by Donna Alam
‘How can something so pretty be such a pain?’ It’s such a blatant invitation, and one I can’t resist, so closing my lips over his digit, I suck it. Swirl with my tongue. Bite the tip.
‘Ungh.’
That noise he makes? I have no words to describe it. All I know is I want to hear it again as his mouth falls open with the lustful lament, his eyes suddenly as black as coal.
‘You’re going to be trouble,’ he whispers.
I’ve been called a lot of things but never troublesome. It sounds like the best kind of compliment, one I feel viscerally between my legs. My heart rate seems to triple as his big hands come to rest on either side of my face, his warm, firm lips meeting mine in that first delicious brush. It’s not a chaste kiss, but it’s slow and soft, coaxing almost. Tilting his head, he plays his lips against mine. But I don’t want this—for once, I don’t want to be tentative, my need rising like a tide as I move closer and slide my arms around his neck. I return his kiss, raising the stakes as I push my body flush against his. I kiss him hard, bite his lips. Suck on his tongue. And judging by the way his body bows with the rock-hard length of him pressed between us and the way his deep moans reverberate through us both, I’d say he’s enjoying every second of it.
‘The trouble with trouble,’ his deep voice rasps, ‘is that it’s too much fun.’
The man is killing me with compliments. One moment, we’re kissing, and the next, we’re tearing off the other’s clothes. My sweater first, courtesy of his nimble finger work, my own hands finding the hem of his T-shirt as I begin pushing it up his torso. His skin is so warm under my fingers, supple and hard.
How the heck do you get a body like this?
‘You just have to appear in my bedroom in the middle of the night and start feeling me up.’
My resulting laughter sounds so dirty, his own chuckle vibrating against my chest before he helps me with my task. His hand at the back of his neck, he pulls his mouth away from mine only long enough to rip his T-shirt up and over his head. As his mouth returns to mine, he renders me senseless with deep, wet kisses. I’m not sure who started this tidal wave of lust, but there’s no doubt who’s in control as he pulls the elastic from my hair, the length of it tumbling around my shoulders.
We barely come up for air, sharing it instead. I can’t think for the slide of his tongue across my lips and hot press of his fingers against my skin. But as I realise this, it’s almost as though I’ve given permission for those familiar doubts to begin creeping in.
‘You’re so sexy,’ he whispers, his lips travelling along my neck.
‘Hardly.’ The word is free in the air before I’ve a chance to bite it back. I swallow thickly and try for sass to cover my idiocy. ‘Besides, I bet you say that to all the girls. You know, in your line of work.’
‘Nah. I’m not buyin’ you believe that,’ he says, pulling back, his gaze no longer hot but still heated. Fierce. ‘It’s the truth. You’ve been a pain in my arse since you appeared out of nowhere like a Christmas sprite. Speaking of lines of work,’ he murmurs, lifting my hair from my ears.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Checkin’ your ears to be sure you’re not one of the wee folk.’
‘Stop that,’ I retort, covering my ears.
‘You’re uncommonly lovely, Isobel. And strange enough to be fae, but I’ve never met a fairy I’ve wanted to fuck.’
‘You don’t have to pay me compliments.’ I move to put a little distance between us, sliding invisible wisps of hair behind my ears, because I’m not absolutely sure those were compliments. And I don’t have ears like an elf, fyi. ‘I’m a lot of things but never sexy.’
‘What?’ Whit? Hands on my thighs, he pulls me back to the edge of the countertop, sliding my legs around his hips. ‘That’s utter bullshit.’
‘Okay, so maybe you find me sexy,’ I reply, my voice hysterically high. ‘A-and that’s lovely. But I don’t feel it. Sexy, I mean. Oh, God. Why am I telling you this?’ My hands find my cheeks, but before I have time to dissolve into embarrassed laughter or tears, Greg slides two fingers into the waistband of my jeans, jerking my body until I slide from the counter, my body flush with his.
‘Get out of your head and spread your legs.’
The rough tone of his whisper seems to pound deep inside, doubly so as he slides his thigh between mine, pushing it against my centre.
