and deep. When we pull apart, I finally recognize the scent.

  “Pancakes?”

  He grins and turns back to the stove. “You aren’t the only one who can cook, you know.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I reply with a grin, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Those still need to stand up to my taste test.”

  “Don’t worry.” He casts me a sideways smirk. “I know how particular your tastes are. You’re a hard girl to please, Carmine. But every inch of me is up to the job.”

  For once in my life, I actually believe a man who’s telling me that. I grin back at him, and lean over to snatch a piece of bacon from the plate cooling at his elbow. “Oh, I know, Caleb. I’m counting on it.”

  THE END

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  Chapter 1

  Ram

  “So, Ram, who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Tim asks. He sits on a mound of dirt, planting flowers. He’s my boss at the landscaping outfit I work for part time. He’s an older man, married for twenty years and faithful as hell, but that doesn’t stop him from living vicariously through me. I have a reputation around town for my prowess in the bedroom. That’s a polite way of saying it. In other words, I’m the best fuck a woman will never pay for. I didn’t set out to cause a stir with the ladies, but word got around and now here we are.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” I say. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  I dig a hole in the center of the yard for a palm tree. With Tim’s weathered back, I’m the muscle around here and do all the heavy lifting and grunt work. It keeps me in shape, so I don’t mind it.

  “Are you about done with that hole?” Tim says.

  “Yeah.”

  Tim wipes his forehead with a rag he keeps in his back pocket and squints his eyes against the flaring sun. “Why don’t you go ahead and take off then. I can finish up here.”

  “Thanks man.”

  “I want a full report on your activities tonight when I see you next.”

  I laugh. “You got it.”

  I load my tools into the back of the truck with my surfboard. It’s well worn, scuffed on the bottom from hitting rocks and coral. It’s seen better days but it’s perfect for me. I know this board like the back of my hand and can control it as if it had a steering wheel. It has a lot of miles on it. Back in the day, I used it to compete in big wave competitions. I have a garage full of trophies to prove it. If I hadn’t injured my leg during a competition in Australia, who knows, I might’ve gone pro. Nowadays, people pay me good money to teach them to surf. It’s something I love to do on the side when I’m not working for Tim.

  Once everything is loaded up, I head for the beach.

  My client, a twelve-year-old kid named Ben, is waiting for me in our usual spot. The beach is packed with sunbathers, but Ben stands out among them with his bright-colored board—not a scratch on it—and his new wetsuit. I told his parents it wasn’t necessary for the expensive gear, but apparently they thought otherwise.

  I slide on my wetsuit—though it’s not really cold enough to need it. I leave the top half of the suit loose around my waist and grab my board from the bed of my truck. The sand is warm and feels amazing sifting through my toes after a long day of work in steel-toe boots. The water looks choppy despite the pleasant day. The sun is high, beating down on my forehead like a molten hammer. A few clouds linger in the distance, but nothing threatening. It’s a good day to catch a few waves.

  “Hey kid, you ready to get wet?” I drop my board on the sand and finish pulling on my suit.

  “Hell yeah,” he says, a bundle of enthusiasm. I laugh when his voice squeaks on the high note. His face turns red and sheepish, but he smiles and shrugs as if he’s accepted this new changing voice of his.

  So far, our practices have been on land. It’s important to teach a novice how to balance, and move their bodies, and where to place their feet before ever getting in the water. Normally I’ll spend an hour teaching these techniques, but with younger kids, I like to give them a few days to make sure it really sinks in.

  “All right, let’s go,” I say.

  We step into the foam where the beach meets the sea and allow our bodies to adjust to the cool water. The wind rustles my hair, the salty spray wetting my face. The ocean is where I truly feel at home.

  “Come here,” I tell the kid. He walks toward me and I hold my waterproof cellphone up. “Noob surfer selfie.”

  Ben laughs and crowds in for the obligatory picture. All of my students get pictures at the beginning of our lessons to go on my website and Instagram to promote my business. We smile and I click the photo and post it. Stuffing the phone into my suit, I lay stomach-down to my board. Ben does the same and we paddle out.

