Fingers appear, they prod at my clit and slip inside me, fucking me with them. Now wet and dripping with my juices, those fingers slip down and my eyes pop wide open as he flicks against my butthole. My eyelids flutter, my mouth opens in a silent gasp and my body tenses in rejection, but no word of rejection escapes my lips and he continues on his path.
By the time my voice has returned, that open-kiss is pulling and tugging at my clit as he continually prods against the tight pucker of my ass.
In one fell swoop, he bites down hard enough to have me shrieking as he forges into my butt with just the one digit. My back pushes down, pushing me deeper into the mattress in an attempt to escape, but he ignores my attempt at a fugue and sinks in to the knuckle. Even that depth of penetration feels like a huge intrusion and I wiggle about, once more trying to move away from him, but the hand that doesn’t have a finger stuck up my butt, slaps at my thigh and I grow still.
This is so far from the rough tenderness that I’ve grown accustomed to with Zane and as alien as it is, it isn’t that far out of my comfort zone that I’m not as aroused as hell.
The finger in my nether nether regions wiggles about, moving up and down, left and right and it has my hips wriggling in reaction. This time not with the aim of escaping but in a reflex action. Almost as though this is my body’s natural flow of motion when a finger is penetrating my asshole.
His mouth edges away from my pussy and his teeth begin to nibble down, not on my sex where I need it most, but against my inner thighs. He bites down, suckles, and pushes the flesh against his teeth so that in the morning, I know I’ll have a hicky there.
As blood rushes to the surface, I take a single moment where his attention is not entirely upon my breasts and pull my nightie down over my shoulders so that my tits are fully exposed. I cup them, twist my nipples, and roll them between my fingers as the burn in my ass meanders away from the path of pain and into the slow heat of growing arousal.
Slowly, he pulls out of my butt, leaving a sting to remind me of where he’d just been. His next move is to eventually release the flesh he’d pulled into his mouth and I curl my neck upward to look at the bruised skin. My eyes clash with his and the heat burning there combined with the predatory posture of his shoulders—each muscle delineated, all of his weight carried by his arms—makes me feel very, very feminine. He’s hunting me. He’s caught me. Marked me. He’s going to take me.
All of a sudden, I’m not so sure if I wasn’t lead into a trap.
The amber-brown of his eyes is filled with a hunger that can’t be hidden. A hunger that hasn’t appeared overnight.
He wants me.
And God help me, I want him.
With his weight on his hands, he pushes himself up and out from between my thighs. In one smooth move, he rolls upwards so that his head is at the same level as mine.
His lips dive down and I can taste myself on his mouth, but do I care? No. I let my tongue roam out and sip at every single inch of his mouth, exploring and reveling in this man’s attention. His lips part and his tongue fights with mine.
And then, out of nowhere, he launches himself off me. For a moment, I’m too stunned to react and then, I curl upwards in silent protest. On the brink of speaking, I open my mouth and then watch as he retreats to the bedside table and pulls open a drawer. His hand disappears inside it and eventually reappears with a foil packet in his hand.
His eyes catch mine again and it’s strange how that simple connection can have shivers rushing up and down my spine. I watch, mouth dry, as he rips the condom packet open, places it to the tip of his cock and rolls it down. He catches it with his fingers, rolls it up his shaft and then back down again so it’s once more snug against his dick.
I feel mesmerized by that touch and watch as he pads over to me, stopping at the edge of the bed and looking down at me with that red-hot hunger in his eyes. He grabs my hips and drags me to the edge. I let him position me, feeling strangely submissive in his hold. He lifts my right thigh and hooks it over his shoulder. The left, he simply moves to the side so that he can burrow between my legs again. His left arm traps my raised limb as he grips my hip with his hand and with his free one, he grabs a hold of his sheathed cock and presses it to my pussy.
The rubbery condom slips against my juices and it’s almost embarrassingly easy for him to thrust deep inside me. My arousal has a slurping sound echoing through the room as he pushes deep, hovers, rolls his hips and then pulls out.
