Insatiable

by J. D. Hawkins

  Insatiable

  By J. D. Hawkins

  Insatiable

  Copyright © 2015 J. D. Hawkins

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 1

  Jax

  I walked into the bar.

  That might not sound like anything impressive, but that’s where you’re wrong.

  Let me tell you something. I can tell how a woman fucks by the way she moves; you can tell how a man handles business between the sheets by the way he walks.

  And my walk says one thing very loud, and very clear. I’m the best fuck there is.

  When I lean onto the bar, I don’t need to get the barman’s attention. The club’s attention is already on me.

  “Hey Jax,” he says, sliding a beer towards me. “Brando coming?”

  “Yeah, he is,” I reply, taking off my shades and turning around to get a feel for the scene.

  When you’ve been hitting the clubs as long as I have, you learn to read the signs as easily as traffic lights.

  The girl with too many wrinkles in her tight dress? Her hair not perfectly straight? She’s been dancing all night. She’s not a regular – I’d know her if she was. She likes it all night, likes to be on top, so she can move at her own pace.

  That woman who isn’t laughing as loudly as her friends? Both hands tight around her glass ‘cause she doesn’t know what to do with them? She’s been dragged out for the night. She’s shuffling awkwardly, like she’s cold. Like she’s not feeling the heat of the club. She wants to take it slow. My breath on her neck, our flesh barely touching, every move a surprise. Probably shivers when she’s ready for it.

  The tall blonde bombshell – in the tiny black dress half her length - dancing to her own rhythm, slap bang in the middle of the bar? She’s looking for the highest high there is. Right now that’s the idea of having the whole club look at her. When she stops dancing, she’ll size the club up herself, and pick out the guy who’ll be prom king to her queen. That’ll be me – if I’m still here.

  I turn back to my beer, take down half the bottle, and feel a tap on my shoulder.

  “Hey,” the tall sensuous woman with amazing curves says. “Do I know you?”

  I let her watch me rake my eyes over her, from the stiletto heels all the way up to the cockteasing shine in her eyes. I smirk. “Do you want to?”

  She laughs with the kind of full-bodied voice that most women reserve for the bedroom. I check her out again. She’s got the kind of ass that I would let sit on my face for hours, cleavage big enough to lose your mind in and then spend the rest of the night trying to find it again.

  “You look like Ryan Gosling,” she flirts.

  “Maybe I am.”

  She moves closer. “Are you?”

  “No. I don’t wear make-up, and my lines are my own.”

  I’m debating whether or not to buy her a drink when I see Brando enter over her shoulder. He takes a few steps into the bar, spends a couple of seconds dancing up against a drunk girl, then makes his way over to me. He’s shouting his order to the barman from across the room.

  That’s Brando’s style. Loud, full of life, and always attracting attention.

  “Hey, Jax,” he says, locking hands, “you feelin’ good tonight?” He shoots an appreciative glance at the woman beside me and she returns it.

  Brando’s from Brooklyn. He’s got dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin, and he plays up his Italian roots every chance he gets. He likes to say he speaks French and Italian, but I think his knowledge begins and ends with the lyrics to old disco songs.

  “Depends which girl I’m feeling,” I say.

  Me; I’m more about finesse. I like well-made suits that fit right, places that look as good as I do, and women with an appetite. When my clothes are on, I’m the sharpest guy in the room, and once they’re off, I’m the kind of man who will make you feel like you’ve only fucked boys before. The kind of man who makes the pale imitations that follow feel like a compromise. The kind of man your mind will wander to when you’re naked in the bath…

  “Who’s this pretty young thing?” Brando says, turning to face the curvy girl.

  “I didn’t get her name yet,” I say, giving Brando the in. “But I was just about to.”

  “It’s Sophie,” she purrs.

  I rub my left eyebrow – it’s the sign me and Brando have for ‘she’s all yours’ - and turn towards the club.

  Dancing bodies writhe around me as I slice my way through the club. I let my eyes wander from toned legs to swerving hips. I run my hand across a girl’s waist as I pass and she licks her lips at me. Another throws her arms around my neck and leads me to a corner, where she rolls her body up against mine like she’s auditioning for a strip joint. She puts her lips on my neck, then pulls back and smiles. I smile back, wink, and pull away – too easy.

  I’m toying with the idea of a threesome, between the blonde bombshell who’s towering over her friends in the middle of the dancefloor, and the slim chick with an ankle tattoo.

  And then it happens.

  The entire club disappears. The girls, the bar, the music. All that’s left is a woman with a body that’s perfect. She’s wearing clothes, but her ass is so tight in that skirt, the arch of her back so sexual, that looking at her feels pornographic. It’s like a hit of LSD to the eyes, and I’m seeing a vision of the future. Wavy brown hair flying back in ecstasy, teardrop breasts bouncing in rhythm, my hands tight around that slim waist, guiding it like a loaded missile.

  Remember when I said my clothes fit well? Well I could do with a few extra inches in my boxers right about now.

  I get close enough to her to see her lips, and I’m already thinking of all the ways she could worship me with them.

