Deep South (Naive Mistakes #4)
Page 19
Priscilla Mitchell is a regular at the restaurant when she’s in town. She swears it’s only because the food is good.
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My dad is not in the mafia, just in case you wondering.
But if I told you more than that, I’d have to kill you.
No, really.
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My mom is still pissed at me for dropping out of college.
My dad and I decided to keep my little recent “adventure” a secret from her.
Incidentally, she also reached out to Carlo to have some of his clothes sold at her boutique store. He accepted. The irony of it is, Carlo will probably have me design any pieces for her store! So now my mom will get people to pay thousands of dollars for dresses designed by her college dropout daughter.
Carlo and I decided to keep that little secret to ourselves as well.
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Maria Gonzalez and I talk every week now. She’s proud of me. And she’s still very much a citizen of the United States!
Besides, when I told my dad about that little fiasco, he said he’d “deal with it” if she ever had that revoked.
He has his own friends.
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Bettina? Oh, my, that was dealt with ages ago! I never did tell you what Layla did to resolve that, did I?
Let’s just say Bettina still doesn’t have access to her Facebook account, her Twitter account, or even her email account. Mysteriously, she keeps losing access to every new email account she creates as well!
And then there were those naked photos of her that appeared online.
And that sex tape. With one of the professors...
Oh my oh my oh my.
Layla Rudemeyer is a real pal.
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Layla Rudemeyer is a genius at hacking and programming but, whoa, unconfident as hell in the love-sex department!
I told her to write her own book about it.
She said she would.
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Dean Whithers resigned. Something to do with a sex tape and a student, and a scandal of some sort...
Layla denies any involvement in that whatsoever.
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I got Conall’s name tattooed on my waist, left-hand side. Now when we make love, it touches his tattoo of my own name, on his right.
If it sounds romantic, let me tell you that it hurt like a bitch!
But I’d do it again in a wink.
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Of course, in and amongst all this, there was me and Conall. After the insanity of what had occurred, he and I decided to take some time off. We needed to be alone, just with each other, holding each other, being with each other.
Plain and simple: We needed to fuck each other. A lot. We needed to fuck each other’s brains out. Because sometimes that’s the only thing that helps.
So we did just that. Deep South. In Africa. On safari.
Where we would one day be married.
And let me tell you—the sex was hot!
POSTSCRIPT
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Conall pushes me to the wall, his hand on my bare shoulder. His nose nestles behind my head. His breath is hot, moist.
He wants me. He said so in that Land Rover today, whispered it in my ear while his hand slid dangerously up my thigh on the back seat, pushing my skirt far higher than it should go in a car with five other people in it.
We’d been on the back seat, watching raw nature, watching African elephants, lions, wildebeest charging in hordes down over the horizon.
Later, we’d watched the sunset, a bleeding orb sinking behind a dry and arid line.
Africa. A peaceful heaven where life is simple and humanity is real.
And where lust grows naturally, the call of nature, the natural urge to survive, to grow.
His hand now slides up the bottom of my lingerie. He caresses my round butt, squeezes it, moves a thumb between my lower cheeks. That same hand now slides forward, in front of me, down.
Oh, yes.
I bite my bottom lip while he plays the piano with me below, and I am the keys.
The room smells of thatch, of fresh dust. The floor is stone. Cold. I’m barefoot on it. All I have on is a see-through negligee that I slid into after Conall and I had sipped on wine and listened to the thump-thump-thump roar of stampeding wildebeest in the distance.
And then the sun had disappeared, his hand had visited my leg again...
And I’d tightened.
His other hand, now, moves onto my right butt-cheek. My body is quivering, aching for him. Needing him like never before. Thrumming with tight need for him to fill me.
I’m tight, tighter than I’ve ever felt. Maybe that’s because I haven’t had him for so long, or because of the purity of the land we’re in now, a land he’ll be expanding his business into and opening offices in.
His right hand moves away from my skin, leaving it cold to the wind of the room. And soon I feel it on my right shoulder, lifting a strap, pulling it down, and then dropping it.
My lips are against the cold wall, being pushed against it, my forehead as well. I’m out of control.
He’s ready.
I’m not thinking, only feeling, only yearning, burning, wanting only one thing. And it’s behind me.
Eyes closed, I stretch my ass out, put my hands on the wall and slide them down. I feel his cock at the center of my butt as I push him back. I wriggle my ass, left and right. I lift up and down, caressing him.
I move lower, bending over.
I’m ready.
I push again against Conall’s cock. Take me. Take me now. Take me here.
My palms are cold against the wall. I feel every rib of the unusual stone surface which lines it.
I spread my legs.
I feel Conall’s hands slide up my sides, lifting my lingerie higher. His hands make it under my breasts and he fondles them.
