by Vivien Vale
“Oh, God. It’s so… fucking good,” I moan loudly, swaying my hips and rubbing my pussy all over his face. Sucking and licking, he moves one hand around my waist and presses one finger against my pussy. He moves it in, pushing it all at once and drawing one loud scream out of my lips.
“Fuck, fuck…” I cry out and, the moment he touches my G-spot, I start to convulse as if I’m having a seizure. I go down, sitting on his lap and my body feels as if it’s on fire. I don’t think I’d feel this hot if I was standing right in the middle of a raging inferno.
“My turn,” he whispers against my ear, nibbling at my earlobe with his teeth. “I want your pussy again. But not in my mouth,” he grins at me, and I feel my pussy aching to have him in it again.
With a growl, Palmer takes his hands out of my ass and grabs me by the hips. He pushes me to the side, throwing me down on the couch, and I lay down. He spreads my legs open and lays on top of me, grabbing his cock and pressing it against my pussy in one single breath.
With a sigh, I cross my legs around his lower back and lace my arms on his neck, pulling him into me as the desperation to have his cock completely demolishing my pussy reaches the height of its intensity.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll forget your name,” he whispers before pressing his mouth against mine, kissing while he thrusts. My insides burn as his thickness pushes back against my inner walls, and I grip him hard with my legs around his waist.
He’s fucking me so hard that fireworks are going off behind my shut eyelids, and I already feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. He was right about what he said; if he keeps fucking me like this, I doubt I’ll remember anything at all.
He’s moving so fast that I no longer know when his cock is sliding out or sliding in and, to be honest, I couldn’t care less about it. All that matters is that I feel every single throb of his cock, the warmness of his shaft spreading through me and numbing every single one of my senses. Each thrust of his is like a pure blessing, and I’m already feeling the pressure mounting inside of me.
I open my mouth to tell him not to stop, but all I manage to produce is a weak croak. It doesn’t matter, though; he’s not thinking of stopping. Instead, he goes even faster, pushing me close to the edge and then forcing me to jump straight into a pool of pleasure.
“Oh, my, GOD!” I scream out, the sound of it crawling up my throat, clawing at my vocal chords and then exploding on my mouth like a bomb. My scream turns into a high-pitched scream, the flames of ecstasy licking at my skin from the inside out.
When my muscles finally stop twitching, Palmer lays one gentle kiss against my cheek and then whispers into my ear. “I hope you’re not tired already…” He says and, even though I’m already feeling as spent as I could be, I shake my head.
“More,” I simply say, running my tongue over my lips.
“Are you sure you can take more?” He teases me, pulling his cock out of me. “I won’t hold back.”
“I don’t want you to hold back… I want you to give me your all,” I tell him, the way the words roll over my tongue making the adrenaline race through my veins.
“That’s my girl,” he says, grabbing me by the hips again. He sits me up on the couch and then he lays down, looking at me with an expectant look.
“Come here,” he calls me with a grin. “I’m not done with devouring that pussy of yours.”
Grinning back, I climb on top of him and, placing my knees at the side of his head, I offer him my pussy.
He cranes his neck and, grabbing me by the hips, presses his mouth against my wetness once more. I sway my hips back and forth, thrusting against his face as he eats me out, all of his movements pregnant with a wild and insatiable hunger.
A deep certainty fills me and I can’t help but smile—somehow, I’m sure that when we are finally old and wrinkled, our joints and muscles a ghost of a time gone by, he’ll be as hungry as he is now.
And that fits me just right, if you ask me. I’ve been missing out for the last two decades; I have absolutely no intention of going without sex even one single day for the rest of my life.
What can I say? Now that I know how good sex is, there’s no way I can resist it. Plus, Palmer… he just makes me like this. I mean, I’m sure that he has this effect on pretty much every woman he comes across, but now he’s mine.
Just mine.
As I grind against his face, he moves his hands back to my navel and allows two fingers to fall over my clit. Pressing down on it, he starts rubbing it fast, his fingers tracing circles around it.
My body tenses up and relaxes, the orgasm washing over me with an ebb and flow. The tides of pleasure are lulling my mind, the high waves of this ocean of ecstasy lapping at my body and spending the few reserves of energy I still have inside of me. But I still want more…
And I want one last showdown before making him fuck me for the last time.
I lift my legs and turn around and, with my ass turned to him, I go on all fours on top of his body. I reach for his cock and, grabbing it, I point it straight at my mouth and lower my head.
At the same time, he hooks his fingers on my hips and forces me to ease my pussy down on his face. The moment I feel my wetness against his lips, I start to sway my body at a frantic pace, bobbing my head at the same rhythm.
We go like this for God knows how long, the whole concept of time becoming completely meaningless. With his mouth on my pussy, and my mouth on his cock, I can’t really focus on anything else. And, as he licks my clit with renewed ferocity, I feel my brain on the verge of shutting down.
Still, I manage to remain unconscious, only to have another orgasm explode inside of me, the shock waves of it rushing through my muscles and forcing me to take his cock out of my mouth.