All the way.
At the roll of his hips, my eyelids had fluttered shut. I’d been intent on enjoying the moment, the sensation of pleasure arching through me like a few exploding fireworks. But at that complete withdrawal, they flicker open again and he grins at the accusation within their depths.
It doesn’t stop him from doing it again and again.
Pushing into me to the hilt, so that the wedged thickness of his shaft at its very base pushes the drenched tissues of my sex wide apart, inducing a slight thrill of very female panic through me. He then pulls out, abandoning my needy pussy and with each retreat, rubbing the tip of his cock against the very throat of my sex.
That part of me has never had so much attention and it has my left thigh clinging to his waist, urging him closer to me so that he can’t torture me with the constant friction of his cock to the neck of my womb.
But he ignores me. He removes his hand from my left side, and hooks both of my legs over his shoulders this time. Now, whenever he sinks into me, the penetration is even deeper. But with no attention to my clit or breasts, I feel like I’m on the brink of madness.
My pussy is aching, aching with the sensation of being caressed throughout every part of its passageway. I can feel the juices of my arousal slipping down my butt cheeks—I feel as though I haven’t come in a million years, but this teasing, this edging is working me up and up a spiral staircase, and there’s nothing more that I want than to fall down those stairs and into the hungry arms of a climax.
And what makes it harder is that his gaze is glued to our joined sexes. He’s watching every single thrust. Can see the glistening lips of my sex. Notice the flutter of my pussy lips as they close after his withdrawal. Sweat beads on his brow, dampens his shoulders and arms. The control he’s exerting is immense and watching that just makes me all the hotter.
I move my hands to my breasts. Once again rubbing and manipulating my nipples in the vain attempt to urge myself into an orgasm that will hopefully knock me out.
A big ask, but even though my body is reveling in every second of this, I know that what we’re doing is so wrong. I don’t focus on it, but a powerful, drugging bout of euphoria is just what the doctor ordered.
As I start to moan at the extra stimuli of my fingers pulling at my nipples, his head jerks up with a ferocity that urges me into stillness.
His mouth tightens and then, as he thrusts his cock to the hilt, he bends, curling his back to retain the depth of his penetration and finds the taut nubs of my breasts with his teeth, so that my legs ache with the strain of the position.
But that's the least of my worries as suddenly, that’s it.
His control has gone.
How do I know? Because his hips start to hammer into me. Fucking me at a pace that should have been uncomfortable but is oh, so necessary. It’s just what I need. And then, he bites down on my right nipple. Enough so that in the morning, I’ll be sporting another bruise and that’s it, I’m done.
My pussy contracts against his cock, squeezing, sucking him deeper into my depths with a voracious hunger for his dick. My legs cross at the ankle, behind his neck and my butt rises off the bed as like a sucker punch, pleasure-pain zigzags its way through my body. My nerves feel the electrical surge of a stimulus so great that a keening cry escapes me as my shoulders take the weight of my entire form as my butt arches upwards. And then, almost as though that was what he needed, a hoarse yell bursts from Jake’s throat. He cries out, his fingers digging into my still-wavering-in-midair hips.
For countless moments, he’s frozen. His face strained with the tension, his eyes clenched, his forehead puckered almost as though he’s in pain.
His breathing is rough, something I notice in the periphery of my attention. And then his hands, trembling in the aftermath, smooth down my thighs and carefully move them away from his chest. He moves them down to his waist and, on arms that shake, lowers himself against me so that his now-limp cock is still pushed into my quivering pussy. In one smooth move, he rolls us over so that he’s on his back and that I cover him. My body lax against his like a human if heavy blanket.
I’m too dazed to be freaked out. Too astounded by what I’ve done to even have regrets.
As I lay there, my eyes staring into the cotton blend of the sheets because they’re the only thing I can see at this proximity, I feel nothing more than replete.
It’s in the morning that the regrets will come.
It’s in the morning, when fear will raise its ugly head.