  Once we’re out of the surf, we sit up on our boards and wait for the waves to roll in. I hope the kid wore sunscreen. The glare coming off the water is brutal. I put my hand up to my eyes to shield them and wait to see what Ben is going to do.

  He waits patiently for the right one, bobbing on the backs of discarded waves. As he misses several more, it’s apparent he’s nervous. Maybe he’s not as ready as I thought he was. As the thought occurs to me, he starts to paddle into the next one. It’s much bigger than the others and I realize he wasn’t afraid at all, he was showing off. He didn’t want to ride a small wave; he wanted to impress. Except, I’m not impressed. My stomach drops at the sight of the monster wave heading his way.

  I cup my hands around my mouth and call out to him. “Wait for the next,” I shout, but he can’t hear me. The ocean throws sound like a game of catch and makes it impossible to communicate without looking at each other.

  The wave grows into a giant’s gaping mouth, ready to swallow him up. His board isn’t in the right position and neither are his hands where he’s clutching the edges. It’s as if he’s forgotten every single thing I’ve taught him. The wave is going to toss him like a dog’s plaything. He must realize that by now, but he tries getting onto his board anyway. He almost gets to his feet but the heel of his foot slips and he goes down, hitting his head on the side of his board as he falls. The wave crashes on top of him with crushing force.

  I can hear people on shore crying out as I paddle toward Ben. They must have seen it too.

  Ben doesn’t come back up. I dive underwater, swimming below the waves to keep from getting caught up in the spin cycle. It’s like a food processor down here, seaweed and sand churned up, making it impossible to see. My eyes burn, but I don’t close them. I keep searching.

  Thank God for his brightly colored board. I swim toward it and see Ben struggling to get back to the surface. The cord around his ankle is tethered to his board, keeping him buoyed near the surface. I grab him under the arms and lift him so his head is out of the water where he’s able to take hold of his board and drape himself over it.

  There’s a gash on the corner of his head, dripping a small amount of blood. Sharks don’t usually troll this part of the Pacific Ocean, but I’d rather not tempt them to change their minds. I kick my feet and paddle hard with one arm while pushing the board with my other.

  Back on shore, several people come over to help me drag Ben’s spent body onto dry land. He coughs seawater from his lungs and makes a miserable sound. I remember my first close call when I’d taken in a mouthful of the ocean. It wasn’t fun. It felt like shards of glass had sliced up the back of my throat.

  Those who aren’t helping to make sure the boy is safe have their phones out, filming or tak
ing pictures. I’m bent over the kid with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

  My wet hair drips onto his face. “You all right?” I ask him.

  He holds his stomach, looking as though he might vomit. “I think I did that wrong.”

  I laugh. At least he still has a sense of humor about it. I doubt his parents will think it’s funny when they find out. I also doubt Ben will tell them, but with all the busybodies around us, I’m sure it will end up on the news or social media. It’s a small town and anything involving surfing is big news.

  “You’ll nail it next time,” I say.

  I wait until his parents get to the beach to pick him up to tell them about the situation. Before they got there, Ben had begged me not to, but I can’t lie to them. So I give them a version of the truth. I tell them he wiped out pretty hard instead of telling them he almost drowned.

  On my way back to my truck, people clap me on the back and call me a hero. I smile. What do you say to something like that? I don’t feel like a hero. It’s part of surfing. I’m just glad the kid is okay. Right now, all I’m concerned about is washing the salt off my skin and going home.

  I put my board in the bed of the truck. When I peel off my wetsuit, my phone falls out. Picking it up, the backlight comes on and I see that I have several notifications on Instagram from the picture of Ben and me. Thirty thousand, to be exact. Mostly from women, and none of the comments are about Ben.

  I get home and shower, feeling better once I rinse the ocean off me. After the adrenaline rush of Ben’s near-drowning, I need to get laid. I’m not fully horny yet, but there’s a needling somewhere in my groin that I know will eventually turn into an inferno. I’m debating on calling one of the regular chicks I hook up with or trying out some of the new offers I see in the comments on Instagram. So many options. What’s a horny guy to do?