by Laura Day
“Like this,” he whispered. “I want you to touch me like this.” She was soaking in her own wetness, drenched enough that it was easy for him to press inside of her ass, just a little, just enough to make her groan and relax, thrusting down onto his fingers.
The sensations overwhelmed her so much that when he slid another finger into her body, the fullness almost shattered her without warning. “I want to be this open for you. I want to give you what you are giving me right now, in this moment.”
“Yes,” she whispered, over and over.
She tried to remind herself that she was the one in control right now, and push away the fear. It stood between her and the oncoming storm of her orgasm, and she tried to relax, tried to let it all go, tried to just feel the urgent, desperate desire of him opening her body, thrusting into her with his hands. “Oh, god, yes, please.”
His eyes drank her in, and she could sense him memorizing her every thrust and groan. She was swirling around the release she so badly needed, desperate to give up, to let it go. She was so used to his weight holding her down—either pressing her down into the mattress, or his hands holding her hips as she thrust down onto him—and this was something entirely other. Any single spasm could be strong enough to heave her up, to thrust her off the bed with enough force to break gravity, to sail into orbit, to shatter into a thousand starry pieces.
Whether he knew what was happening, or just guessing, he did the perfect thing. “I love you,” he whispered, “I love watching you, I love seeing you like this. I love the way you move, the way you come for me. I love you, Caroline, I love you so much.”
She shattered on his words, slamming down on his hands so hard that she could feel the button of his jeans grinding into her tailbone, feel the denim against her back hiss over her skin, leaving her burned and sore and shattered, aftershocks as strong as some orgasms making her convulse around his hand again as she milked his fingers, her head draped back over his knees, and struggled to find all the pieces of herself that had tumbled down among the sheets.
When she could breathe, she leaned over and kissed him softly, almost delicately, while he ran his thumbs over her softened nipples. “I thought we were making you feel good,” she teased lightly, and he laughed.
“This does make me feel good,” he said, then wiggled underneath her. “I’m not going to lie, though, I’d be happy to continue to feel good.”
She wasted no time unbuttoning his jeans and helping him slid them off his narrow hips. His cock was hard, throbbing and urgent, and she resisted the urge to lean over and press a kiss to his glistening head. There would be time for that later. Right now, she had a toy box to explore.
The idea of him having a specific toy box was intriguing. She had a couple of things she’d kept in her nightstand, but never enough of a collection to have a specific place to keep them all. She’d never imagined that her soldier-turned-biker boyfriend would be the one with enough variety of toys that he decided to keep them in their own special location.
She found condoms, a couple different kinds of lube, a strap-on rig, and a couple of dildos in different sizes and degrees of realism that were intriguing possibilities for later. Soft ropes, handcuffs. And then, in a soft, velvety pouch, she found what she’d been hoping to find. She took the cold, glass butt plug, and brought it back to the bed along with the lube.
“You still okay?” she asked.
He nodded, but the motion was too fast and too fierce. She laid the toy aside and ran her hands over his stomach, dragging his attention up to her eyes.
“I’m not going to do anything that makes you unhappy or uncomfortable,” she said, hoping her voice came through as calm and careful and trustworthy as she wanted it to. “If I do accidentally, tell me to stop, and I will stop. I promise you, Mase. I do not want to hurt you, not at all.”
She watched his eyes close, watched him inhale and exhale deeply. “It’s hard,” he said, almost conversationally, which nearly brought back a giggle fit combined with his swollen, erect cock. “It’s hard trusting again.”
“I hear that,” Caroline whispered. “Do I ever. And if what you need me to do right now is to put this away and play an entirely different way, then I’m absolutely okay with that.”
He shook his head, his eyes seeking hers and finding them. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m trying to say that I do trust you already. With everything. It’s hard to do it, to keep doing it, but I am. I trust you. And I really want to see you fucking my ass, so if this is how you want to start? I’m game.”
She kissed him, as fierce and as hard as she could. His hands were wild, tracing over her face, her shoulders, her back, clinging hard to her. He protected her just as much as she was protecting him. And Caroline was okay with that. It felt nice to have protecting be mutual. Safe.
And then he groaned, his naked cock bucking up against her inner thigh, and she grinned. She teased his nipples again, hardening them into tiny mountains that made him hiss and thrust at the air when she touched them. She swirled her tongue through his navel, making him giggle and push her gently away, and then made him put his hands behind his head and cope with it as she tickled him lightly with her tongue and teeth. She felt his cock grow harder and his hands clenched into the sheets, his forearms working as she quietly told him that he belonged to her, that he was hers, that he had to do what she wanted, unless he wanted to call the whole thing off.
“Please, Ma’am,” he whispered. “Please, don’t stop. Please keep going. Please.”
