by Gina Whitney
The wet sounds of sucking carried in the air. She moaned and screamed. With my face sandwiched between her creamy thighs, the crescendo was building to atomic levels. Her clit pulsed in my mouth, but I had her under my thumb. I didn’t want her to come yet. I wanted to be inside her when she came. I wanted her to leave my cock thick with her come.
“Fuck, you give good head!” she shouted. “I’m about to erect a statue in your name.” She laughed breathlessly. A wide grin decorated her flushed face. She was perfect. I couldn’t remember the last time someone wanted to erect a statue in my name. Fuck, if that didn’t want to make me beat my chest. I scooped her up in my arms and headed to the bedroom. I needed a bed for round two.
“I’ve got you, Beauty,” I said, watching her wrap her delicate arms around my neck. She felt right in my arms. Leaning up, she planted a smoldering kiss on my pussy-juiced lips. She gave me a feeling that I had never felt before. It was undeniable. I sat her on the edge of my bed, grabbing for the fireplace remote. She was the perfect adornment for my bed. What more could a man want than a willing submissive? Especially with the spreader bar lying next to her. Either she didn’t notice it or didn’t know what it was. Regardless, I would be using it tonight in our sex play. I had had it specially made. It was tufted with supple leather and thickly padded. The cuffs were lined with quilted material so as not to chafe her wrists or ankles. Yes, she would learn tonight what it meant to be properly fucked, to have every nook and cranny God created explored. I would go deeper inside her than she had ever believed possible. The thought of that made me harder than steel. My cock was already pointing straight up to the ceiling. Now it was glistening at the thought of probing her depths.
“Would you hand me the spreader bar, Beauty?” I asked in a low, commanding tone.
“And what and where would that be?” She laughed as if I were joking, looking around. She was now leaning up against it. Maybe she had thought it was a pillow?
“That black roll you’re lying on with the cuffs.” I motioned toward it with my chin. I had to laugh to myself. I normally didn’t do girls who were “cc’s”—cute and coy. Rockers don’t do cute. Fuck that shit. But this chick here and now had my head all fucked-up. Not in a bad way, but in a what the fuck am I thinking way. She pulled it from beneath her, holding it up to me.
“This thing?” she asked. “I actually thought it was a neck roll pillow. I didn’t notice the shackles on the end. Nope, I’ve never seen one of these in my life. But it sure is comfy.”
She smiled up at me. Comfy? Really! I had purchased the foam one with padding so as not to chafe that creamy perfect skin of hers. I was just going to have to show her what this bondage restraint was all about.
“Babe, it’s for bondage play. I figured I’d ease you in. Now lay back with your arms at your side and knees bent. I’ll show you want this is all about. I promise you’ll be begging me for it in no time.” She inched backwards, doing as she was told. That pleased me: no questions, no fucking weird looks or comments—just total compliance.
I placed the spreader between her lush ass and feet, then attached her wrists and ankles. There were no words between us—just the look of curiosity on Gia’s face, as if she were taking everything in and filing it away. She tested the restraints by pulling. She was securely fastened in. That made me happy. She was curious. The cuffs were padded as well. I had taken every precaution to avoid marring her flawless body.
Seeing her bound before me, with her unquestioning trust and willingness to please me, spurred me on. Even though she was probably scared shitless right now, she never said a thing—but her eyes were speaking to me. They told me her truth. And her truth was that trust didn’t come easy for her. Her supplication therefore made it all the sweeter.
It was time to claim my prize. Her lustful gaze was focused on the pre-come on the head of my cock. Umm, my girl wanted to sample my flavor. Grabbing my cock with my left hand, I squeezed the head, producing more of my juice. Rubbing my thumb over it, I then fed it to her, and slowly and deliberately she sucked it off, moaning as she did. And then her thighs clenched.
“God, please kill me now. I can finally die here and now,” she cried out.
“That’s right, Beauty. Pray to your God.” Stroking my cock with my hand, I crawled onto the bed never letting go of my monster, and never taking my eyes off my Beauty’s pussy. Her skin was covered in goose bumps as she waited for her Master to bottom out in her sweet cunt. With my cock still fisted, I parted her folds with my fingers and rubbed the head slowly over her clit. She was soaked. Her little pants and sighs were driving me insane. She didn’t have a clue. I didn’t know what I wanted more: her mouth on me, or my mouth on her; that delicious cunt of hers, or her ass. I decided I would have them all.
