Nailed

by Jasinda Wilder

  The kiss broken, he drags his lips down, nuzzling into the side of my neck. I exhale softly, his beard tickling and scratching, his lips warm and wet, his tongue licking at my skin. A kiss to my shoulder. My breastbone, at the peak of the valley of my cleavage. Down, down, kissing and kissing his way to my left breast. Over the lace. My nipple hardens as his mouth nears it, and then throbs and aches as his mouth closes over it, the lace between his lips and tongue and my flesh. Another kiss, dancing across and kissing the inside of the left, then the right, and now my right nipple is aching as well, his hot breath huffing against it, searing through the lace, pressing the scratchy material against my nipple. And then his tongue flicks against the lace, and I gasp.

  He pulls back from the kiss, gazing at me as he tugs the bra upward—slowly, gently, inexorably. I bite my lip and stop breathing, waiting. My breasts rise, bulge against the lace, and then begin to slip and squish out underneath. And then with a single smooth tug, Ryder rips the bra up and off, his eyes never leaving my breasts as they bounce free.

  He drops the bra at our feet, his hands lifting, cupping. His breath catches as my breasts fill his hands. I’m not breathing, his hands hard and huge and scratchy with callused power, yet soft and gentle and reverent.

  My hands tangle in his hair as he drops to his knees. He cradles my breasts around his face, clutching and cupping, nuzzling.

  I can’t help a laugh. “Did you just die and go to heaven?”

  He turns his eyes up to mine as he covers my nipple with his mouth. “Uh-huh.”

  One breast, then the other, both—I caress his hair as he kisses and licks and squeezes and kneads my breasts, the attention of his hands and mouth sending an aching thrill shooting down to my core.

  He lets go, then. “Actually, no. I haven’t gone to heaven just yet.”

  I frown quizzically. “No?”

  He sinks to sit on his heels, scraping his hands down my sides, his hooked fingers catching in the string of my thong and dragging it down and off as he settles onto his heels. His eyes stay fixed on mine as he wraps his hands around my ass, kissing my stomach, my navel, my hipbones, the fronts of my thighs.

  “Now I’m getting closer to heaven,” he murmurs.

  “Oh…” I breathe, lack of oxygen and the pounding heat of arousal sapping me of witty comebacks. “That’s heaven for you, huh?”

  “I need a taste of heaven, I think,” he whispers, kissing the inside of my thigh.

  “Oh…oh god.” I gulp, gasp for air. “Ryder…”

  He kisses, nips, licks the tender silk of my inner thigh, and I automatically widen my stance, arousal and need overriding anything else and everything else. His palms skate up my body and cup my breasts again as he touches kiss after kiss to my inner thighs, each one a millimeter closer to my core.

  He pauses. “Can I taste you, Laurel?”

  I can’t answer in words. I’ve lost all sense, all capability of intelligibility. I’m dizzy, fraught with need, aching. Instead, I knot my fingers in his hair and guide his mouth to my core—that’s my answer.

  He growls a laugh, which I feel as he nuzzles between my legs. His beard—god, it tickles, scratches. It adds to the assault of sensation as his lips brush against me, his tongue sliding over my seam. I whimper, flex my hips forward. He slides his tongue against my core, lapping into me, delving it between my lips and upward. I moan, then, and shift my legs farther apart and tighten my fingers in his hair and pull him against me, aching for the high I’m anticipating.

  He doesn’t disappoint, doesn’t drag it out. No teasing, no playing. His mouth closes over me and suckles, and I whimper, whine in my throat, flex my hips forward harder, and then sag as he pulls away. His eyes go up to mine, watching my reaction as he drags a middle finger against my damp core, and then slides it into me. Just the one finger, his knuckles mashing against my lips as he delves into me, curling his finger inside me. I gasp as he finds that perfect, magical place, that touch which has my knees giving out and my thighs trembling and my breath catching, and his mouth slants against my core and his tongue flicks and circles and swipes and laps. I feel him add a finger, and now he’s gathering them forward, sliding them out, curling them back in, matching the rhythm of his touch to the lapping of his tongue, and my hips are bucking, and I’m gasping-moaning-whimpering in synch with his touch and tongue. I want it faster, but he holds his pace, and I’m clawing at his scalp and knotting my fingers hard in his hair, pulling him against me, grinding my hips wantonly against him.