And it’s in the morning, I’ll wonder if I sold my soul to the devil to keep Zane.
Because Jake is up to something. Even in my completely disoriented brain, I’m aware of that.
I can only hope that the chance I took to keep Zane in my life, to somehow merge the two warring factions of his love life, won’t turn out to be a complete disaster for me.
Wishful thinking? Much?
Even my thoroughly bewildered self has enough wherewithal to have butterflies crawling through my gut at the magnitude of what I’ve just committed myself to, of what I’ve just done.
Maybe all of this has been too good to be true. Maybe it’s time for it all to come to an end. All that glitters can’t be gold, and that’s the life Jake and Zane have shown me during the time I’ve spent with them. A glittery, sparkly existence that isn’t real. That can’t be real.
And reality is where I subsist.
With my feet firmly planted on the ground.
It’s a bitch that I want them to be raised in the air, rocking to every thrust of Zane’s cock into my pussy. So far away from the ground as is physically possible.
My eyes eventually flutter shut, my brain feels as though an electrical surge has passed through it. And maybe it has. Maybe what Jake and I have done has wiped out the functioning synapses in my mind.
Maybe I can plead temporary sanity?
I wonder if Zane will accept that as a reasonable explanation.
Somehow, I doubt it.
I’m, quite literally, screwed.
IV
…Can Be Gold
Chapter Fourteen
“Rat bastard.” It’s all I’m capable of saying. Jake’s words have come to fruition. Rousset has had the audacity of pressing assault charges against me.
Can you believe his nerve?
The sheer bloody cheek of it.
When Jake involved me in his current case, the retrieval of an artifact from a museum in Copenhagen, we’d come into contact with the fence trying to sell it on. We managed to recuperate the artifact, put Rousset the fence, in prison and achieve Jake’s goal—to learn how the criminals had entered the museum, as the local police hadn’t been able to figure out why. Dumb asses.
Because of them—okay, that isn’t strictly fair—I’m engaged in an affair with my boyfriend’s husband. And yeah, it’s as complicated as it sounds.
Fun, though.
During the case, Rousset thought it would be a wise decision to try to feel me up, as well as sexually blackmail me. Hence the assault charges. According to him, I’ve caused permanent damage to his balls after I stood on them with my stiletto heel.
My answer to that: don’t go wafting them around for every Thomasina, Ricki or Harriet to stand on.
“It won’t come to anything,” Jake soothes, lifting an arm and curling it about my shoulders.
While I’m mad, this is the first time I’ve ever even been inside a police station so I’m not averse to taking all the comfort I can. Pressing into his side, I let him embrace me and nuzzle my face against his soft throat.
Where Zane has stubble, Jake is as smooth as silk. While stubble hasn’t lost its attraction, I find I appreciate silk just as much.
Jake’s scent, his very essence is different too. Zane’s all sexy sandalwood, where Jake is lime and mint. Like a walking, talking mojito.
Lifting my head, I press a kiss to the satin-like flesh of his throat. As I do, my nose nudges his Adam’s apple and a scent that is one hundred per cent Jake permeates the air. His hands cease their comforting rub for a moment, and then the rhythm starts again. Although I’m pleased to note, that even at that very innocent stimuli, something hard nudges my hip.
Sure, it isn’t full mast. But hell, we’re standing outside a police station in the sixteenth arrondissement. Jake is as staid as I am—any visual sign of arousal is akin to a full-blown climax in the middle of the sidewalk.
The very idea has me snickering, and then he grumbles in my ear, “What are you laughing at?”
“Wouldn’t you just like to know?” I tease and with another kiss to his throat, followed by a sigh that can only be of regret, I step back and away from his hold.
As I glance up at the building behind me, the creative part of me noticing that Paris even does police stations in style, I grimace.
“Will Interpol put me on a list?”
I have to give Jake credit. He tried not to laugh, his lips twitching in an attempt to remain serious before he eventually caved in and chuckled. It doesn’t stop my lower lip popping out sulkily.
