by Marie Force
He gasps. “Let me go, darlin’. Now.”
Wondering if I did something wrong, I withdraw from him slowly, running my tongue up the length of his shaft before letting him pop free of my mouth. “Did I not do it right?”
“If you did it any more right, I would’ve passed out.” His hands curve under my knees, and he tugs me to the edge of the mattress, aligning his cock against my pussy and giving a shove that makes me scream—and not in a good way. “Ah fuck, you’re sore.” He pulls back and drops to his knees by the bed, leaning in to lick my sensitive, pulsating flesh.
I nearly weep from the sweet way he makes love to me with gentle strokes of his tongue over my clit and then down to my tender opening. I know I shouldn’t be shocked when he goes even lower, licking me in places no one had ever touched me before last night. I come in slow, easy waves, one orgasm folding into the next, my entire body caught up in the pleasure.
The minute it finally ends, he starts all over again, keeping up the slow, gentle theme with his tongue but raising his hands to my breasts to pinch my nipples just hard enough that I feel the reaction everywhere.
“Blake… I want…”
“What, darlin’? What do you want?”
“You inside me.”
“You’re too sore.”
“Go slow. I want it so bad.” I feel empty and needy and desperate for a man for the first time in my life. And not just any man. This man.
Standing upright, he stares down at me, and I can only imagine how I must look with my hair wild around my head, my legs splayed open, my nipples standing on end and a desperate need pulsing through me. Apparently, he likes what he sees, because his face lifts into the half smile that makes my heart ache for the happy, carefree boy he was before life taught him the cruelest of lessons.
I hold out my arms to him, and he comes down on top of me, aligning his cock to my opening and giving a gentle thrust. Thanks to his efforts, I’m so wet that he slides in easier than before. It burns more than hurts as my flesh stretches to accommodate him.
“Ah, God, Honey, you’re so tight.”
“In the past, that hasn’t been a good thing.”
He raises his head to look down at me. “Why not?”
“I couldn’t always, you know, get it in.” I’m on fire with mortification, but in for a penny… “And I’ve never been with anyone as big as you are.”
“They didn’t take the time to make sure you were ready.”
“They also didn’t turn me on the way you do.”
“Is that so?”
I bite my lip and nod as he continues to enter me in short little thrusts, retreating each time.
“Ready for more?”
“I-I think so.”
“Nice and easy, darlin’. Nice and easy.”
True to his word, it takes a long time for him to enter me fully, and when he finally does, we’re both sweating and breathing hard and on the verge of release.
“Wait,” he whispers, his lips brushing up against my ear and restarting the wildfire inside me. “Slow it down.”
“If we go any slower, it’ll be morning before we finish.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
I moan and squirm and tighten my internal muscles—everything I can think of to get things—especially him—moving. But he’s in no rush, and I swear his cock is getting bigger with every second he spends inside me.
“You feel like heaven, Honey.” His lips skim over mine in a fleeting caress. “Feels so good. Tell me it’s good for you, too.”
“It is. I love it.” I grasp his tight ass and sink my fingernails into his flesh, begging him for sweet relief as I push my hips against him.
“Ah, baby, you drive a hard bargain.”
I gasp with laughter. “I think the hard bargain is all you.”
“Nah, darlin’, it’s all you.” He begins to move—finally—stroking in and out of me slowly and gently, being careful not to hurt me. I’ll still feel this tomorrow because of his sheer size. He’s way more than I’m used to. “Fold your hands behind my neck.”
Uncertain of why he wants me to do that, I slide my hands around him and clasp them together.
“Hold on tight.” With his hands under me, he picks me up and brings me down on him, his cock wedging even deeper inside me—so deep that I gasp from the sensations that spiral from the place we’re joined to everywhere else. He moves me slowly up and down, our flesh slick and our breathing rough. “So good, Honeydew melon. So fucking good.”
“Yes,” I laugh at his latest name for me and cry out the single word, my head falling back as he takes me on a slow ride to heaven. Nothing has ever felt so good. I’m wise enough to know that nothing will ever again feel quite this good. What a profoundly depressing thought. But I told him I understood, and I do. I know what he’s capable of—and what he isn’t. This will have to be enough.
If we only have this second bonus night, never to be repeated, I intend to enjoy every minute of it.
It’s good with her. I feel it, and I know she does, too. There’s something to be said for doing this with someone I’ve known forever and feel safe with. I can let go with her and be myself. I don’t have to hide the agony I carry with me every second of every day. She knows. She was there. I don’t have to explain anything to her, and that’s a huge relief.
My brain, which runs on full speed every minute that I’m awake, gives me a break when I’m with her. I have something else to think about besides regrets and remorse and relentless grief. Staying so busy I don’t have time to breathe is a coping mechanism that’s worked well for me over the years.
But fucking Honey works better.
She looks up at me with those bottomless eyes, and I lose myself in her.
The guys I work with say I’m a machine because of how much I get done in an average day. I don’t ask them to do anything I’m not willing to do, too. I push myself harder than anyone, and the result is a very successful business that gets bigger every year. For all I care about success.