I inched forward towards her face. “Open your mouth, Beauty. Let me watch you taste yourself on my cock,” I demanded.
Her pink tongue poked out, stabbing for a taste of my slit before opening wide to accommodate all of me. Fuck, her mouth felt good. I straddled her chest, lifting up her face for deeper penetration. Her eyes were wide with tears as she started to gag. I loved it when a chick gagged on my cock. I started to feel that tingle in my balls. I was about to blow my load too soon. She had a wickedly talented tongue and worked my loops like a ninja.
“Fuck, Beauty,” I huffed. “I’d much rather come in that sweet cunt of yours.”
She moaned at my declaration. I got off of her to kneel between her legs. I wasn’t going to go slow. “Babe, remember this moment. This pussy is never going to know what rest is. Throbbing and clenching for me is all you will come to know. I’ll have you begging for me for time to recover between climaxing. I’m going to be living inside of you from now on. Your pussy is my new favorite thing,” I said, stroking and smiling.
“You are one cocky motherfucker, I’ll give ya that, Abel. Put up or shut up is what I always say,” she quipped back, mockingly.
“You have no I idea, Beauty, no idea.” I winked. I was in awe of the fine piece of ass in front of me. Not that I would ever utter those words out loud. Truth be told, there was something more with Beauty. She had a little something extra the others lacked. I slipped into her hot pussy with a loud groan.
“Everything alright?” she questioned in the crook of my neck. I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Fuck, babe, it’s more than alright. You feel fucking perfect,” I declared, as I started to slip in and out of her. “Your cunt’s got a death grip that I’m lovin’ right now.”
My hips picked up momentum. Christ on the fucking cross, she was nice and juicy, giving my rings a smooth effortless ride. Her screams filled the air. Her fingernails ripped the shit out of my thighs. And her clenching cunt gripped my dick like a lifesaver. Fuck yeah. Nirvana. This was the deepest I’d ever gone in my life: I was hitting places inside her pussy at depths I hadn’t believed possible. The slapping sounds of our flesh meeting resonated through the air. I barely recognized my own voice as I rutted her good. The fact that she was trying to break free drove me even higher. My hair was a sweaty mess. The bed was saturated with our sweat and fluids. I placed ravenous kisses up and down her neck column, sweeping across her perfect tits. I took one tit in my mouth, and squeezed the other with my hand. I pumped like an Olympian, shooting my load deep into her pussy, pumping a few extra times for good measure. I was still coming. This had to be one of the hottest orgasms ever. Lifting my body off of her, I gently released the shackles and rubbed her limbs that were no doubt aching. She lay limply, exhaustion smothering her. Amazed, I brushed her soaked hair off her face while softly kissing her forehead. She needed to be cleaned up, so I went into the bathroom and grabbed a basin under the sink, filling it with warm soapy water. She trembled under my touch, taking little breaths, as if in pain. My insides squeezed with fear. Had I hurt her? Oh, fuck, I am one demented dude. What was wrong with me? I hadn’t even realized …
“I’m fine, Abel. Actually, better than fine. That was
un-fucking-believable! I actually feel spacey from it. Kinda here, but not? Ya know?” She laced her fingers through mine. My heart stopped for a moment. Yeah, I knew exactly how she felt. But again, I wasn’t going there, with all that sharing business.
Chapter 9
Gia
He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles while his eyes burned into me. A moment passed between us. But it was gone in a flash and Broody was back, being direct and to-the-point.
“I’m starved,” he said, rubbing his thickly corded abs. “Wanna grab a bite?” His stomach growled. How could I ever say no to this man for anything? My eyes roamed over his body: he was one fine fucking specimen.
“You keep looking at me like that, Beauty, and we’ll never leave.” He leaned in, planting a kiss on my lips.
“We should shower. We reek of sex,” I said, concerned. “And there’s no way in hell I’m putting that club dress back on.” I put my hands on my hips. He laughed, a full-on rumbling belly laugh. I didn’t think it was funny. I was miffed. What the fuck was so funny about that?