  “Ryder! Oh god—oh god, oh fuck…Ryder…”

  His response is, finally, to speed up just a hint. Enough to make my gasps and whimpers intensify. Fingers curl and thrust, tongue lashes. I thrash and flex, crying out as a blast of ecstasy slams through me, a precursor to the orgasm. Another wave hard on the heels of the last, and then another, and I’m lost in this, wailing and screaming without thought, with utter abandon as his tongue and fingers crush me into climax. The waves of crashing, scything heat and pressure have exploded, united into a detonation of climactic intensity so powerful I’m unable to even scream, can only let my mouth hang open, lungs spasming, legs giving out, curling forward over him as he lashes me with his tongue and fucks me with his fingers in an unrelenting assault.

  When I catch my breath, it’s only because the orgasm has finally faded to mere earthquakes of bliss, and I can move again so I resume thrusting against his face to milk every last shred of this experience.

  And then, abruptly, my legs give out.

  Ryder catches me, standing up with me so I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist and cling to his broad hard shoulders and gasp for air and whimper as the last throes of orgasm rack me. I feel him walking with me, effortlessly carrying me across what feels like a suite, and then he’s setting me carefully on the bed, laying me backward and moving to kneel above me.

  His beard is damp as he brushes his mouth over my belly and up between my breasts. I giggle, getting him to pause with my hand on his shoulder.

  “Your beard…” I breathe. “It has…me…on it.” I wipe my hand over his mouth and down his chin, wiping at the dampness until his beard feels drier.

  He smirks, an eyebrow arched. “What if I was saving that for later?”

  “Eeew, gross.”

  “Hey, I happen to like the smell of you on my beard.” He slides the fingers that had been inside me into his mouth. “Mmmm. Tastes like sugar.”

  I laugh, but the way he licks his fingers clean tells me he’s not joking.

  He’s kneeling between my thighs, hands fisted into the mattress just above my shoulders. “I feel like maybe I’ve said this already, but seriously, Laurel—that was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

  “Which part?”

  “You, coming apart for me.”

  I don’t hide or restrain my pleased grin. “Feel free to give me orgasms like that anytime you want.”

  “Yeah? It was pretty good, then, I take it.” His self-satisfied smirk tells me he knows exactly how good it was for me.

  I run my hands over his shoulders and over his chest, fingers pointing down, aiming for his belt. “It was okay.” I try to keep a straight face, because that’s such an understatement. “I feel like maybe you could have done a little better.”

  “Is that a challenge?” He sounds absolutely serious.

  I bite my lip and nod, letting my hands continue to slide slowly down his torso toward his belt line. “Yep. I don’t think that was your best. Not quite your A-game.”

  He lowers his brows and growls. “So what you’re saying is, I need more practice.”

  I nod, endeavoring to keep my face straight and serious as I reach his belt. “Yep. You definitely need practice.”

  “I’ll need a willing subject to practice on, in that case. Someone with a pretty strong appetite for orgasms.”

  I shrug a shoulder, nonchalant. “I may know someone who fits that description.”

  I free the end of hi
s belt from the buckle, remove the prong from the hole, and then the belt is loose and I strip it off of him in a loud whipping motion. I toss it aside, and then twist the button of his jeans free and tug down the zipper. I feel him bulge against the opening, a hard presence straining against the stretchy cotton of his underwear nudging my knuckles as I lower the zipper.

  “You may know someone,” he says, watching my hands. “Tell me about her.”

  I wiggle his jeans past his hips and down over his butt; he makes no move to help as he kneels over me, letting me undress him. “Well, she’s somewhat out of practice herself. She hasn’t received that kind attention in…oh, well, a very long time. She’s a quick learner though, and if you get good enough, she may be willing to spend a little time practicing…” I pause, bite my lip, focusing on shoving his jeans down his thighs and then tugging them off. “Well, see, she just needs practice. All around. Receiving orgasms, and giving them.”