Coming up for air, I scream as loud as I can.
Breathing so hard that I’m dizzy, I climb out of Palmer’s body and, without waiting to see what he wants me to do, I go on all fours on the couch. He gets up in a heartbeat, kneeling behind me, and smacks my ass harshly with the palm of his hand. He does it again and again, and only stops when the pain becomes so deliciously unbearable that I’m moaning in ecstasy and thrusting back at him.
I have my head bowed down, my hair cascading down my shoulders. And so while I can’t see him, I can imagine the wicked grin he has on his face as he presses his tip against my pussy.
With one simple thrust, he’s in me again, stretching me as wide as only he can do. I moan and scream, the sound of it blending into something almost inhuman. My voice caresses my eardrums and then claws at it, all while a firestorm rages inside of me, threatening to consume everything that I am.
Maybe I’ll die of pleasure now; maybe my final orgasm will be so intense that I’ll stop breathing, my heart will stop beating, and then my brain will shut down. My soul will float away into the afterlife and, if all this happens, I’m sure that I’ll be going with a grin on my face. I mean, to go out with Palmer’s thick cock ravaging me wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, would it?
No… no, it wouldn’t.
When I finally come, there’s no screaming or moaning; I throw my head back against the couch and just hiss like a rattlesnake, my throat too ruined to carry on. I almost think that Palmer’s done, but when he pulls his cock out of my pussy he keeps its tip pressed against my inner lips.
Oh, sweet God… I think I’m really going to OD on pleasure.
“Do it… Do it…” I beg him, and he starts to push his cock back inside me. It moves in at a slow pace, but it goes steadily all the same. Even though my throat has given up on me, I force myself to scream one more time, the pressure of Palmer’s cock on my insides too good for me to remain in silence.
“Hard… I want it hard,” I continue, and he doesn’t need any further instructions; he starts to thrust as if his life depended on it, ravaging me like he never did before.
He buries his cock so deep inside me that I have to scream again. At the same time, he slides one hand around
my waist and presses down on my clit with two fingers, immediately stroking it at a furious and almost too violent pace.
It doesn’t take long for me to come undone — one more thrust of his cock and my mind snaps, my soul shattering into a thousand little pieces with it.
I thrust back, forcing him to push his cock deep into me, and then I hold that position as a violent convulsion takes over me. My muscles are burning, my skin is boiling, and both my heart and lungs are working overtime to keep me alive. It’s a wonder that I still haven’t passed out… I feel exhausted enough to fall unconscious, but I refuse to do it as pleasure still courses through my veins.
Even though Palmer and I have a lifetime ahead of us, I don’t want to waste one single second of what I’m experiencing now.
“I want you to come,” I find myself telling him, my brain seemingly having no say about what words leave my lips. As if my voice has a magical effect on his body, his cock starts to spasm and, half a heartbeat after that, it throbs violently and I feel the warmness of his seed filling me.
Instead of gushing all his load inside of me, Palmer pulls his cock out and, still on his knees, starts to stroke himself. I feel his thick ropes of cum cover my lower back, beads of it sprinkling my skin.
By the time he’s done, all I can do is roll around so that I’m lying on my back. I take a few deep breaths, and then I sit up. He’s sitting up as well, his head thrown back against the couch as he tries to catch his breath.
Slowly, I run my fingertips down his forearm and take them to his hand. I tangle my fingers on his, and then lean into him and press my lips on his face.
“I love you,” I whisper again, somehow knowing that I’ll never grow tired of these three words. As silly as it might sound, I feel like I’m the luckiest woman on Earth.
“I love you too,” he whispers back at me, his fingers tightening around my own. My body grows cold suddenly, and perhaps feeling it, Palmer reaches for his discarded shirt on the floor and makes me wear it. He dresses me as one would do to a small child, and I keep my eyes on his as he does it, just enjoying the delicate way he’s handling me.
For a man capable of such dominance and raw power, I can’t help but be surprised at how kind he truly is. I can’t believe I used to see him as someone cold and heartless, a total asshole even.
To say that I was wrong doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Standing up, his large shirt covering most of my body, I make my way toward the large windows of his living room.
“Where are you going?” He asks me, picking his boxer briefs from the floor and getting inside them. He goes up to his feet and then joins me by the window, his arm laced around my waist.
“The city… it looks so beautiful from up here,” I whisper, not even knowing why I’m saying. At ground level, from the windows of the Old Tale, the city is nothing but a blend of smog and dirty concrete. But from up here, there’s a certain magic about it all.
The streets have an orange glow at night, and the tall spires of office and apartment buildings rise up in the air like Christmas trees. And though I know that no one really sleeps in a big city, right now it feels so… calm.
It’s almost relaxing.
“It does,” Palmer agrees with me, and then he’s the one brushing his lips against my cheek. “But only because you’re here with me.”
I look into his eyes, but this time I don’t say anything.
Sometimes, words just get in the way.