‘Oh!’ My body seems to get what he’s going for before my brain, moving almost of its own accord, rocking against him as though the motion would somehow push me against the bulge of his pyjamas. Because there’s nothing left to the imagination there.
‘Yeah, because that’s not sexy, watching you ride me.’
‘It’s not . . . ’ It’s not going to work was what I was going to say, but as his hands slip around my back and my breasts fall out of my loosened bra, I can’t say anything else. Not as he watches them bounce. Not as he takes them in his big hands.
‘I want to fuck these.’ His voice is gravelly and full of possession as he rubs his calloused thumbs over the hardened points of my nipples. ‘Paint them in my cum. Hold them tight in my hands as I bend you over the table and fuck you so hard from behind, your flesh bears the marks of my fingerprints. Don’t tell me you don’t like the sound of that, hen, because I can feel the heat of your pussy through your jeans.’
Oh my God, he’s filthy. Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong. Maybe I just needed someone who really knows what they’re doing. But I feel so hot, as though I’m about to burst out of my skin. He shouldn’t be allowed to lick his lips so sinfully. He shouldn’t be allowed—’
‘Oh, dear God . . . ’ As he bends and engulfs my nipple, I swear my whole body becomes pure electricity—like I’ve been lashed by a live line—the effects shooting from the hairs on my head to the tips of my toes.
‘Those noises,’ he growls around my nipple. ‘Sexy as fuck.’ He moves to the other one. ‘D’you like the sound of being covered in my cum, or was it being fucked from behind?’
‘Do I have to choose?’
His resulting laughter? His tongue? I think I might die from the dirty deliciousness of it all. I’ve never experienced anything like this, and I’m not about to let these feelings go. So I block everything else out—my fear, my thoughts, my memories of how sex usually plays out. Instead, I allow the heat of the moment to bleed through me. The sensation of his roughened fingertips against my skin. The aching rise of my breasts and the liquid heat building between my legs.
I allow it to bleed.
To build.
To consume.
‘I can’t wait to get my mouth on your cunt.’
I’m not sure if it’s the word—his base language—or the anticipation of the experience that makes me cry out. But whatever it is, he seems to anticipate it as he moves his thigh, his fingers making quick work of the zipper of my jeans. Without another word, Greg slips his hand flat against my stomach, sliding it inside my sodden knickers. His fingers curl, and for the world, it feels like he’s holding my pussy as if it belongs to him.
‘You’re so wet,’ he groans. ‘And it’s so fucking hot.’ I can feel my flesh pulsing against his fingers. Can he tell? Can he feel it? ‘This is a new kitchen, Isobel.’ Well, that was a little jarring. Where is he going with this? ‘And you’re the first meal I’m gonnae eat in here.’
Oh. My.
I make a whole range of noises as he pulls his hand from my jeans to yank them down my legs. One minute, I have my hand on the caramel skin of his back for balance, and the next, they’re gripping the countertop for the same effect. Okay, not quite the same. Not as he drops to his knees. Not as I buck at the graze of his teeth. Not as I cry out in pleasure as the hard thrust of his fingers keep me in place.
Electricity swells beneath my skin; I want to touch him, kiss him, taste my need from his lips, but most of all, I want to come. And I can feel it—feel it growing and expanding as he begins flicking my clit with the point of his tongue, ove
r and over again. Such torture. Such brilliantly exquisite torture. A kiss, then another as he works his way down my slit. When he reaches my opening, his dark gaze slides up my body, owning every solitary piece of me. With a sinful smile, he parts my slick lips, stroking his tongue against my swollen flesh. A swipe of tongue. Another kiss. His fingers sliding upwards to bare my clit. Bare it. Kiss it. Take it between his lips.
‘Greg! Oh, God! I-I-’
I’ve never come like this. In fact, I rarely come at all. Not when others are involved. Up until this point, orgasm has been a party for one.
‘Your honey is so sweet on my tongue. Give it to me.’
‘I can’t . . . I just can’t!’ My fingers grasp the counter so tightly, I don’t think I can feel them anymore.
‘Give in, darlin’. Give up.’ His accent is heavier now, his voice rendering the word something like a growl as his indecent gaze comes up from between my legs.