  “Hmmm. So this person you’re thinking of…you’re saying she’s interested in giving orgasms? Any particular kind of practice you think she has in mind?” He lifts off his knees as I push his underwear down, letting me tug them past his knees, and then he’s naked.

  I shrug again. “Oh, I don’t know. She’s really out of practice in just about everything, you see. Manual, oral…everything.”

  He nods. “Well, I suppose I would be willing to help her out.”

  I take my eyes off of his, finally, and lower them to take in the full glory of Ryder naked for me. And god, is he gorgeous.

  I reach for him, my breath catching as I close my fingers around him. He’s thick, so thick, and so heavy. Every vein straining, dripping a bead of pre-cum. He’s hot in my hands, hard as steel yet so soft. His jaw flexes and tenses as I slide my fingers down his length in a slow exploration. Touching him is…well, he used the word already: Heaven.

  I smile to myself, watching him go through a series of expressions while I explore his cock with my hands. His brows lower, tighten, his jaw clenches and releases, he sucks in a deep breath, holds it, lets it out slowly; his eyes slide closed when I wrap my other hand around him and clutch him, then glide my hands around him in a slow caress.

  “I think maybe I need to practice right now,” I say. “What was it you said? Oh yeah—I think I need to taste a little bit of heaven.”

  He shakes his head. “No—no fucking way.”

  I stroke him, watching him tense, watching his belly go taut with each touch. “No? Really? No?”

  He growls, dropping his head, sucking his belly in and arching his back as I stroke and caress him with both hands in a rhythmless exploration of him. “No. You put your mouth on me, I won’t last five goddamn seconds, and there’s no way I’m wasting this time I have with you on that.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it as wasting time.” I squeeze, release, stroke. “You made me come so hard I couldn’t stand up. I just want to return the favor.”

  “You will,” he growls. “When I’m inside you.”

  I blink, suck in a breath. “Oh. I—I see.”

  He shifts forward, braces his weight on one fist, palming my cheek with the other, and bends down to kiss me. It begins as just a kiss, lips and tongues in an expression of affection and desire. But then, the moment I taste his tongue and my essence on his lips and the smell of me on his beard, I need more. I moan, opening my mouth to him, arching up to meet him. His hot hard cock throbs in my hand, and I stroke him, caress him, run my thumb over the tip, smearing that droplet of pre-cum and eliciting more with every touch. God, I want him. I want all of him, in every way there is. I want him inside me. I want him above me. I want him beneath me. Behind me. I want to wrap my legs around his waist and ride him. I want to roll him onto his back and taste that pre-cum on my tongue, and I want to feel him slide between my lips and stretch my jaw with his thick shaft and feel those veins ripple over my tongue, and I want to feel him grunt and hear him groan and feel him thrust and move and lose all restraint. I want to taste the smoke and musk of his cum and feel it slide thick and viscous and hot onto my tongue.

  I want to feel him driving into me, wild and furious as he pulses and pounds and comes, shouting my name.

  Problem is, I want it all, and I want it now, and I don’t know which I want first.

  All these thoughts and images of him coming has me aching. Needing. Throbbing and rising toward climax without him even touching me, except for his mouth on mine and his tongue slashing against mine.

  “Ryder,” I whisper. “I need you. Right now.”

  He rocks backward, up onto his knees. “I have condoms in my bag. Hold on.” He rolls off the bed, pointing back at me. “Stay there.”

  I laugh. “Did you think I was going to go downstairs and get a drink instead?”

  “Smart-ass.”

  He yanks his duffel bag off the floor, sets it on the dresser, and rips it open, finding a new, unopened box of condoms. He brings the box over to the bed, ripping it open quickly.

  I smile at him. “There’s no hurry, Ryder. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He glares at me. “You’re wrong about that. I fucking need you. I’ve never needed anything so bad as I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

  He finally gets the box open, fumbling free an entire string of condoms. He’s facing the bed as he tosses the box onto the bedside table and then goes to rip one of the squares free of the strip. Only, it doesn’t rip free cleanly, and two of the foil packets tear open. He curses, grumbling under his breath.