The women I spend time with call me a machine in bed because of my stamina and because I’m “emotionally remote,” as one of them said. If that makes me a machine, I can live with that more easily than I could live with an emotional involvement.
Staying removed has worked for me, and even with Honey Carmichael’s silky-soft skin wrapped around me, I’m not about to change my mind about that. But I do love the way she looks at me when I’m inside her—part awe, part confusion, part affection.
I cling to the affection. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed it until Honey showed me what I’ve been missing by powering through life, one meaningless encounter at a time. The affection is what brought me to her tonight for one more dose of her special brand of sweetness.
She’s so tight and wet and hot that I’m on the verge of release way too soon, so I withdraw from her, enjoying her little squeak of protest. I bend my head to take her left nipple into my mouth while pinching the right one between my fingers. Kissing my way down the front of her, I lift her legs to my shoulders and open her to my tongue.
“Sweetest honey I’ve ever tasted.”
Her thighs tighten around my head, and I lose myself in her. The only thing I care about is making her come harder than she ever has before. I want to leave my mark on her. I want her to remember this after it’s over. Why I want that is something I can think about later, when I’m back to being alone again. Right now, I have far better things to concern myself with than returning to my empty, hyper-regimented life.
I draw her clit into my mouth and suck hard, running my tongue back and forth over the tight little nub while pushing my fingers into her at the same time. The combination has the desired effect, and she erupts with a cry of pleasure that travels right to my hard cock. He wants in on this right fucking now.
She’s still coming when I push into her, triggering a second orgasm on top of the first one. Her fingers dig into my ass when she pulls me deeper into her. As I pound in
to her, she raises her hips to meet my every stroke. We move together like longtime lovers, a thought that causes me to lose my rhythm for a second.
Of course she notices. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, darlin’, I’m good. You?”
“Mmm. Yes, I’m good.”
I smile down at her. “Sweetest Bit-O-Honey I ever had.”
She returns my smile and buries her fingers in my hair, drawing me into a kiss that’s so sweet and tender, I begin to ache on the inside for what can never be. If only I were different. If only I were capable… But I’m not, and wishing for things that can never be is a surefire path to madness.
I know myself, and I have no doubt I’m better off maintaining the status quo than deviating from the course that has kept me sane all these years. But I’ll confess that I’m tempted to want more for the first time since Jordan died—and that scares the living hell out of me.
“Fuck, Honey…” I start to withdraw from her. “I forgot a condom.”
She stops me. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”
“I am, too. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” I pick up the pace, driving myself relentlessly and taking her with me. “God, this feels so good.”
She comes again, and the tight clamp of her pussy on my cock finishes me off. I come hard and land on her afterward when my arms won’t hold me up any longer. I worry that I’m crushing her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her fingers comb through my hair in a sweet, calming caress that has me relaxing into her embrace.
My eyes are heavy from the night without sleep. I should get up and go home. Spending the night isn’t part of my program, but I decide a few more minutes won’t hurt anything.
Chapter Seven
The next thing I know, it’s morning. Sunshine is streaming through the blinds in Honey’s bedroom, and the smell of coffee and bacon makes my stomach growl. Fuck. I spent the night. I check my watch and see that it’s after ten o’clock. I can’t recall the last time I slept that late.
Wait… Yes, I can. A poignant memory resurfaces so suddenly it takes my breath away. My mom waking me up at noon to tell me that Jordan was trying to call me to come get her to swim in our pool. Her car was in the shop, and I’d been driving her around all week. Groaning at being awakened, I dragged myself out of bed to go get her and brought her to my house to swim.
All these years later, I can still remember the white bikini she wore and how it offset her dark tan. Jordan’s mother was Mexican and had passed down her dark hair and skin to her gorgeous daughter.
My mom made us lunch and then left for a hair appointment. The second her car pulled out of the driveway, we ran for my room, where we spent the next two hours making love before I took her home to babysit her younger brothers. We were hit by an eighteen-wheeler four blocks from my house and six blocks from hers. I never saw it coming.
The memory sears me, making me ache all over and reminding me why I don’t do sleepovers, why I don’t get involved, why I don’t do commitment or anything other than power through each day to lose myself to the blessed oblivion that only sleep usually provides, until the nightmares intrude to plunge me back into the darkness.
Running from the past and the pain and the grief is exhausting, but I’ve yet to figure out a better coping mechanism. Staring up at Honey’s ceiling, I run my fingers through my hair, wishing there was a way to scrub certain memories from my brain. It’s ironic that I have no memory of the accident or the immediate aftermath, but I vividly remember every minute I spent with Jordan. I remember the sweet joy of first love and the horrific, excruciating agony of being told she was gone.
I shudder at the memory of my parents standing by my hospital bed, both of them in tears as they broke the news to me.
And why the fuck am I thinking about this shit now? Angry with myself, I get up and help myself to Honey’s shower. I get dressed with the intention of leaving as fast as I can without being rude.