I begin to thrust myself against his face—against his tongue. The bristles on his chin abrade my sensitive skin as my chants take on another tone, a different verse.
‘Yes, God, yes! Please, please, please!’
‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he murmurs, his breath a hot wisp against my skin. ‘Take what you need.’
But it’s too much.
He grunts a thoroughly masculine sound as I try to push away his head. It’s too much to bear—too many sensations—and I’m so wired I feel like I could crawl out of my skin. Not that he pays me any heed as his eyes drop closed, his tongue working me like it’s his job. And maybe it is. But, Jesus Christ, after this, I might well put myself at the top of his customer list.
‘You’re so fucking delicious.’ He growls against my flesh as he hooks his hand under one knee, pulling me closer as though he can’t get enough. His tongue strokes, opening me, his whole mouth licking, sucking, devouring.
‘Greg, I can’t. I can’t!’
‘Shush, now. It’s time to pay up.’
As though I needed his permission, the swelling sensation bursts—bursts with bliss. Every inch of my body tingles with heat and pleasure and bliss. So much bliss.
I come so hard, behind my closed eyes, I’m sure I see stars born.
Crumpled against the countertop, I feel my heart beat as though it’d break free, given the chance. And all that I can think is I’d so go into debt for regular access to this.
Chapter 9
GREG
I place one last kiss on the neat strip hair on her gorgeous pussy. Pink and wet and glistening. One kiss becomes two and two becomes a third open-mouthed offering, and she shivers under my hands, mewling a small protest. I pull away before I lose my senses and make my home between her legs for the evening. That’s some thought, and one that reminds me, ridiculously, of a line in a porn movie. I was born by the snatch. I’ll die by the snatch.
But what a way to go.
Wonder if I can get my wee fairy friend to wear a nurse’s uniform sometime . . . ?
Then I realise she isn’t speaking. Or even looking at me. Fair do’s, I’ve just eaten her to ecstasy, but her marbles should have returned shortly following—for round two.
Her blue gaze follows my movements as I stand, rising slowly from where my cock tents in my pyjamas to my mouth. She’s so tempting, her hair curling around her shoulders and her skin flushing. Her pupils eclipse the brilliant blue of her eyes as she watches me roll my tongue over my lips, savouring the taste of her before I rub the back of my hand across the parts of my face my tongue can’t reach. When she realises I’m watching her watching me, she glances down, her eyelashes like shutters, severing our connection.
‘I see where I went wrong,’ I begin as I lower her leg from my shoulder.
‘Sorry?’ Her dark lashes blink rapidly, but she still can’t hold my gaze. So, as I stand, I help her, my finger crooked under her chin.
‘I should’ve pulled you down on the bed the minute you touched my junk last night.’ I keep my eyes on her face. No mean feat, I’ll tell you. Ask any man standing in front of a naked woman. ‘To think, we could’ve been doing that this whole time.’
A smile from her now, thankfully. ‘Only if you wanted to kill me.’
‘You’ll come much more than once before you die.’ Without asking for permission, I pull her body against mine, and as she turns her head, I find it fits perfectly against my chest. Like it was made for it. ‘Come with a smile on your face.’
‘Actually, I think my eyes were crossed.’ Her response is quiet, but I can still hear her bewildered smile.
‘Is that so?’ Again, without asking for permission, I dip my knees and grasp the back of her thighs, boosting her up and forcing her to wrap her legs around my waist.
‘What are you doing!’ She sort of squeals. ‘I don’t need you to carry me.’
‘I see a second problem.’ We’re face to face, and I want to kiss her, let her taste herself, but the tenor of the mood isn’t the same as it was before. So instead, I frown a little as I make as though I’m examining both of her eyes. ‘They’re still crossed. The direction of the wind must’ve changed.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Put me down.’
‘It’s true. And I think you might have a wee bit of a squint. There’s only one thing for it.’
‘Oh, do tell,’ she responds, her tone droll. It didn’t take her long to catch on. But she isn’t protesting, I’ll note. In fact, she looks eager. Eager trying to play it cool.
‘You need another orgasm. Stat.’
‘You’re amazing.’