  I move to the edge of the bed and reach for him, laughing. “Relax, Ryder. We’ll use both of them.” I smile up at him as I clutch him. “You’re awful tense about this.”

  He separates the two packets and withdraws one of the rings. “I don’t usually fumble or mess up like that.” He tenses as I lean forward, toward him. “You just…I want you in a way I’ve never wanted anything, and I want this to be perfect.”

  I toss my hair over one shoulder, wrap a hand around his ass and hold on to him for balance as I lean partly off the bed, stroking him with my other hand. “It is perfect, Ryder. And trust me, I want you just as bad. You make me crazy. I want you so bad I don’t even know how to deal with it.”

  “Laurel…”

  I sink my mouth onto him, tasting him as I swirl my tongue around him. I back away and glance up at him. “I can’t help it. I just…need you.”

  I taste him again, caressing him with one hand as I sink my mouth around him, stroking my fist up to my lips, pumping, gliding, tonguing him.

  He jerks away with a grunt. “Fuck! That feels too good, Laurel.”

  I stand up, following him, taking the condom from him. “Good. That means I’m doing something right.”

  “Yeah, a little too well. You do that again, and this will be over before it starts.”

  I fit the condom over him, and then roll it down his shaft with both hands. “That would be okay with me. We have the whole weekend.”

  “I know, but Laurel…” He palms my face, moving in for a kiss. “That’s not how this is going to go. That’s not how I want you. Not right now.”

  I smile. “No? Then how do you want me?”

  He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me toward him. “Like this.” He guides my knees up onto the bed beside his hips. “For now, at least.”

  I climb up onto the bed, straddling him. He gazes up into my eyes, his hazel gaze intense and wild and fraught with lust and need and something deeper, something wilder, something more. I grip him, and I feel his fingers at my opening, and together we guide him to my entrance. He takes over, moving my hand aside, fitting himself just inside me. He thrusts in a slow, shallow, gentle, rolling movement, so just the very head slides in and out of me, splitting the lips apart but not quite entering. Teasing. I’m up on my knees, over him. Mouth open, eyes wide at the delicious, burning stretch from this little bit of him.

  I touch myself, and his eyes go to my slowly circling fingers. “God, Ryder. I’m alread
y close.”

  He rumbles. “Good. Let me watch you come.”

  His mouth goes to my breast, nuzzling, and then his teeth saw gently at my nipple—he cups my breast, lifting it to his mouth, and laves attention on it, then both of them, his hips flexing in that same slow, shallow rhythm that’s nowhere near enough. But it’s somehow perfect, just enough, almost too much, as I smear my two middle fingers around my aching center, his mouth on my breasts ratcheting the intensity a millionfold, the tease of him being almost inside me taking it further yet.

  I whimper as the first wave hits.

  Sob as the second rolls over me.

  My hips flex on their own and a loud cry escapes me as the third and strongest wave yet crashes through me.

  He’s still pushing and receding in that same maddening shallow thrust—just barely moving into me, barely penetrating my lips. I’m gasping nonstop, now, as the orgasm rises, rises.

  “Oh fuck—Ryder.”

  He moans wordlessly around a mouthful of my breast—he’s worshipping them, kissing and devouring and licking, cupping and squeezing and kneading, flicking and pinching and rubbing.

  “I—oh god. Ryder, I’m—oh, oh, oh god, oh god—I’m coming!” I cry this, raggedly, as the orgasm smashes through me.

  And now I have no choice but to take him, all of him, all at once.

  He bellows a feral, bull-like roar as I slam down, my ass slapping loudly against his thighs as he speared up into me, filling me. I scream as I take him, aching as he stretches me beyond capacity, so much of him it’s almost too much, and I can’t breathe for the ache, the burn, the eye-watering fullness. It almost hurts, but the orgasm is still smashing through me, wave after wave as my fingers fly around my clit, and the climax spurs me to move.

  I cry out, a burst of shrill, breathless ecstasy. I curl forward, his face buried between my breasts, my nose in his hair, my arms around him, my fingers clawing desperately at the hard muscle sheathed in soft skin. He drives up, and I’m filled further. I lift up, emptied of him, crying at the lack, the loss, and then sob as I sink down to meet his thrust.