In the kitchen, Honey is wearing a T-shirt that just covers her bare ass. Her hair is up in a bun, and she’s singing a country song I don’t recognize in the pure sweet voice that takes me back to her years as a singer in a local band. Standing watch over a pan on the stove, she’s so damned cute and sexy at the same time. A strange feeling twists inside me, filling me with yearning. For what, I couldn’t say, but whatever it is involves her.
“Hungry?” she asks when she spies me watching her.
“I could eat.” Wait, where did that come from? I was going to leave. “It smells good.”
She gestures to the barstools at the counter. “Have a seat.”
I’ll leave after breakfast. She went to all this trouble. It’d be lame of me not to eat the food she cooked, and I am hungry. The eggs are light and fluffy, the bacon perfectly cooked and the toast already buttered for me. She slides a mug of coffee fixed just the way I like it—cream and two sugars—across the counter before she joins me on the next stool.
She’s given me twice as much as she served herself. The metaphor isn’t lost on me. She came to me the other night wanting to be with a man who knew how to please a woman. But could she possibly know what her sweet affection has done for me?
Suddenly, I don’t want this to be over, but how do I tell her that? I want more—of her, of the affection, of the amazing sex and the tenderness. Panic wells in my chest, and I’m breathless with longing. Blood pumps furiously through my reawakened heart like it’s a deadened limb coming back to life. I feel something for Honey, something I haven’t felt for anyone since Jordan died.
But how do I change the rules that I set? I puzzle over this quandary while I enjoy a second cup of coffee. “I have to drive out to a job site this afternoon.” The words pour forth before I take the time to consider the potential consequences. “You feel like taking a ride?”
She looks over at me, clearly surprised by my offer. “Sure.” To her credit, she doesn’t remind me that I told her, just last night, that whatever this is between us would be over today.
I’m enormously relieved by her one-word answer—and to know there will be more time with her. How much? I can’t say, but right now, I’ll settle for more.
He was quiet at breakfast, so his invitation takes me by surprise. I assumed he was trying to figure out a way to bow out gracefully. Instead, he was apparently thinking about asking me to go somewhere with him.
Interesting. It takes some effort on my part not to show him he’s shocked me. I sense I need to tread lightly with him or scare him off. After spending the last two nights with him, I don’t want to scare him off. That’s the opposite of what I want, but I know how he rolls, so I’m trying not to overthink his simple invitation, even though I know there’s nothing “simple” about it.
“Let me just grab a quick shower,” I say after I finish loading the dishwasher.
Blake comes up behind me, wraps his arms around me and kisses the curve of my neck. That’s all it takes to make me wish he’d invited me back to bed rather than to his job site. “Thank you for breakfast. It was really good.”
“Oh. You’re welcome.”
His hands move from my hips under my T-shirt to my ribs and up to cup my breasts.
My nipples immediately tighten, and the ache begins anew in my pussy. I should be too sore after what we did last night to want more, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing my ass back against his hard cock.
He gasps and pinches my nipples.
“Are you in a huge rush to get to your job site?”
“I’ve got all day, darlin’.”
“Could we, I mean, if you want to, that is—” I let out an inelegant squeak when he lifts me right off my feet and walks us into my bedroom, putting me face down on my bed. “Blake—”
“Like this,” he says gruffly as he unzips his fly. He tests my readiness by running the tip of his cock through the dampness between my legs. “God, you’re always so wet for me, Honeydew.”
I raise my hips, hoping to encourage him to get on
with it. He doesn’t need much encouragement.
“How do you want it? Hard and fast or slow and sweet?”
No man has ever asked me that before, and I’m struck by the realization that I’m slowly becoming addicted to the way this man makes love or fucks or whatever it is we’re doing here.
“Honey?”
“Hard and fast.”
“Are you sore?”
“A little.”
“Then let’s start out slow and easy.”
True to his word, he enters me from behind in slow but steady thrusts, giving my body time to stretch to accommodate him. He’s so big and so hard that the burn is inevitable, but it quickly gives way to pleasure. Grasping my hips, he pumps into me as my nipples rub against the quilt on my bed. I fist a handful of the quilt because I need to hold on to something when he picks up the pace.
I cry out in surprise when an orgasm hits me while he’s deep inside me.
“Ah fuck,” he groans, surging into me as he comes. “You make me lose all control when that tight pussy clamps down on me.”
“You make me lose control with that huge cock of yours.”
He grunts out a laugh. “Glad you like it.”
“I’m quickly becoming addicted to it.” I no sooner say that than I wish I could take it back. He doesn’t want me addicted to any part of him.
“I can live with that,” he whispers, biting down on my earlobe before withdrawing from me. He gives me a playful swat on the butt. “You got me all dirty again, so let’s hit the shower and head out before I forget I’ve got stuff to do and drag you back to bed.”
Am I allowed to say that I wouldn’t object to being dragged back to bed by him? Maybe I’ll save that for another time, if there is one.
He joins me in the shower and seems to take great pleasure in thoroughly washing every inch of me with lemongrass soap.
“I love the smell of that soap,” he says.
“I get it from Marfa Brands in town.”
“Good stuff.”