‘I know,’ I return, eyes wide. ‘There aren’t many men about who can make a girl cross-eyed with just their tongue.’
‘I meant you’re an amazing opportunist.’
‘Aye, well, I’m one of them as well.’
‘I don’t do this kind of thing,’ she adds suddenly, her tone turning uncertain, her eyes sliding from mine.
‘First rule of paying for a man to screw you? Be bold. Be adventurous. Be demanding.’ My smile is wide and my attitude shameless as I carry her into the living room and deposit her unceremoniously on the long couch.
‘Oh, so now you’re a male escort.’ Isobel brushes the dark strands from her face, revealing a shy smile.
‘For you baby, I can be anything.’
‘Are you ever serious about anything? And for the record, if your services were bought and paid for, I didn’t book you.’
‘I know, this Mo sounds like a legend. Do you think he needs anymore pals?’ I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my pjs as she watches the motion avidly.
‘So you’re an escort who swings both ways?’
‘Ah, I’m afraid not. And I only ever have one client on the go at a time.’
‘A loyal escort?’
‘More like a dog with a bone.’ I fail to resist a comic crotch-grab.
‘It’s certainly a . . . a sizable bone.’ From her position, her eyes flick to the area in question. And maybe this is the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I don’t think so. And even if it was, it’s a bit late now. I’ve had my mouth on her already, and now it’s my cock’s turn.
‘You just keep using those adjectives, hen. Big and hot and hard.’ Not that she needs to. I have a naked girl splayed out in front of me. I couldn’t get any bigger, or harder, and it’s been a while.
‘I said no such thing.’
‘Sizable is just a posher version of the compliment.’ I give the elastic of my pjs a tug, pulling them a little lower as I play my part well. At this point, she doesn’t really believe I’m a male escort, but it both behoves and suits me to play along. After all, she’s my guest, and we Scots take our hosting responsibilities very seriously. Especially with the bonny ones. ‘Darlin’, it would be unprofessional of me, not to mention rude, to deprive you of the full service.’ And with that, I slide one side slowly down to my hip, the firm swell of one arse cheek now somewhat visible.
‘You’re just a big tease, aren’t you?’
I repea
t the process at the other side with a big smile. ‘Let’s see. I kissed you, and you sighed. I touched you and—’
‘I cried out.’
‘I licked you until you begged. All that leaves now is to fuck you until you scream.’
‘I do like a man who takes pride in his work.’
‘Oh, and I do. All you need to tell me is what you want from me.’
‘Want?’
‘Yep. Spell it out for me, Isobel. Tell me what you need.’
Her eyes watch my hands almost avidly, her teeth marking her bottom lip. I suddenly want her teeth on me. Those lips sliding along my length. In the meantime, I’ll make do with my hand as I slip it under the waistband and pull my cock free. It feels hot and hard as I curl my fist around my shaft.
‘I want that . . . you.’
‘Yeah? But you’ll need to do a wee bit better than that.’ Her expression clouds with confusion. ‘I want you to tell me where. How.’
As the adage goes, the quiet ones are usually the worst. Not that she’s been particularly quiet since she arrived. But I sense a little reticence as she watches as I work myself. She’s comfortable watching, but I want—crave—her participation. I run my hand along my shaft, engulfing the wide tip in my fist. Her teeth loosen on her lip, her fingertip running over the pale indent.
‘Here. I want you here. And here,’ she utters suddenly as, thanks be to all that is holy, she palms her gorgeous tits and, as an encore, runs a fingertip through the tightly created valley.
‘You have to say the words, darlin’.’
‘And I want you in my mouth.’
‘There is a fucking Santa Claus,’ I growl, tightening my grip.
‘And I want you here.’ Her sultry gaze on mine, she trails a finger down her body, dipping it into her slit. As though the tiny invasion was unexpected, she sighs, throwing back her head.
‘Santa’s come early.’ I grunt and place my knee on the sofa next to her. ‘And if his little elf doesn’t stop being a tease, he’ll won’t be the only one. No, I’m kidding,’ I add as she makes to move her hands from her pussy. ‘Don’t stop. Don’t you dare.’