She kissed her way down the narrow trail of red hair that led from his naval to the base of his cock, and in one smooth motion, she licked from the base up to the tip. He groaned again, his hips lifting as he tried to bury himself in her mouth, but she dodged him, and pinched his inner thigh to make him gasp. “I seem to recall you wanting me to be the boss of this,” she chided, and he panted for a moment before nodding.
She took the toy, tracing a line of lube down its smooth shape, and then delicately teased the tip against the puckered opening of his ass. “I’m going to tease into you just a little,” she said. “Remember that I don’t have the kind of sensation you do when I do this. I need you to tell me if something doesn’t feel good—and if it feels great. Okay?”
He nodded, too swollen and needy for words; even before she eased the tip inside of him, the head of his cock glistened with fluid. She leaned down again, taking him in her mouth, and feeling the soft release as he surged upwards, his body opening and letting her glide the toy just a little inside of his body. She pulled back at the same time that she worked up his dick with her teeth and tongue, and then, when he was aching with just the tip of him in her mouth, just the tip of the toy in his ass, she pressed forward again, moving her mouth and the toy together, easing him open just a little farther.
He took his knees, lifting them, separating them. “More,” he panted. “More. All of it. Gimme.”
“Yes,” she breathed over him, but she still kept the motion slow as she filled his ass with the cold, glass toy. The sound he made came from his toes, and his hands tightened so hard on the sheets that she expected to hear them rip. He trembled in her mouth, and she relaxed her throat, ready to catch his spasm if he burst for her, but his eyes opened, locked on hers as small waves of fluid pulsed in time with his jerks against her.
“Not gonna last,” he murmured. “Amazing. Ride me. Want you—in you—in my ass—now—“
She let him fall out of her mouth and moved forward, straddling his body. He fit into her easily, sliding into her warm, wet, open body. She trembled as he sheathed into the depths of her, surprised by the shockwave of want that ran through her. Though she didn’t know why she should be, really; he was amazing, each and every time.
His hands came to her hips, ready to pound into her, and she grabbed them, leaning down, pinning them above his head with her weight. She watched his eyes carefully; there was only so much vulnerability a person could handle some days. There was a struggle
, a moment when she knew he wanted to tell her to stop and back off, let him have his way, and then there was the submission, the gorgeous, hot, sexy submission. “Yes,” he said. “Please, Ma’am. Yes.”
Well. Since he’d said please.
She balanced her weight on his wrists, knowing that he was far stronger than her, had the weight advantage and combat training, but that he was giving in to her because it was what he wanted. She teased herself up the length of him and down again, letting him drag over that nubbled spot inside of her that made her shiver, letting him fill her. Every motion, she was sure would be the last one, the one where he burst inside of her, screaming and cursing, but each time, he held on for one more stroke.
“Come for me, Caro,” he whispered. “Jesus Christ, if you’re going to come for me, do it now. Can’t— do it now, god, come for me now.”
The orgasm had been swirling through her for a few moments, and she let it go, let go of the control and the fear and the need and everything other than her eyes, locked on his. He shuddered with her, spasming together, and she could feel his release deep inside of her, the rush of warmth as their flesh bonded together, tight and fast. They rocked together through the end of it, and she let his hands go so he could wrap her up in his arms.
“We can do this,” he murmured into her hair. “We can make this work. Caro, we gotta try.”
“I’m on board,” she whispered back.
“We’ll sell your house, maybe we can find a better apartment. I’m going to make the garage, and the club, things to be proud of. Things you can be proud of.”
She let her head rest on his chest for a moment, then lifted it again, resting her chin on her hands and looking into his eyes. “You’ve got it backwards,” she said. “I will be proud of them, because they’re yours, and I’m proud of you.”
The wash of emotions through her eyes was enough. More than enough. He gathered her up and held her close. “I love you,” he said.
She felt safe. She felt cared for. She felt comfortable. “Feeling? Decidedly mutual.”
And then she kissed him until he was hard again.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I grew up in a small town outside of Palm Coast, FL. Raised in a house just a short walk to the beach, I enjoyed the peaceful, relaxed atmosphere and friendships that come from being raised in a friendly, small town area.
I now reside in Breckenridge Colorado, where I work as an accountant, along with my night time writing. I am married with two children, two dogs, and a pile of friends and family dotted all over the country that help keep me sane.
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And here is the description of the short story so you know what you're getting into!
He arrives on his screaming machine, but it's his body that ends up screaming for more - of her
Jessica Mallet is about to leave her florist's when Eric Burns' bike trundles into her parking lot with every intention of parking there all night.
When Eric takes a flaming rose and hands it to Jessica, it's enough to make her forget her responsibilities, enough to forget where she is and what's appropriate.
The thorns prick her goose bumped skin but that's nothing compared to what her body aches for--that moment when Eric removes petal after petal and lets the real flower inside her blossom...