  She sees me, and I lock on to a pair of brown eyes that could kill a lesser man from ten yards away. She has a couple of friends nearby, but I don’t give a shit about them, and soon, neither will she.

  She’s drinking a gin and tonic with lemon, and I’m jealous of the glass between her lips. I lightly grip her elbow, and she tilts her head up towards me.

  “I saw you an hour ago, and since then, I’ve been unable to focus on any other woman in this bar,” I say.

  She smirks. “That’s a lie.”

  “You’re right, that’s a lie. I just set eyes on you, and I already know you’re the most attractive woman I’ll see all night.”

  “Well there are always other nights.” She absently tongues the lemon peel on the rim of her glass and my pulse rockets to Mach 3.

  I smile. She’s sassy, but she can’t break her eyes away from me. New tactic: cut the bullshit and go direct.

  “You owe it to that amazing body of yours to give it to someone who knows how to make the most of it.” I cock an eyebrow. I’ve been told this is sexy as fuck by women who’d know, and I rarely feel the need to fight fair.

  She opens her mouth in mock-shock.

  “I’m serious,” I continue, “I don’t think you know what you have here.”

  “Maybe not,” she says, “but my boyfriend sure does.”

  I reel back, comically, “Oh! A boyfriend? Now that�
�s a real sin. Putting all of that,” I look her up and down, “in the hands of just one man. Especially when that man isn’t me.”

  The girl looks to her friends, whose eyes are still on me. Waiting for me to switch my attention to them. Not going to happen.

  “Thanks for the advice,” she says, shoving her friends away, “I’ll let my boyfriend know he’s not good enough for me.”

  “Oh he knows,” I say, as she walks away.

  She turns, about to say something, but instead just looks at me, gives me a funny sideways smile, and walks off with her friends. Game Over. For now.

  I watch her ass slink away and it gets me so hard that I’m about ready to ravage the first woman I see on the dancefloor.

  I turn around, and lock eyes with the blonde bombshell. She’s still dancing, arms in the air, curving her body like a snake, but her eyes are on me. I watch her a while, and she continues to move, spinning her body around so I can get a good look at the curves every other guy in the club has been salivating over for the past hour.

  I start to move towards the door – the side exit – and she moves along with me. We’re on opposite sides of the room, but it’s like we’re connected. She can see what’s in my eyes, and I can see what’s in hers. Desire. Power. Sex. We move through the club like predator sharks after the same prey, still looking at each other, until we draw close at the exit.

  She’s nearly as tall as me – and I’m no shrimp in any department. She’s wearing a little black dress that sets off her long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes perfectly. It also allows her to show off a pair of long, slim, powerful legs that I wanna get between.

  The exit leads to a side alley that I happen to know well at this hour: it’ll be dark, discreet, and more than safe. I open the door for her, and it’s the last gentlemanly thing I do. As soon as it shuts behind us we’re grabbing each other and grinding our bodies together like we hate each other as much as we want to fuck each other.

  She puts her hands on the back of my head and pulls me towards her, thrusting her tongue down my throat, tongue-fucking me as I bite and suck at her cherry-flavored mouth. I run my hands aggressively down her back, tracing the curve that leads to her ass, and grab it hungrily, pulling her leg up against my hip, and running my other hand down her thigh, then back up inside her skirt.

  Ms. Long Legs can’t even catch her breath quick enough to moan properly. Shaking her ass on the dancefloor was foreplay enough, now she’s wet and ready. I press her up against the wall, and slip my hand under her thigh to find a sweet wetness below. She just shudders a little and pulls me closer aggressively.

  I roll my fingers around her barely-there underwear, feeling the inviting softness of her pussy. She pulls her head back, looks up at the sky, and exhales deeply, her chest sinking beautifully.

  I get a good grip on her panties and tear them off her in a single, powerful stroke.

  It turns her on even more.

  She lets out a little panting growl and wraps the toned elegance of her long legs around my waist. “Give it to me.”

  She didn’t need to say a word; I already know she wants me inside her. I can smell it on her, the delicious scent of a ripe pussy enticing me like some sweet confection.

  This woman is strong, and if I didn’t spend hours in the gym sculpting abs that you could drink champagne out of, she’d be crushing my bones with her ferocious sex-grip. I undo my pants and roll on a condom in a swift gesture, practiced many times, and release my rock-hardness against her. “Is this what you were asking for?”

  “Hell yes.”

  She gyrates like a pro, angling me just inside her. Squeezing those thighs against the fabric of my pants, heaving her chest up and down as her body begs me to enter it fully.

  I push myself inside her, and the modelesque bone structure of her face turns into an expression of uncontrolled pleasure. It’s like I’m filling more than her pussy, like I’m filling every inch of her body with hot-blooded passion; reaching corners she never knew she had, so deep that it’s almost spiritual, if she’s into that kind of thing.

  She’s still pulling me inside her, deeper and deeper, pleasantly surprised to find out how much I’ve still got to give. And I’m only just getting started. Her hands are on her own head now, clutching and pulling at her hair like she’s scared her head is about to explode.