“Honey, you grabbed a guy by the balls. You aren’t one of Europe’s most infamous fences. If anyone’s going to make Interpol sit up, it’s Rousset. Not you. And anyway, I’ll sort it. This will all go away within a day or so. I’ll make sure it does. ”
I cease nibbling my lip and smile at him, relief escaping every pore. “I’ve never even talked to a policeman. Except back when I was a kid and only because I worked at the local bakery and the sheriff used to come and order a half-dozen donuts.”
“You’re such an innocent.”
My mood suddenly shifts, like a flare of lightning dissecting a clear blue sky, and I stare up at him through my lashes. “You didn’t say that last night.”
In a flash, the amber in his hazel eyes becomes more pronounced. In contrast to his dark-brown coloring, the slumberous quality of those caramel orbs seems more emphasized. My stomach goes pitter-patter at a sight I’ve come to realize means that Jake’s turned on.
In the last three days since our first night together, I’ve learnt a lot about this guy. All of it as sexy as hell and just as I am in Zane’s presence, I feel liberated.
It seems ludicrously quick, but I’m also comfortable with him.
And I’m starting to understand why a man would turn gay for this guy.
Beneath the staid if appealing features, the button-down façade of his sharp suits, the anal-retentive neatness evident in his appearance, lays the heart of a truly good man. A man with a quirky sense of humor. Someone capable of debating the latest business news from Asia to a European soccer match.
Where Zane is tortured by his past, Jake is refreshingly free from these restraints. He’s interesting, and intellectual. Amusing yet thoughtful. Sexy but sweet.
The fires burn deep in Jake’s soul.
Whereas with Zane, he’s one big conflagration.
And as much as I’m enjoying Jake’s company as well as his presence in my bed or his bed to be precise, I still miss Zane.
That Jake feels the same makes us kindred spirits. We’re united by our love for one unique man and the longer we’re together, the more we learn about the other.
“Don’t prick tease,” he chides my teasing. “You know we have a busy day ahead of us.”
Sticking my tongue out, I let him take my hand as he simultaneously hails a cab. When one slides alongside us, I shake my head. Had I tried to do that, it would have driven past. Typical.
Jake opens the door and helps me in
before rounding the side and jumping in too. In staccato shots, he tells the driver where to go.
He speaks fluent French, better than my above average attempts. And his accent is as sexy as fuck. He sounds the real deal, where my southern drawl is still very much in evidence.
I only realized his level of fluency today, when he dealt with the cops for me. Later on, I’m going to make him talk dirty to me in French.
Grinning at the idea, I ponder the afternoon ahead of us. Jake’s taking me to Rousset’s again, where the police are creating an inventory of all the artifacts in the fence’s possession. I shouldn’t really be there. It isn’t my place as I’m only a member of the public, but because Jake’s going, he’s letting me tag along.
In the heat of that night’s turmoil, he’d recognized a small display of Roman-era coins. A few years back, Jake had been hired to track the set down by one of the insurance companies he works for. As such, as soon as he steps over Rousset’s threshold, Jake will be working. I, on the other hand, get to gawk and drool over what has to be one of the finest private collections in the world. And this time, I can do so without a dirty, old pervert hovering behind me.
With a smile of satisfaction, I watch the world go by.
Paris still fascinates me after nearly a month in its glorious environs. Shabby chic probably originated here.
In this particular area, it’s more crumbling glamour than stunning scenery, but the architecture is still delicious, even if the plaster is peeling off in great shards and water has done a lot of damage to the façades of the buildings. Old men and women lean on Juliet balconies that look as though they could topple over into the street. African, Arabic, Caucasian, the wrinkled faces are a sign of the city’s multicultural merging. Every now and then, they raise their heads to the sky, a question on their faces as they wonder if it’s about to rain—something it does a hell of a lot—their faces puckering with more lines as they glance at the cloudy fractals overhead, and then call down to someone they see on the street.
Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I Page 22