“And that’s hysterical to you because …?” I shot back, half-annoyed with his outburst. He had a nice laugh too. Nothing weird or unappealing. It was deep and made me dizzy from swooning just hearing it. I couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile. God, it took a lot of effort not to flirt with this man.
“I’m laughing because it’s just such a typical girl thing to say. Besides, I like smelling like you. And I sure as fuck love you smelling like me.” He walked into his closet where I heard a series of electronic beeps being keyed in. Was that his safe? I was about to gather my clothes from the terrace. What time was it, anyway? It had to be 2 am. Where could we go at this hour? To dinner?
Flashing a dimpled smile, he approached me with a neatly folded pair of sweatpants and a Soundgarden tee-shirt—and a handful of cash.
“Wear my clothes. They’ll be big on you. But I’d rather see you in my clothes than that tight mini-scrap of a dress you had on tonight. Don’t want to get into a fight, because some cocksuckers are looking you and that fine ass of yours over.” He wrapped his hands around my waist, his eyes burning with intensity. I decided to put the damn clothes on and not say a fucking word. That had to be one of the hottest possessive edicts I had ever heard. Damn. I retreated to the bathroom to freshen up. I popped my head out the door quickly.
“Be right out, baby,” I cooed. Ugh, I was starting to nauseate myself with my mushiness. His bathroom was adorned with monochromatic tumbled marble and handsome brushed nickel. Had I expected anything less than a bathroom fit for rock royalty? In my lifetime I would never have imagined I would be standing here right now—even with all of my daydreaming. I refreshed my make-up, then put on his sweatpants. I had to roll the top down a few times. His clothing didn’t have that fresh scent of dryer sheets. No. They smelled of him: a heady musky woodsy scent that I wanted to bathe in. All men should smell like that. But he wasn’t like all men, was he? No, he wasn’t. I rushed out of the bathroom, remembering something very important.
“Abel, we left the spreader on your bed. You should put it away before Chance sees it. I’d be mortified if he saw.” A cleft smile graced his face. I wanted to grab it and kiss him to death or ride it hard. Good God, either one would do.
“Babe, who do you think bought it?” he asked, walking to the elevator. No! He put his key into the elevator, pressing the down arrow. We stood silently for a few minutes, enjoying the nothingness. There was a lot left to learn about Abel. But what I did know, already, was that he had a heart—a big one. He wasn’t as impervious as he would have people think. Yes, he was a famous hot-as-fuck rock star, but he was also passionate about everything he touched. I could see myself having a great life with him. I would join him on the road, party the night away, shop until I dropped—and get my mother off my back. I would do just about anything short of committing murder to get that bitch off my ass.
We took the limo. Security explained to us that the traffic from the festival this weekend would make it a nightmare for us if we took his Harley instead. They wouldn’t be able to protect him in all the commotion. And that meant he couldn’t protect me. And all of a sudden that seemed to be paramount. After a moment of posturing, Abel readily agreed, saying he didn’t want to take any chances with me.
I had never felt this adored in my life. My heart was full, and I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about that. I wanted this … this feeling, but I couldn’t help the guilt that crept into the smallest fissures of my being. He sat with his legs gaping wide open, with his fingers threaded through mine. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I was there in my body, but my spirit was floating somewhere above. It seem heartache had always followed me wherever I went. Some of it I had caused, but most of it I had not. I only prayed to God I’d be able to keep this feeling forever. But my mind knew better. My heart already ached for the potential hit it would take. Fuck it. I would live in the moment. We weren’t guaranteed tomorrow, were we? Today was all we had. I was certainly here with this famous rock God. And I had certainly shared his bed tonight. And that was all I knew for sure.
On the way to our late-night snack, he kept mad-texting someone. That had me wondering and feeling insecure. I tried not to focus on the angry faces he was making as he returned the text. However, I couldn’t help it. Finally, we arrived at a local Italian restaurant with a gorgeous view of clear starry skies with snow-capped mountains in the distance. I was introduced to the owner, a family friend. The restaurant catered to the wealthy. Not many of us locals could afford a few hundred dollars for a meal. Apparently, the staff was willing to stay late as a favor for their A-list clients. The owner never refused. He was happy to accommodate.