  I roll off the strap of her dress and pull it down to reveal a firm, round breast, a hard, girlishly-pink nipple inviting me to put my lips on it. I kiss it softly and she groans— the combination of my hard dick invading her deeply and the tender touch of my wet mouth on her nipples is almost too much for her to handle.

  I’m ready to come. I’ve been ready since she put those amazing legs around me, but that’s my first rule – ladies come first. No matter how long it takes them– although with me, that’s never long at all.

  I nibble at her cleavage, then move my lips up to her slender neck, tracing the soft muscles with my tongue, and bringing my hand to her breast, where I roll her nipple between my fingers.

  “Oh God,” she groans, drawing out the last word. I’ve been called worse.

  Then the pulse of her body changes from the rhythmic push and pull of my cock thrusts into erratic spasms of pleasure. She squeals, gritting perfect teeth between wide lips. I feel her juice gush over my cock, slamming out of her. Her pussy tightening so sweetly against the base of my dick that it takes every muscle in my body to hold back.

  Her legs drop from my waist and back onto the ground. Now it’s my turn. I grip her hair in my fist and push her head down towards my cock, and she willingly obliges. She rips off the condom and starts using her mouth. If I thought her pussy was sweet, her lips are even sweeter. She wraps them around the head of my dick, taking my balls in her hand, kneading them like she’s conjuring me to come inside her mouth. Her tongue presses up against the curves of my cock like she’s sculpting it.

  “Suck it,” I say. And she does.

  I have my hand on her head, but she doesn’t need any direction, she knows exactly what she needs to do. She’s moaning and stroking herself with her free hand as she sucks, and pretty soon I’m so hot that the second she opens those blue eyes and looks up at me from beneath the strands of her straight blonde hair, I come between the erotic redness of her lips. She licks my cum from around her mouth, her eyes half-closing with sweet pleasure, smiling as she rolls it around in her mouth before swallowing like it’s a vintage wine getting her drunk.

  She stands up and pulls the strap of her dress back over her shoulder while I button my fly. Once we’ve adjusted our clothes and set ourselves right we look at each other through now sober eyes, acknowledging a job well done.

  I nod towards her torn panties, lying in the center of the alley.

  “Sorry about that.”

  Her eyes narrow into cat-like slits of the brightest blue.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about.” And then she slinks away, before I can even ask for her number as a courtesy. Not that I do second dates— if that is, in fact, what we just had.

  “My kind of girl,” I think, “if I had a kind.”

  Chapter 2

  Jax

  When people ask me what inspired me to become an architect, I tell them the truth: Women.

  Of course, people then assume that means the money, and the power, and the lifestyle, but that’s not quite true.

  You ever see the elegant columns in the hotel off 8th street? I designed those after a weekend in bed with an Amazonian beauty who never took her heels off.

  The way the dome on the River Street sports center draws the eye, making you look up and gasp? That’s exactly how Sophia, a Latina from the south side, made me feel about her breasts.

  And the oval entrance to the Van Nelle skyscraper? The one that makes you think all kinds of pleasure are waiting once you get inside? Well… You get my drift.

  Buildings should be beautiful, and women are the most beautiful things on the planet. That connection ha
sn’t steered me wrong; the architecture firm I set up straight out of college has grown from strength to strength, and I’m in a position now where I only take on projects because I want to – rather than need to. We’re turning away million-dollar contracts regularly, and we’re making enough that we can even do charity-related work for free.

  And they still say you should never mix business and pleasure…

  I pull up to the new construction site on 23rd in my Ferrari Testarossa. (Yeah, Ferrari’s are cliché – but only up to the point at which you actually drive them.) As I roll the car through the entrance, and see the site of what’s supposed to be a new museum – my greatest work so far (and an ode to one of the most freaky alternative chicks I ever met) – I lose it.

  “The hell is this!?” I shout to Frank, the foreman, jumping out of the car with the engine still growling. “Where’s the God-damned crane? You’re reeling the supplies up with ropes?”

  Frank jogs over as quickly as his pot-belly will let him and opens his hands in apology.

  “There’s no crane. We got to bring the girders up like this.”

  “Like hell you do. What good is a site without a crane? Get the damned company on the phone. I’m gonna tear out the throat of whoever’s responsible.”

  “Sure you will,” comes a musical voice behind me. “You already slept with his daughter.”

  I turn around to see the bouncy figure of Luce, my 2nd in command, and owner of the cutest red hair and sweetest smile this side of a Disney cartoon.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  She nods at the girders. “The guy who owns the crane company found out that you slept with his daughter, Claire. Remember her?”

  I do a mental rundown of the last handful of women I’ve pleasured, at least the ones whose names I remember, but this Claire doesn’t ring a bell. “No!”

  The eye-roll Luce shoots in my direction could cut the dick off a guy before you can even say ‘bobbit.’ “Of course you don’t, Jax. And now it’s biting us in the ass. He’s got a grudge against you, and held back on the crane rental. I sure hope she was worth it.”