Oh, his cock, still clothed, teasing me, resting comfortably between my cheeks while I feel my moisture ooze down my left thigh.
My knee gives way but I catch it quickly.
On our way back to the safari lodge earlier today, we heard the roar of a lion—a low, aching moan that sounded powerful and desperate. He was having sex, the ranger told us. It’s mating season.
Conall’s pants fall to the ground and land in a puddle at his feet. The feel of his naked shaft between my butt cheeks sends my mind screaming through the heavens. I can feel the tip of it, completely moist, slippery.
He slides it down my ass, down lower, and presses it at the edge of my vag, almost inside me.
I want him to fuck me hard tonight. I want it to be primal and animalistic. No more of this prissy social bullshit. I want it real. I want it raw. I wanna growl and scream and howl like that fucking lion in the veld tonight.
I’m tired of people pretending to be things they’re not, tired of lies, tired of saying one thing and meaning another.
I want him to fuck me. And I want him to fuck me for real.
I was right: I am tight. So tight.
Because he feels massive when he enters me.
I touch myself as he pounds into me. I want to come when he comes. I rub and stimulate with my left hand while my right holds my head back from being rammed against the wall.
There are no words tonight—it’s all groans and desperate heaves for air. Both from him and me. It’s hot. It’s wild.
The entire room is shaking. I can’t keep my head focused on anything the sex is so raw. Eventually I can’t hold myself back and my elbow bends and my head rests on my forearm while Conall continues to slam into me.
He seems to have grown since we’ve started, and gotten so much harder. Either that. Or I’m even tighter still.
I rub myself, frantic, yowling inside my mind to burst and explode and fall in a puddle to the floor when it’s over.
He rocks me. His left hand pulls back at my shoulder to stop me from cracking my brain on the hard wall.
Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
&n
bsp; His pelvis on my ass. In and out at a mad rate! Skin on skin.
And then he stops. He’s so deep inside me that I almost taste him. He’s lifting, standing on his tiptoes and my head is grinding against my arm on the wall while my own feet start rising, rising, rising—and then they can’t rise anymore, but he keeps lifting and going so deep that I almost gag.
And then, baby, it happens.
Screams. Shakes. In and out impaling and shivering. Coming. Both of us. Fucking like mad, like rabbits, like lions, fucking our damn brains out, going freaking wild.
His hands—all over me. All over my tits. His lips, somehow, now on my lips while his cock goes ballistic inside me and he can’t stop spearing and loving me and, goddamnit, doing me!
Me—grabbing his ass, trying to pull him further into me because I can’t get enough of him, can’t get enough of his flavor, his feel, his freaking hardness!
I touch myself, trying to extend that climax, that orgasm, that explosion. I freaking rub!
And then it’s even more mayhem.
It’s the Sahara.
It’s life as it is.
It’s the lion’s roar.
It’s true fuckin love, baby.
And it’s romance—all the way. The best, most honest, most truthful goddamn romance there is.
We do the same every night for two more weeks. Hectic, mad sex.
At the end of our short vacation, he says, “So are you convinced to get married here?”
And I show him just how convinced I am.
The lion won’t sleep tonight.
FROM THE AUTHOR
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It’s no secret that there is space for a Book Five. I’d closed this story off at Book Three but, in re-opening it, and in looking at how the story could realistically progress, well, a can of worms was opened up.
Will there be a Book Five? There’s room for it, that’s for sure. But it all depends on the response to this book. If there’s enough support and interest for it, I’ll bring it to you. I promise.
You can stay up to date with future releases on my blog (just type in your email address to stay up to date): http://racheldunningauthor.blogspot.com.
Or via my Facebook page: http://bit.ly/RachelDunning.
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Oh, and if you’re wondering who Layla Rudemeyer is, check out the Girl-Nerds Like it... series below.
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Check out some of my other books...
Girl-Nerds Like it Harder, #1 Girl-Nerd Series
Girl Nerds Like it Faster, #2 Girl-Nerd Series
Girl-Nerds Like it Deeper, #3 Girl-Nerd Series
Girl-Nerds Like it Longer, #4 Girl-Nerd Series
Red Hot Blues
Know Me, #1 Truthful Lies
Find Me, #2 Truthful Lies
Need Me, #3 Truthful Lies
Finding North, #1 Naïve Mistakes Series
East Rising, #2 Naïve Mistakes Series
West-End Boys, #3 Naïve Mistakes Series
Like You, #1 Perfectly Flawed Series
Christmas Comfort, #1 Hot Holidays Series
Easter Sundae, #2 Hot Holidays Series
For news of upcoming releases, visit:
http://racheldunningauthor.blogspot.com
Or connect with me on Facebook:
http://bit.ly/RachelDunning