Smiling, I go up on tiptoes and kiss him, closing my eyes as I let the memory of this moment be forever imprinted on my mind.
Love—sometimes it’s even better than what we imagine it to be.
A sneak peek of the first three chapters of...
The Other Brother
By Natalie Knight & Daphne Dawn
Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
Natalie Knight
Daphne Dawn
Prologue
Liam
7:51 PM WEDNESDAY
If there’s but one universal truth in this wild world we live in, it’s this:
Hearing your fiancée yell out, “Hey, fucker!” while you’re shuffling into an elevator full of Russian prostitutes with your manhood cupped in your hands is generally a bad sign.
I know what you’re thinking—but let’s get one thing straight here and now.
That’s not me shuffling into the elevator with the saucy Russian whores.
No, that’s my idiot step-brother, along with his three best friends and half a dozen women of questionable moral values.
The whores, I can approve of. The cheating? I just can’t.
My mother married Dan’s father when we were both just lads. It was the worst fucking mistake of her life, and I’ve hated my shitty American step-brother ever since. If he’d been calling himself Dan the Man back across the pond in London where I grew up, he would have been punched so hard in the fucking mouth that he would have shat his own teeth for a week.
Instead, Dan the Man grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and a stiff steel rod up his arse. Being boring as sin never seemed to warrant his nickname, no matter how much money his bastard of a father left him.
But that’s Dan the Man’s secret, really. He’s so fucking dull, no one would ever imagine his voracious appetite for Soviet bloc hookers or Colombian cocaine. Even I bought the charade for a while—until the first time he called begging for me to bring money to Tijuana, or else his coke dealer Alfonso was going to murder him.
When I see the way he’s made his poor, gorgeous fiancée cry, I almost wish I would have left him with the drug lord.
Becky Brooks, the woman Dan the Man somehow—against all odds—convinced to be his wife.
It’s three days before the wedding, and from the way she’s holding the million-dollar engagement ring he bought for her in his fist, I think they might need to cancel the caterer.
“You bastard,” Becky snarls. “You cheating fucking bastard. You are dead to me.”
“B-becky-beans,” Dan the Man stutters, and I cringe.
Oh fuck. That is not an attractive nickname.
I know the reason that Dan the Man was able to afford such an expensive wedding band, and it’s not through anything good he’s done of his own. No, his father left him a fortune and left me nothing. After all, I’m not a Hardbottom of the illustrious Hardbottom family like Dan is—I’m Liam fucking Black, an actual bastard. All my father left me was his last name—and he hardly even left me that.
I used to be a little bitter about it. But now that we’re older, bitterness has been washed away by success.
I made a fortune out of nothing—out of counting cards and being so damn good at it, now I own my own casino: the Royale.
And here Dan the Man is, standing in the Royale’s elevator dripping with lube and begging his fiancée not to kill him—or at least not to cancel the wedding.
“Remember the good times, Becky-beans,” Dan pleads from the elevator.
“Fuck that,” Becky spits at him. “I don’t even want to remember you exist. I’m going to forget everything, Dan. Every single fucking thing about you—and you can just fucking wallow in obscurity.”
“Becky-beans, please!” Dan wails, but it’s too late.
She’s already flung that million-dollar engagement ring at him and the elevator doors close up right behind it.
Becky Brooks.
She’s bubbly, bright and—even I have to admit—more beautiful than any man deserves. Green eyes like an Irish morning and an ass so tight, you could bounce fifty pence off of it.
When she turns to me, I open my arms to her. She might have put on a brave face before Dan the Man and his
goons and his whores, but there’s no shame in crying now.
She nestles her pretty little red head against my broad, muscled shoulder while she sobs.
“There there, love,” I say, stroking her fiery, silken hair. “Let it out.”
“No, fuck that.” Becky sniffles, burrowing her face deeper in my chest. “I’ve given up everything for Dan. He’s…he’s…”
“An arsehole so great, gaping and wide that even a Clydesdale’s dick could find wiggle room,” I suggest.
“Yeah,” Becky agrees. “That.”
“Why don’t I order you up some room service, love?” I say, even though I don’t want to part myself from her for a moment. But this isn’t the right time—the poor kitten has just had her heart broken, though the idea of Dan the Man breaking anyone’s heart is absurd to me. “You and your bridesmaids should still enjoy your night.”
“No,” Becky protests, pulling away. “I want to do something crazy, Liam. Something…something that would piss Dan the Man off.”
“Like crowd surfing at a Celine Dion concert?”
Becky’s eyes narrow with wickedness. “That’s a start.”
This is a pretty high-profile cock-up, even for Dan “The Man”. For a bloke who bills himself as so fucking boring, he’s as dodgy as they come. If I’d been across the pond when Becky Brooks agreed to marry the bugger, I would have told her then and there: this man is not the kind of chap you want to marry.
My only regret is that I didn’t get a ring on this perfect, saucy little creature’s finger first…
Which isn’t to say that I won’t.
After all, anything can happen in Vegas…
And we’ve got all night to forget.