The dining room was draped in baby blues and creams with a ceiling painted akin to the Sistine Chapel. We were shown to our table set with neatly pressed linens, Noritake china, and Edwardian chairs that looked to be heirlooms. The place had a very Renaissance meets New World feel. It was really quite beautifully elegant, and was definitely the most chic place I had ever been in. The Maître de moved in back of me to pull out my chair—until Abel stopped him.
“I’ve got it. Thank you,” he said, pulling out my lushly fabricated chair.
“Of course you do,” the thirtyish-year-old handsome man responded. Something passed between them. For the life of me I didn’t know what. So I decided to not be one of those annoying girls who questioned everything. Arte de Dello’s restaurant didn’t exist for my kind. This certainly wasn’t where normal people went for a late-night bite. But, then again … this was in no way normal, was it?
His gaze never left me. I couldn’t help but blush. He was just so intense. I usually played a better game. But with him I had to work on my game constantly. How in the fuck was I going to swing the momentum back my way?
While I pondered that, the same Maître de poured sparkling water. I thanked him kindly. He licked his lips, his gaze burning into me. Not good. Tension rolled off Abel with hurricane force. My breath came in light pants. I didn’t understand: it wasn’t like I had done anything wrong. And yet I felt as if I had. With a crash of his fist on the table top, Abel stood up.
“Where is Frank?” he barked, his face red with fury.
“In his office, Sir,” Handsome responded. “Would you like for me to get him? He did say he’d be out in a moment. But, again, I can let him know you’re asking for him.” He was polite, but his undertone was slightly sardonic.
“What I do want is someone who’s respectful of my girl. Respectful of me. You are not. Now unless you want that tongue ripped out of your mouth, I’d put it away. But, then again, I don’t have a problem doing that either.” Abel leaned into Handsome’s personal space. Holy Alpha Father of God. Damn, it was fucking tense in here. To distract myself I drank my water, then grabbed a breadstick, looking everywhere around me but at them. Abel sat back down with a sigh.
“Sorry, babe. I don’t normally lose my shit. But, what the fuck? He
was undressing you with his eyes. And that’s even with my clothes on! Can you imagine if you had that dress on? Christ, I would have kicked that fucker’s ass up and down this street.”
He smiled apologetically. I nodded, smiling back. I really didn’t know what to say. So why say anything at all? Abel clearly was sensitive. I just wanted to move on already. Tomato sauce and basil filled the air. I hummed appreciatively. Now I was ravenous. I wanted whatever the hell that was. Now.
“Beauty, you keep humming like that and I’ll take you right here. Clear the fucking place out. Fuck you right in that delicious pussy. On the table. Then on the floor, and up against the wall. And then we’ll give it a go in the bathrooms—both of them.” I sighed. I wouldn’t mind doing any of that in the least. I was grinning like an idiot. His possessiveness and sexual appetite were contagious.
However, the sound of a man clearing his throat interrupted our eye-fucking. It was a sweet silver-haired older gentlemen in a crisp black suit. He nodded to me, then addressed Abel.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Gunner. It is our honor to have you here. As always, I have everything just about ready. All your favorites. I will personally be waiting on you,” the kind Geppetto-looking man said. His blue misty eyes reminded me of Frank Sinatra’s. Abel reached across the table linking our fingers. Geppetto’s eyes followed curiously until meeting mine and then they traveled back to Abel’s.
“Frank this is Gia, my girl.” He winked at me, then turned to Geppetto, who seemed morbidly fascinated by Abel’s fingers laced together with mine. I wanted to remove my hand. I had a strange feeling I couldn’t quite put my finger on. There was definitely something to it, though. My hackles were raised. Was it me? Was I not good enough, even at 3 a.m.? Oh, shit, maybe it was the way I was dressed. Of course, that had to be it. I was wearing a man’s sweatpants and tee-shirt that hung from my body like a loose-fitting dress. I was feeling very self-conscious. And then I thought: fuck this. I belonged here as much as anyone else. If I was to live in his world, I’d better start getting used to being treated differently—to being doted on. I moved to excuse myself to wash my hands when Gepetto went to get our food.
